7.8  ·  Party Reservations

Donna’s House, San Antonio NM
August 8, 2003

John nervously tapped on the door of his double’s former residence, a little suspicious about the reason she’d given for inviting him here. She’d claimed she had boxes of Sam’s old clothes to pass on to him, but he knew the date. It was his birthday.

As Donna let him in, he gave a wry smile at the people who jumped out at him from all sides, yelling ‘surprise!’ A banner that read ‘Happy 50th Birthday’ was raised by Quinn and Colin.

He cocked an eyebrow at Donna.

“You realise it’s Sam’s fiftieth, right?” he whispered to her. “I’m only forty-five.”

“I know,” Donna said, with a shrug. “But when you get back to your Earth, you’ll legally be fifty. You don’t want to miss your chance at a party, do you?”

“If you insist,” said a resigned John, “fine, I’ll play along.”

He glanced around the living room at all the smiling faces who he’d gotten to know over the months, even with the Project long since shut down.

The last six months had been a strange change of pace. Everything had slowed down as they awaited the return of the anomaly. Nothing much to do but kick back and get to know everyone better.

And, as he scanned the crowd, he met eyes with Jack, Donna’s younger brother, who approached him with a smile. He was forty-three, husky build, and had short, messy brown hair. John had gone on a handful of dates with him over the past couple of months.

“Happy birthday!” he said, extending his arms.

“Thanks, Jack,” said John, as Jack gave him a peck on the cheek. John shied away from it, opting to give the man a brief hug instead.

The problem of this pairing, unfortunately, was that it was based on lies. He had been introduced to Jack as Sam’s previously undisclosed twin brother, and now had to uphold that lie as a foundation of his relationship. He knew it couldn’t last, and it made all their conversations feel like traversing a minefield. But could he really break it off at his own birthday party?

He wandered further into the room, and a waving hand caught his attention. He headed over to Al, who was standing by a window, his elbow resting on the sill as he let his cigar smoke billow out into the hot desert.

“Was this Donna’s compromise?” John asked, gesturing broadly towards the window.

“Yeah. If wind starts blowing the smoke back in, I have to switch to the other side of the house,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “How’s everything going with tracking— uh, never mind.”

John tilted his head at the sudden clamming up, as a pair of warm arms wrapped around him from behind.

“What you talking about?” asked Jack.

“Nothing much,” John said, and gave Al an awkward glance. Al simply shrugged back.

“We’ll talk later,” he said, before leaning out the window and sucking on the cigar.

John let himself enjoy Jack’s hug; he figured he could at least do that. He tilted his head back, giving Jack a smile.

He’s such a good guy. Under different circumstances…

“Hey, happy birthday, Uncle… John!”

John turned his head to see Maggie.

“Hey there,” he said, pulling out of Jack’s arms and initiating a hug with his surrogate niece. As their heads came close, he whispered: “Thanks for remembering to call me John in front of him.”

“Of course.”

As they ended the hug, Maggie gestured behind her, where Tom awaited. He hadn’t been around much, so John was pleased to see he’d come to visit. The two shook hands, but after a moment, Tom relented and drew him into a hug.

The party continued as a blur of familiar faces and attempted conversations that continued to be thwarted by Jack’s presence.

After a while, John noticed someone sit at the piano against the wall and begin to play a familiar tune that made his cheeks burn. He trotted to the piano, leaning over at Rembrandt.

“Just who told you to start playing that?” he asked, setting his wine glass on the top of the piano. Rembrandt grinned up at him.

“Al. He said you’d know why.” And then he started singing. “Every night in my dreams…”

John sent Al a look across the room. Al winked, giving an impish smile. John laughed, shaking his head. As the chorus approached, he relented, clearing his throat.

Well, my audience awaits. This one’s for you, Sherri.

“Near, far, wherever you are…”

*          *          *

After cutting the cake, John chewed thoughtfully on his slice, and Jack, alone on the patio, caught his eye. He beckoned, and John joined him on a bench.

“Having a good time?” Jack asked as he took his seat.

“Yeah, it’s been nice seeing everyone together,” he said, then frowned as he thought about the people he wished were here.

“There. Right there.” Jack pointed a finger to John’s face. “It’s that look you always get. You always go quiet.”

“Yeah, I guess I do,” John agreed.

For good reason. I can’t talk about these things with you.

“John,” Jack said, nervously rubbing his hands together, “is this working out? You and me?”

John looked at him in surprise. “Uh…”

Jack grimaced. “I don’t want to bring down your party, but it just doesn’t feel like you’re very into me.”

