Three hundred and sixty five days in a year and there is only one that is universally dreaded by single people. Valentines Day, the holiday that everybody knows Hallmark collaborated with the flower vendors to create an extra revenue stream. On Valentine's Day it's almost literally illegal to be single and the pain of being alone is so much sharper when the world is a saccharine saturated mess.
Somehow or another Chris's original plans for Valentine's Day had fallen through. Considering it was just a night at home playing video games with Jim, Jack and Jose it shouldn't have been possible to fall through. The thing was by the time he got home Jim was already in his roommate, Mike's loving embrace. Chris had killed Jack the night before catching up on the Simpsons and Family Guy and well Jose's not a lot of fun by himself. Every time Chris and Jose spent quality time alone together Chris spent most of the next day wondering why Jose hated him so much.
It would have been easier and faster just to shoot out to Von's and pick the boys up but for no reason that Chris could understand he drove the extra ten minutes to Callahan's. It was probably the first time he'd been to the bar in nearly three years. For some reason he'd expected that it would either be empty or flooded with couples but it wasn't. Just a quick scan made it obvious that everybody in the bar was just like him, single on Valentine's Day.
It was like there was something tangible in the air. Instead of the energy that normally packed Callahan's to the point where it seemed like the bricks were thrumming with energy there was a sludge locking every one in place. The light rock and RnB mix was pathetic without the happy chatter the happy music absurdly made the place even more depressing.
"What'll you have?" The bartender was a guy named Mike. He'd been in a few classes with Chris in high school and a few more as they'd fumbled around college for a few years.
"A zombie. Kinda fitting right?" Chris tried to force a smile but his mouth wouldn't agree to such an egregious lie. It compromised by twisting upward at one corner but the expression was sardonic and mirthless.
"Real funny." Mike made the same attempt to chuckle but he couldn't fake it either. He managed a snort that wouldn't have been unusual for a charging bull. "Look I started the night out with two rules for the night. Nobody commits suicide and please try not to get so drunk you puke. Looking around at this group of morose motherfuckers I'm cutting the second rule in the hopes of preserving the first." This time Mike didn't have to fake the smile. It was a sad but genuine smirk that crept across his features. "Truth is puke usually just sits on top of the carpet. Don't even need to steam clean it. Blood, that shit stains like you wouldn't believe.
There was no way for Chris to know if or how much he was joking by. It was more than enough to create the desired effect though. He raised his glass. "Amen to that." Even though Mike didn't have anything to cheer with Chris knocked glasses with a ghost and downed his drink. "Just keep it full." Chris twisted slightly so he could stare at might through the ice filled glass. "I don't really care what it is as long as you keep 'em coming. That cool?"
"Of course. Like I said I've got one rule for the night. No suicides. Not joking either. The last two years someone has died either on or near the premises on V Day. I'm tired of filling out police reports that say the same damned thing. Being single on V Day drives people crazy and shit happens." Mike managed to force a grin then returned to his job dispensing drinks as fast as his patrons could drink them.
For twenty long minutes Chris remained at the bar. He should have been working on getting drunk but he was really nursing his Zombie. On a normal night he would have finished his first drink in minutes and been well into his second but Chris was too depressed even to drink so he just faked it and watched the crowd descend into inebriation. If he'd been writing a paper on the effects of isolation on during the holidays instead of suffering from them he would have been ready to accept his Pulitzer six months later. Since he was a fellow sufferer it was difficult to watch as the men and women around him continued to search the bottom of a glass for answers they knew weren't there.
If someone had asked Chris fifteen minutes earlier if he believed in God, fate, things happening for a reason or love at first sight he would have broken into hysterics. The idea that there was something guiding him through his life was as silly as it was depressing. Obviously if there was a guiding force it absolutely hated him and enjoyed doing whatever it could to torment him and watch him suffer. It certainly wasn't a benevolent old man resting on a cloud trying to make good things happen. That idea was absurd.
Then the world changed and he was a believer. Tiffany was an all out assault on the senses that could best be described with the military term shock and awe. It started with the clicking of her heels on the hard wood floor announcing both her presence and her proximity. The attack continued when the scent of honey and cinnamon singed its way into Chris's memory and forced him to turn towards her.
