One Little Dare

by Whitney Barbetti

  I couldn’t believe the three of them agreed on this crazy plan. On the scale of crazy dares I’d done, streaking ranked up pretty fucking high. But marriage? That wasn’t a dare. That was a legal obligation.

  “I can’t just marry someone. Don’t you need paperwork for that shit? I didn’t come with anything like that. Besides, I don’t want to blow money on an annulment afterwards.”

  “What happened to, ‘I never turn down a dare’? Now you’re saying no?” Katy asked, triumph gleaming in her eyes.

  “This isn’t a dare,” I said flatly, standing up. “And just because you’re too fucking lame to take a dare doesn’t mean I have to take them all—especially the insane ones.” I left the room, slamming the door behind me in the bathroom for a moment’s peace.

  Our trip to Vegas had been hijacked by all of Katy’s terrible and, frankly, boring ideas. I was fully Vegased out. I just wanted to crawl into my big fucking bed and stretch my legs out before falling into a blissful sleep that kept me asleep until checkout the next morning. I was dreading the drive home—not because of the distance but because of what awaited me when I got back to Idaho, to my parents’. I’d successfully dodged all my dad’s calls since I’d left, but soon I’d have to face him. And my mom. And witness her heartbreak again. And figure out how to navigate those waters.

  I was shaking. What a rollercoaster the last fifteen minutes had been. I’d been on the verge of a very luxurious nap, and now I was raging with unspent anger at Katy’s suggestion. What the fuck. Get married to someone? That was more than wild—that was crazy.

  Needing a distraction, I pulled out my phone for the first time since that morning. There were texts from my friends back in Idaho, but a text from my brother stood out. Tapping on it, I felt my blood go cold again.

  James: When do you come home?

  My brother never texted me. And he never asked me questions like when I was coming home. If anything, he often pretended he didn’t even have my phone number—the same number we’d had since we were teenagers. I took a deep breath and began typing back.

  Not sure. Why?

  I was going to be sick, and I couldn’t blame it on the mojitos or Katy. I lifted the toilet seat lid and sat on the cold marble floor beside it.

  James: Mom and Dad are arguing. Dad slept on the couch last night. I’ve been outside working on this fucking deck all afternoon while they’ve been inside fighting.

  Well, that confirmed my worst fear. In my twenty-four years, not once could I remember my dad sleeping on the couch. And while they argued growing up, it was never enough that I’d worried the way James was worrying. The only exception being a few years ago, when I’d caught my dad and had to tell my mom.

  Had Dad confessed this time? Or had she figured it out on her own? I didn’t know which was better, honestly.

  One thing was for fucking sure: I was not in a hurry to get back home, to be in the middle of that shit show.

  I’ll be here for a while

  It was the cowardly way out. I could admit it. As someone with more bravery than sense sometimes, I could see my own cowardice and call myself on it.

  Instead of texting me back, James called me. I nearly sent it to voicemail but knew he wouldn’t stop calling until I answered.

  “Seriously, Tori?” He practically spit it into the phone.

  “Hello to you too,” I said, tracing the box weave pattern on the plush shower curtain.

  “It’s not a fucking joke, Tori. They’re fighting. Like, actually yelling in there.”

  I closed my eyes, remembering the world war that had erupted the first time my dad had been caught cheating. “Well, I’ll be here a bit longer,” I said, fishing for an excuse to not return home.

  “Why? What’s more important than coming home?”

  I didn’t have an answer for that, but he didn’t wait long enough for me to give him one anyway.

  “So, you’re gonna leave me here to play referee while you get drunk day in and day out? Big fucking surprise.”

  “Got me,” I said, though that wasn’t my plan at all.

  “You’re so fucking selfish, I swear. Leaving me to be the responsible one. Yet again. Thanks a fucking lot, Tori, you selfish bitch.”

