“Red,” she says, and I look at the hutch with a blank expression. “The bigger ones. They’re rounder. On the left.” She groans and points a finger.
“These ones?” I pull out one of the bulbous glasses with a delicate stem.
“Remi, you made it,” Henry says, and I whip around.
Shatter.
The glass has fallen from my hand onto the hardwood floor.
Any guesses why?
Everyone Loves Henry
It’s her. Remi. Whiskey Chick.
Different hair but same perfect everything else that I remember.
She plays it cool, no reaction, unlike me dropping a glass like a fumbling idiot. Only briefly do I catch the subtle twitch of recognition that she recovers from immediately.
“Smooth move.” My brother laughs and does a slow clap, making me feel less bad about before.
“Okay well, this is Adam.” Jenn laughs while introducing me to the girl I already know. I’m in socks, captive behind a barrier of glass shards, and can’t move. “Stay put, I’ll go get a broom,” my sister says, and Mom follows her out mumbling something about a dustpan, leaving me, Henry, and Remi alone in the dining room.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” My brother faces Remi and places his hands on her shoulders. He widens his stance to lower himself down, a move he usually had to do with Sasha but isn’t necessary with Remi. “I’ve been thinking about you a lot since our date,” he says rather intimately, as if I’m not there, just two feet away.
Remi gives him a quick closed-lip smirk and glances over at me. This time her face is more readable. The pieces have been put together. She not only recognizes me, but knows I’m the one she kissed last night.
“Where’s the bathroom?” She twists away from Henry’s grip. “Never mind, I’ll just use the one in Jenn’s room.” She bolts out of the room.
“What did I tell ya?” Henry sweeps his arm to where she just was. “How hot is she? That is the girl who is gonna help me forget about, well, you know.” He flashes a huge grin.
“Sasha,” I say, and his grin fades. Fuck. I can’t control myself. I’m an asshole. As soon as the glass at my feet is gone and I’m free to run, I’m gonna run. I need to get the hell out of here.
My mom and sister return. Jenn sweeps and my mom scoops.
“Don’t worry about the glasses, I’ll take care of them,” Mom says with a tinge of annoyance. “It figures the one night where we have twelve guests is the night one of my twelve glasses gets broken.”
“Serve white, Ma.” Jenn rolls her eyes. “There, problem solved.”
“That’s true. We could do that. Henry, run down to the cellar and grab three bottles of Pinot while I get rid of this,” she instructs before she takes off balancing the dustpan filled with glass, Henry right behind her.
“So, what do you think of Remi?” Jenn asks now that we’re alone. “She’s perfect for him, right?”
“I thought you said they weren’t a match.” I don’t understand, why was it said if it wasn’t true?
“Well, the date didn’t go so well according to Remi, but Henry seems so excited about her. And he needs this so bad. I think, if she gives him another chance, it may work out. Will you help me? Ya know, like try and get them together?”
“No,” I say way too fast, and Jenn flinches at my quick bark. “I just mean no, I’m not staying, so I can’t help you. But good luck.” The beat of my heart is so rapid that I’m afraid it might tear right through my chest.
“You’re not staying? What are you talking about? I thought you were here until Monday?”
“Something came up and I have to leave,” I say just as my aunt and uncle enter the room, my cousins trailing behind.
“Adam, I haven’t seen you in forever.” Aunt Lynda kisses my cheek, pushing Jenn out of the way. Uncle Walter extends his hand and I shake it.
“What came up?” Jenn asks. “Are you at least staying for dinner?”
“Of course he’s staying for dinner,” Aunt Lynda exclaims in horror. “You’re not leaving the second we get here, are you?”
“Adam, you have to stay.” Tiffany joins the conversation. “I have someone I want you to meet.” For me to meet? She pulls me over to the side and whispers, “I brought my friend Lori with me for the weekend. I was thinking maybe she and Henry would hit it off, ya know, someone to get his mind off Sasha. I thought you could help me introduce them.” Not for me, more for Henry.
Everyone loves Henry, no one loves Adam. And now everyone expects me to play host of the fucking Dating Game. Wonderful.
“Sure,” I grit out through my teeth.
“Perfect.” Tiffany eyes the table just as Henry walks back in with an armload of wine bottles. “Henry, where are you sitting?” she asks, directing her attention to my brother, getting ready to introduce him to bachelorette #2.
