The Last Tab

Marcus sat at the corner of the bar, nursing his drink like it was the last honest thing in the world. The neon sign above him cast everything in a sickly orange glow that made the patrons look like they were underwater, or maybe just drowning in their own lives.

"You look like someone's dying," Sarah said, sliding onto the stool beside him. She smelled like vanilla and cigarettes and the kind of confidence that only comes from surviving disasters.

"Nobody's dying," Marcus said. "That's the problem."

They'd worked together for seven years at the firm, through mergers and layoffs and that terrible year management installed a standing desk for everyone because they read about it in some magazine. Now Sarah was leaving— resignation letter on the boss's desk, boxes packed, next stop: something, anything else.

"You should come with me," she said. "We could start that agency. The one we talked about when we were drunk at the Christmas parties."

Marcus laughed, a dry, rusty sound. "I can't just..." He gestured vaguely at nothing, at everything. "I have a mortgage. A dog. A life that makes sense on paper."

"Bull," she said, not unkindly. "You have a golden retriever who loves you unconditionally and a job that makes you want to drive into a lake. Those are different things."

The bartender set down another drink. Marcus stared at the ice cubes melting, amber liquid turning watery and weak, just like he felt.

"Remember what you told me after the divorce?" Sarah asked, her voice softer now. "You said you wished you'd left years ago. That you'd stayed because you were afraid of being the person who walks away."

Marcus remembered. He'd sat on her couch at 3 AM, drunk and crying, while her dog—a terrier mix named Steve—licked the tears from his face. He'd told her everything. He'd never felt more exposed, or more seen.

"I'm not that person," he said now.

"No," she agreed. "You're the person sitting here while someone offers him a lifeline."

The orange glow deepened as sunset faded to dusk. Outside, the city hummed with people going somewhere, becoming someone. Marcus thought about his dog waiting at home, about the email from HR about restructuring, about the way Sarah looked at him like she still believed he had teeth.

"Fuck it," he said.

Sarah smiled. "That's the spirit."

They walked out into the cooling evening, leaving the tab unpaid and the life that made sense on paper behind them.