Tequila Sunset

Nina and I knew we were the weirdos at the bar. There were folks with neck tattoos, more piercings than fingers, and waxed mustaches. But we were the weirdos. Less than twenty minutes prior we were at the Brooklyn Children’s Museum, a more natural habitat for mothers and their offspring, a place where parents can gather and chat and drink coffee together and watch their children roam the baby-proofed tot playland and know that they won’t stick their fingers in electrical sockets, or sample bathroom cleaners, or topple the basil in its ceramic pot that is sitting in the windowsill because that’s where plants belong, but it’s also within reach of pudgy little curious hands. Anyway, none of these things has actually happened to Boo Boo but they are all possible in our apartment, but not at the Brooklyn Children’s Museum, where we were the normal ones. But anyway, even normal human beings want to find something to do after the museum closes. It was only five and we were not ready to call it a day.

At the bar we are the weirdos, barging into the double doors with our offspring sleeping in their strollers. But we didn’t really barge. Barging implies a certain effortlessness and command that we lacked. We struggled our way in. The double doors put up a good fight and the strollers did not help, but even they could not hold us back.

The Brooklyn Children’s museum was all light and primary colors and blocks and laughter and crying and metal things being banged against other metal things by vigorous one-year-olds. The bar–I still don’t know its name, but we’ve been there twice now–was dark with muted wooden stools and booths and tables, and an obligatory sport on the television.

Anyway, however way we entered, we knew our place. In the way, way back. The bar wrapped its way in an L shape from one end of the establishment to the other. We navigated the strollers past giant wooden tables in the front and then squeezed the strollers past another length of the bar and bunch of booths until we could go further, unless we had to use the bathrooms, which we were parked right outside of.

The first time we went to the bar the babies were so exhausted by the rigors of the museum that they slept for an hour, both drifting off minutes after we left. Nina and I each had a glass of wine and a whole conversation, and I realized that it was the first time in a while that I had wine and a conversation–just me and a friend. It was food for my soul.

We were hoping for a repeat. If they slept for an hour we’d have time for our wine and conversation, and they would still be on schedule to go to bed at a decent time. We made sure the strollers were tucked away, not blocking the bathroom, and not in the aisle.

I felt giddy going up to the bartender, like I was some underage college student going to a bar for the first time. I feel like this every time we steal away into a restaurant when Boo Boo has fallen asleep. There is this feeling of getting away with it, and getting a glass of wine becomes a thrill.

They had one type of red wine, on tap. I don’t remember what kind, but I know it tasted good. Giddiness tastes good. Nina got a rosé.

“Are you interested in any food tonight?” The bartender asked.

Even if we were, there probably wasn’t time to eat it. We knew the babies wouldn’t sleep that long.

When we declined he asked if we wanted to keep the tab open. No again. We each settled into a stool and the relaxing sensation of not holding or following a one-year-old.

It’s funny, but every time Jer-bear and I, or any of our parent friends have an opportunity to have an adult conversation we always end up talking about our babies. Nina was telling me about her plans to try to put Carla in daycare a couple days a week. She would like to get back to work, but how do you look for a job if you already have one looking after your child? You have to spend money for someone else to look after your child so you can take time to find a job. The game is pretty rigged against becoming a parent, and yet people do it all the time. And then when you do have a job there doesn’t seem to be a balance. With commute time a job means you spend ten or more hours away from your child every day of the work week. That’s insane.

Anyway, this is what we were talking about when we heard a yelp from the strollers. Nina and I raced to our strollers to see who the culprit was. Lucky for me Boo Boo was still sleeping. We each drained only a quarter of the wine from our glasses, and I started working on mine in earnest, knowing I could be next any moment.

Nina got up and pushed the stroller back and forth, shushing Carla. She had to stop and step to the side every time someone wanted to go to the bathroom. I felt bad that I was drinking my wine without her, and passed her her glass so that she could at least drink while she tried to put Carla to sleep.

But Carla seemed to want Nina to get her steps in or something, and Nina decided to take Carla for a stroll around the block to see if she’d fall asleep again. Five minutes after Nina forged a way out of the bar with the stroller a babble emerged from Boo Boo’s stroller. Sometimes he awakes with a cry, and sometimes he wakes up wanting to chit chat. I removed the lightweight scarf that I had draped over his stroller. He pointed at me.

“Eh?”

It was a logical question. Where was he? It was not a question he was unused to asking. It’s magic trick babies have. They fall asleep in one place an wake up in another.

I pushed his stroller back and forth and angled it so he could watch the basketball game that the bartenders had settled on watching. We don’t have a TV really, so anytime he’s in front of a big screen he’s pretty enthralled. I drank my wine, and looked at his little face, and he looked at the game. This is how Nina found us when she came back.

“No luck,” she said, shaking her head.

The babies won, as they often do. We made attempts to delay the inevitable so we could finish our wine in a half-civilized fashion. Nina fished around for her homemade sugar-free biscuits to give to Carla, and Boo Boo seemed content double-fisting his water bottle and mine.

We were in the process of decamping and taking hurried gulps of wine when the bar tender approached us from the other end of the bar.

“Can I offer you some shots?”

We declined. It did not seem like the best time.

“It’s on the house.”

Nina and I looked at each other. We both wanted a shot, but who would be the first to admit it? Had I ever seen a mother take a shot in the presence of her baby? Is that a taboo thing to do? What were the rules on this? And had we ever seen babies at a bar before anyway?

“Oh, I dunno. We just had red wine.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a clear tequila.”

Tequila was never my go-to so I didn’t know what clear tequila really stood for.

“Wow, I don’t know. I haven’t had a shot in like two years.”

“All the more reason to have one!” He said over his shoulder as he hurried back to the other end of the bar.

Nina and I conferred with each other again. Should we? Certainly it wasn’t enough to get us drunk, but would it be socially acceptable? But hadn’t we, by entering a bar with our strollers and our babies in the first place, already thrown social acceptability out the window? And what was so wrong about it anyway? We came wanting a glass of wine and some conversation!

Before we could come to any conclusion, the bartender brought out three shot glasses, each with a wedge of lime, and poured the tequila.

“Wow, okay, I guess this is happening!”

“You earned it,” said the bartender.

I had forgotten the rituals of taking a shot, but paid close attention when he tapped the shot glass on the bar and followed along. It was like muscle memory. We drained the tequila, and it was smooth. So smooth.

“I got you guys the good kind.”

Nina and I thanked him profusely. Like a good bartender, he knew exactly what we wanted and didn’t let us convince ourselves otherwise. It had been a nice day and now it had a cherry on top.

We promised the bartender we’d return, and then turned to ourselves and laughed. Our babies continued gnawing on biscuits or water bottles. Nothing noteworthy had happened in their eyes, and if they had the vocabulary to say so, I’m pretty sure the only thing they’d say is, “Mom, can we go now?”