I’m single too. Have been for a while. Guess no one cares about that.
The wine gets placed down on the table but not opened. I duck out of the dining room in search of a corkscrew; we need to pop those mothers open quick if I’m stuck staying for this hookup dinner from hell.
In the kitchen, I steady myself on the island and take a few breaths.
Remi is here. We kissed. She’s being set up with my brother.
I crack my neck and walk over to the freezer to grab a swig from my secret Fireball stash.
It’s not there.
Of course it isn’t.
I grab the corkscrew and take a deep breath before returning to the dining room.
In the two minutes I was gone, the seats at the table were filled and I’m pointed to my newly assigned chair. I’m next to who I’ll assume is Lori, who is seated across from Henry, who is seated next to Remi, who is directly across from me, and then diagonal, at the end of the table, is Jenn. It’s a five-pointed fix-up pentagram from hell.
Remi is wearing a pink hoodie, her silky swirl of light brown hair pulled to the side. She doesn’t look over at me or won’t look over at me, I’m not sure. Her eyes stay fixed on her plate, only taking quick glimpses toward Henry or Jenn when one of them says something.
“Hi, I’m Lori,” the petite brunette to my left introduces herself.
“Hi, I’m—”
“Lori, this is Henry.” My cousin seated at the opposite end of the table interrupts and points toward my brother.
“Hi, Henry, it’s very nice to meet you.” She turns away from me, directing her attention toward my brother. Her voice is much more honey-filled for his introduction.
I fill my wineglass and sneak a glance at Remi. She’s just as gorgeous, if not more so, than when I first met her. She must feel my eyes on her because she looks over and we briefly lock eyes. I wonder if there’s a way I could talk to her later. But what would I say?
“So, Henry, Lori loves to golf,” Tiffany yells down the table. I’m not sure why she didn’t seat herself down here in the singles section. “Maybe you could take her to the course tomorrow?”
Jenn squints, looking from Tiffany to Lori, suddenly aware that she’s got some pimping competition. Oh God, here we go. These two love to compete.
“Remi loves to golf too,” Jenn declares, and Remi’s brows furrow over her pretty blue eyes. “If you’re going golfing, you should take her.”
Remi hates golf. On the good part of our date, I remember her telling me about the summer she worked at a putt-putt place handing out neon golf balls all day. She said she’d rather poke an eye out than ever touch another golf ball again. I understood her pain. My entire family enjoys golf, all except for me. I find it mind-numbing.
“How about I take you both?” Henry puts an arm around Remi’s chair while throwing a cheesy grin over toward Lori.
“Um….” Remi struggles.
“I believe there’s rain in the forecast for tomorrow,” I say, putting the kibosh on my brother’s little golf menage and rescuing Remi from coming up with an excuse. She lifts her head to look at me.
�
�There is such a thing as an umbrella.” Tiffany doesn’t give up. “I have one you can use, Lori.”
“Oh, well, I have a raincoat you can borrow, Remi,” Jenn says, topping the umbrella offer. “It’s perfect for golfing. It has a matching hat. And everything.”
“Lori doesn’t need a raincoat or a hat. She doesn’t mind a little rain.” Tiffany’s contribution from the other end of the table causes all conversation to die down, everyone aware of this now awkward golf war. “Do you, Lori?”
“No, I don’t mind,” Lori says a bit uncomfortably. I feel for her, this is getting weird.
“Good, then tomorrow you and Henry can go hit the greens.” Tiffany smiles triumphantly and my sister frowns. Her mouth swishes to one side, and you can almost hear the wheels spinning.
“Well, that might be awkward for Lori, because Henry and Remi are together,” Jenn says to win.
But she doesn’t, because the entire table goes quiet.
So fucking silent.
My parents look surprised, the others confused. Lori sinks lower in her seat with Tiffany trying to send her a silent apology across the table. Remi stares at her plate, and even Henry, who normally loves attention, looks a bit uncomfortable, pouring himself a big glass of wine. The liquid glugging into his glass is the only sound.
“Adam,” my mother breaks the awkward silence, “will you help me carry in the last few things from the kitchen?”
An excuse to get away from this table.
“Absolutely.”