  I let him yell at me. I didn’t envy his position, and I knew it was a shitty thing to leave him to be the one to intervene if need be. But I’d been there before, done that. And I’d found myself in it again and the last place I wanted to be was home, with my parents. It was bad enough to hear the door slamming in the background of James’s end of the phone. But James didn’t know I’d already done this before, on my own. I wasn’t dying to get home and do it again, even with his help this time.

  “You don’t have to stay there,” I said gently, more gently than I might’ve spoken to anyone else who spoke to me the way he was. “Go back home. The deck can wait.”

  “That’s fucking rich. You want me to run away from our problems? That’s what you’re good at. Well, newsflash, Tori. The rest of us have to face our shit. Grow up.”

  The line went dead and I dropped the phone to the floor, not caring if the screen cracked. In fact, I wanted it to crack, to shatter into a thousand pieces. Without a working phone, I’d be off the grid, unreachable. Maybe then I could forget that James had ever texted me. And forget that my parents’ marriage was imploding because my dad treated his commitment to my mom like it was disposable.

  I picked the phone back up, saddened that it wasn’t even the least bit marred.

  A soft knock came from the other side of the door. “Tori?” Bekka asked in a whisper.

  Scooting across the floor, I tossed my phone aside and opened the door. Bekka crawled on her hands and knees to the toilet. “I’m going to be sick,” she said through a groan.

  Seconds later, the contents of her stomach spilled into the toilet. A revolting mix of cinnamon whiskey and jalapeno poppers scented the air and I pushed past my own bile to pull her hair away from her face. This was my out. Bekka was sick. We’d spend the last night of her bachelorette nursing ourselves and relaxing.

  “You’re tapped out like I am, aren’t you?” I asked. I wet a washcloth and dragged it over the back of her neck and then her forehead as she hung over the toilet.

  “No,” she mumbled and spit into the bowl. “I can rally. It’s my last night.”

  I glanced sideways out the bathroom door, aware that Katy might overhear. “You don’t have to be peer-pressured into going out, Bekka. This is your weekend.”

  “Ugh,” she said, rotating so that her head rested on the side of the seat. “I know. But it’s my last time out with you girls.”

  “What? Marriage doesn’t mean your social life dies.”

  “Doesn’t it though?” Bekka asked miserably. “That’s what Katy tells me.” She hiccupped. “That’s why we’re in Vegas.”

  “Katy doesn’t know anything,” I said and worked to control the heat in my voice. “Marriage is not a death sentence.”

  “Then why am I the only one getting married out of all of my friends?” Bekka groaned and moved to sprawl beside the toilet. “It’s because they know getting married means saying goodbye to fun.”

  Jesus, Katy was a real piece of work. “That’s not true. You’ll still have a social life,” I said, handing her a second wet washcloth to wash her mouth with. “We’ll still see each other.”

  “Lauren keeps talking about moving out of state. And you’re more south now since you live with your parents again. I guess I just wanted my last weekend as a ‘free woman,’” she said, weakly holding up two fingers in air quotes, “to be pretty epic.” She wiped her face. “I know that I’m a lot more boring than most of your friends,” she said, now looking down at her dirty washcloth instead of at me. “I just wanted this to be a fun weekend. Katy always says I’m so boring. But…”

  She didn’t need to finish that sentence. Katy had sabotaged the whole weekend, had plied Bekka with more drinks than she was able to comfortably consume. Fuck
Katy.

  I cringed. I knew I was mostly invited on this trip because I was considered the fun and crazy one. The one they could tell stories about when they got home. And while I normally embraced my role as the wild one of the group, my head was too stuck in what was going back home and Katy’s annoying as fuck presence to think about fun. But looking at Bekka’s sopping wet face and her sad eyes made me reconsider my plans to stay in this final night.

  “Okay,” I finally agreed. “But you need to hydrate. No whiskey and no jalapeno poppers.”

  Bekka managed a smile. She wanted a fun story to tell about her bachelorette party, and I resigned myself to providing one last wild night. For Bekka.

  “Dinner still on?” Katy asked, coming to the bathroom door but not entering. She seemed completely unconcerned with Bekka’s pale complexion and more concerned with her reservations.

