I work holidays. That's just how it goes when you're the new guy in town and the boss knows you don't have kids.
Last Thanksgiving, I was up on a roof in Sonoma, swapping out a compressor. The family inside had their turkey in the oven and didn't even know I was there.
I had a disposable camera in my truck, three shots left from a wedding I went to alone. I took one picture of the sky from up there. Gray, quiet, empty.
Around four, I finished and drove to the bar in the next town, the one where I'm not just the HVAC guy.
Every Friday for three years, they've held the stool at the end. Never asked. Never canceled. Tony just nods when I walk in.
This time, when I sat down, there was a laminated card under my glass. 'Reserved for the guy who never calls in sick.'
I didn't know they even had a laminate machine. Tony said I've been there long enough to earn a permanent spot.
I've been gone from home eleven years. Funny what starts to feel like a reservation you don't have to cancel.