John smiled sadly. “You’re a great guy, Jack, any guy would be lucky to have you. But you’re right, I don’t think we’re gonna… go the distance.”

Jack’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I’m glad it wasn’t just me feeling that.”

“And I’m glad you said something,” said John. “I was trying to think of a way to bring this up, too.”

“This doesn’t mean we can’t be friends, right?”

“Right.”

For as long as I’m still around.

In John’s pocket, he felt his phone buzz twice in quick succession, followed by a long buzz: a sequence of vibrations he’d programmed into it for a very specific purpose.

Eyes widening, he jumped to his feet, and spun around, meeting the eyes of Colin, who was similarly startled.

Between them, they shared an unspoken moment.

John turned to Jack. “Listen… take care of Donna, will you? I gotta go. Right now.”

*          *          *

“Okay buddy, you had your fun. Now would you take us home already?”

Al leaned across the bar at the bartender that apparently shared his name, staring daggers. In response, the undaunted barkeep threw him another cigar. Al took it begrudgingly, and placed it in his breast pocket, with a glare.

“You know there’s a party at eight,” the bartender said. “You don’t want to wait for that? I’ll be serving complimentary buffalo wings.”

The bartender gazed up at the wall clock over the door, which indicated that it was seven-thirty. Al looked at it with trepidation, not sure if he could trust any kind of timepiece since he’d been stuck here. Through the window, he observed a twilit desert expanse.

“What kinda party?”

“Think someone’s having a fiftieth,” the bartender said. “The big half century.”

“Who?” Will chimed in. “And is that the whole reason you’ve kidnapped us?”

“Kidnapped?” The bartender looked genuinely hurt, as he flipped a rag over his shoulder. “I haven’t even come out from behind this bar. You came to me.”

“Oh for the love—” Al grumbled. “This guy’s useless to talk to, Will. We’re better off just ignoring him.”

The bartender leaned towards him. “Our first guest is about to arrive. Excuse me.”

He moved to his beer taps, and started pouring one.

“Al?”

Al’s head whipped towards the door, where a man was now standing.

Wait, isn’t that Quinn something?

“Hey there, son. Thirsty?” The bartender placed the beer at the bar, where Quinn approached, looking lost.

“I thought the afterlife would look a little less run down,” Quinn said, glancing around, before fixing his gaze on Al. “Don’t tell me you really are a guardian angel.”

Al squinted. “I have no idea what you’re talkin’ about, kid. Where’d you come from just now?”

Quinn sat on a stool, grasping his beer. “I’m about ninety-nine percent certain I just died and appeared here like it was the pearly gates, so that’s how my week’s going.”

He took a sip of the beer. “Is this…? I dunno, it’s certainly not nice enough to be Heaven. Purgatory, maybe? Limbo?”

“It’s just a bar,” said the bartender, giving a shrug. “Though I like to think of it as a refuge for weary travellers.”

“I’m gonna go with Purgatory,” Al cut in. “Definitely Purgatory.”

He turned to Will. “What do you think, pal? Are we dead too?”

“Gentlemen, nobody’s dead.” The bartender turned to Quinn with a wink. “Not yet.”

Al reached a hand into his pocket to pull out the cigar, and felt a strange moment of confusion sweep over him. He looked up, and Quinn was gone, the beer glass empty on the bar. Puzzled, he glanced at the clock. It was eight.

Uh… where did that half hour go?

He slapped a hand on the bar. “What just happened?”

The bartender, now emerging from the kitchen doors with a large plate of chicken wings, looked at him with an innocent expression.

“What do you mean?” he skirted around the bar and headed for a table, where he set down the plate. “Help yourself, by the way.”

“Where’d Quinn go?”

He shot a look to Will, who frowned.

“Did we black out?” he asked.

“Oh, you mean the young man who was in here before?” the bartender asked, rubbing his chin. “He went to see his family, I think. Shame, really. He’s missing out.”

The bartender grabbed one of the wings, and took a bite. Outside, Al heard a few vehicles pulling up.

“Ah, right on time!” said the bartender, scurrying back behind the bar.

The first person to enter Al’s Place was a man Al recognised as Colin. He cautiously poked a head around the door, and held up a spyglass in front of his eye as he gazed around, like a sailor in a crow’s nest looking for land. As his eye line reached the bartender, he froze, and pulled it away from his face, wide-eyed.

The bartender held a finger to his lips, and winked. “You want some buffalo wings?”