  “This one needs food,” I said, rubbing a hand over Bekka’s back. “And water. No more alcohol.” I said that more for Katy’s benefit than Bekka’s, but Bekka nodded meekly regardless.

  “One more bar, Tor-Tor?” Lauren called from the living room of our suite.

  “Fine,” I agreed, eyeing Katy with the little patience for her I possessed. “But no getting the bride-to-be trashed. She doesn’t need to be hospitalized for alcohol poisoning.”

  Katy rolled her eyes and turned away. “Okay, Mom,” she said sarcastically.

  I eyed my phone across the bathroom and wondered if it’d be rude to throw it at Katy’s departing back.

  After a relatively chill dinner—despite Katy’s attempts to get Bekka to try all the drinks she ordered for herself—we landed back at the hotel bar for one final drink.

  “Time for Tori’s favorite game,” Katy said.

  I groaned. “I have a long drive in the morning,” I protested, though that wasn’t necessarily true. I had no plans to return home right away.

  “One last dare,” Bekka said, fully and finally sober. She put her arm around me and leaned her head on my shoulder.

  “One more,” Lauren said, causing the three of them to chant those two words embarrassingly loud.

  “Fine,” I said. But when I caught the diabolic gleam in Katy’s eye—which was right fucking next to my face like an intrusive goldfish—I instantly regretted it.

  “Get married.”

  “Marry who? One of you?” I laughed but didn’t find it all that funny. I was tired. It’d been a long few days, and I was at the point of counting down the hours before it was time for us to go our separate ways. Twelve hours to go, judging by the clock over the bar. “Come on, we already discussed this. I can’t just marry someone. That requires paperwork and shit I don’t have—not to mention a messy annulment. And let’s not forget that I’d need to find someone just as fucking insane.”

  “This is Vegas,” Katy reminded me. “You can always have a ceremony without getting the marriage license. Just a simple ceremony, where we take photos, but nothing is legal. No annulment. No mess.”

  It still sounded implausible. Who the hell would agree to fake marry me? I shook my head, hating the sad look that came into Bekka’s eyes. I knew I was a big flirt, but I didn’t think even I could accomplish such a feat in one night.

  “Come on, Tori. It’s not like it’s that hard,” Katy said, draining her glass a moment later.

  “If it’s so easy, you do it.” I raised an eyebrow and nursed my sparkling water. My stomach was still in turmoil from the day’s activities and I wanted to remain sober just in case Katy did something fucking stupid to ruin Bekka’s last night.

  “Oooh, how about a bet?” Lauren asked, but we all ignored her as Katy and I faced each other.

  Her eyes narrowed, studying me. Katy wasn’t ugly. In fact, she resembled Bekka quite a bit, both of them with wispy strawberry blonde hair that curled naturally, and big blue eyes trimmed with thick, inky lashes. But her personality was so grating that looking at her this long hurt my eyes.

  “No bet,” I said after a minute. “Look, how about I make out with a stranger? You guys can take photos of it. Okay?”

  Bekka agreed, seeming to prefer this versus nothing. Katy, on the other hand, looked like she’d eaten something sour.

  A small part of me liked the idea of a challenge, of having a fake wedding. To say I did it, more than anything. It sounded fun. But I was ruling it out anyway for implausibility. There was no way in hell—or Las Vegas, which, at least while in Katy’s company, was close enough to that particular fiery afterlife—I’d find someone who’d agree to get fake married to me.

  Right?

  6

  “Are you leaving already?” Vince asked when Chad waved for the check.

  Chad looked guiltily at the three of us. “Naomi is flying in tomorrow morning, early.”

  “She is?” Vince asked.

  “She’s family,” Chad reminded him. “You can’t be surprised.”

  “Nicole is coming tomorrow afternoon,” Seth said when he and Chad exchanged glances.

  Vince let out a low whistle. “Jesus. Okay, fine. Do your thing.”

