Home > Absinthe(3)

Absinthe(3)
Author: Winter Renshaw

“I should call him.” The moment Aunt Tabitha rises, the door to the garage opens and the security system beeps twice. She smiles, placing her hand over her heart, and then takes her seat. “There he is.”

Uncle Vic places his briefcase on the kitchen counter before emptying his pockets, and then sits in his usual chair at the head of the table. Without saying a word, he folds his hands and bows his head, saying grace. The three Abbotts make the sign of the cross and Vic dishes his food first.

Watching the three of them is like watching one of those old black and white TV shows from the fifties. From the outside, they’re sickeningly perfect. My aunt wears dresses, even on the days she stays home, and Bree is a cheerleader, straight A student, and class president.

The tinkle of flatware on china fills the silence, and after a few moments my uncle clears his throat and glances in my direction.

“Halston, how’s summer treating you so far?” he asks.

I shrug. “All right, I guess.”

“I was thinking,” he says. “I’d like to teach you how to drive.”

He has my full attention.

My parents were always too strung out to teach me how to drive, and most of my foster parents didn’t trust me behind the wheel of their cars because they didn’t know me well enough.

“That would be amazing, Uncle Vic,” I say. “Just say when.”

He dabs the corners of his mouth with a napkin, his forehead lined in wrinkles like he’s deep in thought. “This weekend. I’ll take you out this weekend. We can practice in Bree’s car.”

Bree shoots me a dirty look.

“Perfect,” I say.

“In the meantime, I’d like you to start looking for a part-time job,” he says, chewing his meat. “At the end of the summer, I’ll match what you’ve saved dollar for dollar, and then we’ll go out and look at cars.”

For once I have something to look forward to. No more rolling into school riding shotgun in Bree’s Prius. No more waiting outside her locker after school for a ride home, looking like some stranded loser.

For the first time in my life, I’ll have freedom.

Freedom to go where I want, when I want, for whatever reason I want.

Freedom to do anything, see anyone.

Freedom.

About fucking time.

I finish my dinner and ask to be excused, taking my plate to the dishwasher before going upstairs. When I crack open my laptop—a gift from Victor which is supposed to be strictly for homework—I pull up a job search website and see what I can find.

A little red flashing ad on the side bar advertises some dating app called Karma. I try to click on the x in the corner to make it go away, but I miss, and another webpage opens up.

The headline reads, “Tired of swiping? Tired of being ghosted and cat-fished? Try Karma for FREE today!”

Intrigued, I click on “learn more.”

Karma is an innovative dating app that forces users to earn “karma points” before certain information is revealed. For example, ten karma points allows you to see each other’s photo. Twenty karma points allows you to exchange email addresses. Thirty karma points allows you to exchange phone numbers.

How do you earn karma points? By chatting anonymously via our app! Each user is allowed to chat with only one other user at a time, ensuring the person you’re talking to is genuinely interested in forming a deep and meaningful relationship with you—should that be what they’re seeking! Our users can select a myriad of options displaying their intentions. Some are seeking a long-term commitment while others are seeking a fun and flirtatious, no-strings-attached experience!

We welcome you to try Karma today! We’re a free app—no catch! Download the desktop version to get started, and be sure to add the mobile app to take Karma with you wherever you go!

Biting my bottom lip, I lift an eyebrow. Staring down the barrel of a long, hot summer, I could use a little something to fill my time besides binge watching Full House on Netflix with Emily Miller.

Pressing the download button, the icon is installed on my desktop in a matter of seconds, and I double click to begin.

A small gray box flashes across my screen, asking me to agree to their terms and conditions and check a box saying I’m eighteen.

Done.

Next, the app asks me for a pseudonym.

That’s easy.

Green Fairy—a childhood nickname I earned because of the intense color of my eyes.

Wait, no. That’s dumb. They’re going to think I’m into fairies and elves and dragons and shit, and fantasies have never been my thing. I’m a realist.

Deleting Green Fairy, I type in Absinthe.

Much better, and it still fits.

Next, it asks for a small bio. But I’m not going to be able to spill my life story in a thousand characters or less, nor would I want to. Sitting back on my bed, I stare at the ceiling. Despite what one might assume about me and the fact that my education history is a hot mess, I’ve never met a book I couldn’t devour. I’m guessing my love affair with books stems from all those years our heat got shut off mid-winter and I’d find myself staying at the library until close just to stay warm. On days when it was exceptionally cold, the librarian would let me stay a little past close while she finished up her work for the day.

Pulling a notebook from beneath my mattress of quotes and things I’ve loved and saved throughout the years, I flip to a page in the middle and drag my fingertip along the faded ink words, stopping on a quote from The Great Gatsby. “You see I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me.”

I think about using that one before determining it’s too depressing.

Flipping to the next page, my eyes land on another one from my beloved F. Scott Fitzgerald, taken from This Side of Paradise: “They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered.”

Boom. Perfect. It’s short and sweet and the sexiness is implied, not cheap.

Next, the app asks for my sex and then my age.

With lips pressed to the side, I debate this one. If I say I’m eighteen, I’m going to attract the perverts and weirdos with teenage girl fetishes. Not to mention, I may be eighteen in calendar years, but my life experience has given me a perspective of someone who’s lived beyond that.

Typing in 100, I decide to come back to that later, and I click on the “next” button.

Karma asks me what kind of relationship I’m looking for, listing a handful of options and telling me to choose only one.

Marriage? Nope.

Long-term commitment? Nope.

Casual dating? Hm, maybe.

Open relationship? Nah.

Friendship? No.

No-strings attached fun? Yeah, okay.

I check the last box before moving on. Karma is now requesting a photo of me, reminding me that the person I’m chatting with won’t see it until they reach a certain number of karma points, and at that time, I’d be able to see their photo too.

Sliding off my bed, I slick a coat of red lipstick over my mouth and fluff my blonde waves before returning to my laptop and snapping a smirking selfie with the camera. A second later, it’s uploaded.

When Karma tells me I’m all finished and I can start looking for potential matches by typing in my zip code, I check the clock.

I need to look for a job, not a man.

Mama needs some wheels.

Closing out of the app, I’m prompted with a reminder to download it on my phone, but I return to my search. I’ll worry about that later.

With no job history or work experience, I’m not sure how this is going to go, but I’m not above washing dishes or cleaning grease traps.

Settling on a part-time waitress position offering “on the job training,” I click apply and fill out the form.

Thank you for your interest! Someone from The Farmhouse Café will contact you shortly!

I find a few more server jobs and submit my information, refusing to hold my breath. And when I’m done, I grab my phone, install Karma, and start shopping for a little summer fun.

Chapter 2

Ford

“I should get inside.” I point toward the movers the second I’m able to get a word in with this woman.

My new neighbor, Melissa, frowns, but I don’t feel bad. She’s been talking my ear off for the past half hour, inviting me to singles night at her church and telling me all about her kid. She hasn’t asked a single question about me, nor has she stopped to take a breath.

   
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