The Napkin Project (Holiday Edition): Zakiya Dalila Harris
"Got any plans for the holidays?"
The bartender is in between drinks when the suit asks her this question, but she does not turn around to answer. Not yet. By now, she has shaken 41 cocktails, pulled 35 beers, and skinned 11 lemons, along with a part of her thumb. She has muddled 26 mint leaves, has speared 10 pieces of ginger. She has texted her MIA coworker 12 questions marks and received zero responses. She has reminded 15 folks that their company's open bar only includes well liquor and draft beer, not Grey Goose or Redbreast or Beefeater; she has repeatedly apologized for not having holiday specials or eggnog or peppermint schnapps, "But I can make you a hot toddy." Thanks to hte bar's digital jukebox, she has endured "Feliz Navidad" 3 times—2 times too many—and she has overheard 9 conversations about vacations to islands she will never visit, plus 4 debates over how much—if anything—one should gift their nannies, their cleaning ladies, their doormen. She has witnessed complaints about judgy in-laws and gripes about offending a child's "they-friend" with the wrong pronoun. She has taken one tequila shot with an abandoned plus-one, and another (fake) tequila shot with a recent divorcée she should probably cut off soon. She has sent 4 more question marks to her MIA coworker, who finally tells her he tested positive for Covid, so she will have to close alone for the 3rd time this week.
This office holiday party started 4 hours ago and her tip jar is half-empty. So...
-SHE NEEDS A MINUTE.-
The bartender sighs. She could pretend she hasn't heard the question. The party has grown rowdier. Messier. One group is screamsinging "All I Want For Christmas Is You," although "Feliz Navidad" is playing. AGAIN. Another is bravely (stupidly) comparing holiday bonuses. Most are spilling truths they will have to clean up tomorrow.
The bartender sighs again. Years ago, when she first moved to this city for a dream, her holiday plans would have been to go home. Town diner with old friends. Tree farm with family. Sticky-sweet Lifetime movies, even sweeter cookies. And SO MUCH DECORATING. String lights, tinsel. The homemade angel ornament she made from pipe cleaners and an empty toilet paper roll when she was 6.
Plans for the holidays.
She looks at her hands, worn and crinkly from years of cleaning and cutting and washing and drying. Only when she finally turns around does she realize the suit hasn't been speaking to her at all, but to a woman sitting next to him.
"Here," the bartender says to no one. "I'll be here."
You Might Also Like