  “Come on, man,” Seth said, finishing his beer. “Naomi grew up with us. And Nicole—”

  “No offense, but Nicole barely knew Will,” Vince said, interrupting.

  “No, but she knows it’s important to us,” Seth said, exchanging another look with Chad. It was strange to feel mild jealousy at this. Seth and Chad would have their significant others to lean on during all this shit to come. Suddenly, it seemed like having someone was better than having no one.

  Vince gestured for another drink and turned to me. “Looks like Liam and I will be the only ones riding solo for this shit.”

  “Are you seeing someone?” Seth asked, continuing the conversation from the night before, a question I hadn’t been able to answer thanks to Vince’s pestering.

  I wasn’t, but suddenly I wished I was. It seemed like it’d be a hell of a lot easier to do all this shit with someone to lean on. Sure, I could lean on these guys but since their significant others were coming into town, I realized just how lonely things would be. And I had absolutely no desire to spend any significant time with Vince. This trip made me realize just how little in common we had, and just how far we’d grown apart. The trouble was, I felt indifferent about it. I wondered how Will would feel about the rift between Vince and me.

  “We all have an early day tomorrow,” Chad reminded us as he pulled twenties from his wallet, giving me a reason not to answer Seth’s question again. “Going to Will’s folks’ tomorrow,” he said, as if we’d forgotten. It had hung heavy over us the last two days as we’d done things in Will’s honor—like going to his favorite course to play eighteen holes. Later this week, we had a fishing date, and the day after we planned to ride UTVs in the desert.

  Coming out early to get these things done before the celebration of life had been Seth’s request—something I’d initially shrugged off. It seemed really shitty to do things we normally did with Will during the week of his funeral. But when Seth had said that Will’s mom was the one to suggest it—to honor her son—how could we say no? I’d said no to Will far too many times as it was. I wouldn’t continue that now, with his mom.

  We had a full week left in Las Vegas. Between dinner with his parents the next day, the funeral service in a few days and then the celebration of life, the next seven days would hopefully keep me busy enough that I didn’t dwell on being alone.

  After Chad said his goodbyes, Seth pulled me aside when Vince moved a few seats down the bar to talk to a group of women. “Are you good?” he asked me, an eyebrow raised and his head tilted toward Vince.

  I knew what he was asking. During this trip, Seth had essentially become Vince’s babysitter. It was increasingly obvious that Vince wasn’t handling Will’s passing well—not that any of us were. But Seth had been the one to make sure Vince made it back to his hotel room at night so that he didn’t end up arrested or drunk out of his mind.

  Those three words fro
m Seth asked more than they seemed.

  I nodded. It wasn’t fair for Seth to be the responsible one the entire trip, especially once Nicole arrived.

  “Room 1643,” he said, pressing a key card into my hand. “Down the hall from me.”

  I nodded again. I didn’t love the idea of making sure Vince made it back to his room at the end of the night, especially considering the growing animosity he felt toward me, but this was what we did for each other. It made me wonder who had been on Vince duty all the times I’d been absent.

  Seth gave my shoulder a squeeze and then wrapped his arm around Vince’s shoulders as he chatted with the ladies Vince had chosen to spend his time with instead of me. Not like I could blame him. I wasn’t exactly the best company.

  After Seth left, Vince chatted up the women for a solid hour. I was growing tired, having barely slept since I’d made it to Vegas, but I knew if I interrupted his chats with these ladies, he wouldn’t be a happy camper. So, I nursed my beer. One, two, and then three before Vince finally made his way back down to me. By this point, he was fully slurring his words and his eyes looked half sleepy. He stumbled a bit before collapsing into the stool beside me. “Got another number,” he said, once again waving those ten digits like they were a flag. “You could too if you’d stop looking so goddamn mopey.”

  I didn’t say anything to that because nothing I’d say would yield a productive conversation. “You about ready to head up to the room?” I asked.

  Vince shook his head and pounded his beer. “The night is still young.”

  “We’ve got an early day tomorrow,” I reminded him.

  “You know, those girls would’ve totally banged you.”