See You Under the Counter (short story)

See You Under the Counter

"How much would I need to buy so I can hide here?"

The answer, of course, should have been, No such thing. Get out. This is a beer stall, not a hiding place! But there was something about that night that made Feliz a little more adventurous, or a little reckless, and she ended up telling the guy with the guitar that yes, he could hide in her stall if he wanted to.

She said yes, and then she recognized him. Manuel from high school.

And then she really recognized him, as Marriage Booth Manuel.

They had never been classmates. He was always in a different section, hanging out with other people, and even though Feliz kept her social circles small, the faces of a hundred or so people became familiar after a few years.

High school was a long time ago (over twenty years, holy crap), and Feliz was living in a totally different part of the metro. She hadn't randomly seen anyone from high school in forever.
This was a weird night overall.

"Two beers," Feliz said. "Manuel, right?"

"How did you—" He answered with a lot more anxiety than Feliz expected, and then something must have clicked in his memory and he relaxed visibly, audibly, in every sense. "High school. Chemistry? No."

"Marriage booth."

"Feliz." Then a smile. "Feliz Zoleta. My first wife."

She rolled her eyes but felt her cheeks warm up—had to have been the wind and the rain. "That was not binding but now I remember you much better. You say you want to hide here?"

"I mean, if you let me."

"The answer is two beers."

"Which ones?"

"I pick them. Unless something calls to you first."

"Calls to me?"

"Sometimes these things pick you first."

He accepted that really quickly. "Okay, deal."

"Come over then, under the counter."

He blinked, assessing if she was being serious. Unlocking the little door that swiveled out so a person could crouch and go into her stall seemed to have made him believe she was, and then there were two of them in there. It was small, but not so suffocating. Unlike the other food stalls at Nomnom Commons, Feliz Zoleta's spot only sold local craft beer and a few other specialty drinks. She had a big beverage refrigerator, shelving for crates of bottles, and a few random items like cups and coasters. There was only one stool though, because even if she had people occasionally taking shifts for her, there was never more than one person manning O-Beer the Counter. And on Friday nights, it was always only her.

"If you don't mind sitting on the floor—" she said.

"I don't mind," he said quickly.

"And I will be working, so I'd appreciate it if you don't require entertaining."

"Remember marriage booth? I was very behaved."

"We were there for conduct violations. Not so well-behaved."

"Minor conduct violations. And I was quiet the whole time."

"Because Ms. Tan did all the talking."

"I haven't progressed to major conduct violations, don't worry. I won't be a bother and I'll buy as much beer as you want me to."

She...couldn't complain about that? "Okay then."