Jonesing to Tell the Story
Jenn has two brothers. And I know them both.
Adam is the other brother. The one I kissed.
Adam.
The perfect guy from the unperfect date. The guy I never thought I’d see again. I can’t breathe. I’m trying to, but there’s no air in the room. I’m mortified. All those Manhattans. Trying to come across as classy and looking anything but. My eyes sting with tears at the memory.
Do they know?
The silence at the table is deafening. Everyone is looking at me, Henry’s new girlfriend. Everyone except Lori, who seems to be dying her own slow death across from me, and Jenn, who doesn’t quite know what to do next after her ridiculous outburst.
I’m finally able to pull in air; I just can’t get it out. How do I get it out? I think I’m hyperventilating. Blow, whistle, say something. I need to exhale all this trapped air before I pass out.
“Jenn,” I puff out the word and breathe deep, sucking oxygen back into my body. “Wasn’t there some funny story you wanted to tell me?”
“Story?” she asks.
“Meghan Jones or something?” I breathe in, I breathe out. I’m getting there.
“Oh my God, yes!” she exclaims. The stressful look on her face switches to one of excitement, cutting the tension. A few others smile and murmurs begin; it seems this story is already known at the table. A small wave of relief washes over me.
“Ooh, I love this story.” Katie claps.
“It started off normal,” Jenn begins.
“Aren’t you going to wait for Adam to tell it?” her aunt interrupts. “It is his story.”
Jenn looks to the doorway for any sign of her brother, but thankfully he’s still off in the kitchen helping his mom.
“No, go ahead, tell it, Jenn.” Tiffany encourages, probably wanting to move on from the Henry fiasco and lighten the mood for her friend. “You can start it, and Adam can finish when he comes back to the table.”
Henry groans. “The famous Whiskey Chick story. I must warn you, this story is a bit ridiculous,” he says, looking over at me before shifting his gaze to Lori. “You’ll have to let me know what you think afterwards, if this girl is real or just a myth my brother made up?”
Whiskey Chick story? I thought it was the Meghan Jones story?
“Okay. Here we go.” Jenn splays her hands, commanding the attention of everyone at the table. “About two years ago, my brother Adam went on a blind date.”
NO!
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
NO!
The breaths are gone again. It’s as if there’s a vacuum attached to my lungs being controlled by the people at this table. My eyes are ready to pop out of my head, and last night’s whiskey churns like acid in the pit of my gut. This can’t be happening.
“The girl showed up, she was really pretty, all dressed up, nice dress, high heels,” Jenn says.
“Don’t forget the pink hair.” Henry chuckles, even though I’m not sure why that’s funny, but I say a quick prayer of thanks that my hair currently has no traces of pink in it.
“Oh yeah, she had beautiful platinum hair with pink streaks. I’ve made my brother describe it like a hundred times, you know me with hair.” She smiles over at me, and I throw up a little bit in my mouth. “So anyway, they go to this fancy place, James Miu. Have you ever been there?” she asks, and I nod my head yes. My brain is too muddled to lie. “So then you know how nice it is there.”
I do.
I had been very impressed when I had been asked to meet Adam at such a high-end restaurant. We had never met or even exchanged a picture, but when I walked in, I knew it was him right away. Buzzed brown hair, dark brown eyes, and a broad smile. There was something about him that instantly rattled my nerves. When he suggested we sit at the bar, I was relieved. A drink would help to calm me. I had never had a Manhattan before, but I had searched online for classy drinks to order on a first date. We were meeting at James Miu; I didn’t want to look like an idiot.
“Well, their table isn’t ready and they go to the bar to wait,” Jenn continues. “He orders a beer and she orders a Manhattan. Very fancy.” She giggles. “The conversation is going good and before he’s even had like three sips of beer, she orders another one. And then another, and has the audacity to tell the bartender at James Miu not to ‘chintz’ out on the whiskey this time.”
I did? Oh God, I don’t even remember that.
Everyone laughs.
This is such a fucking nightmare. I need it to stop; I want to rip my ears off, so I don’t have to hear any more of this horrible story being told by a third party.
Does Jenn know it’s me? Breathe. I try and calm myself down. Jenn is my friend. I’m sure she wouldn’t tell this if she knew it was me.
Ironically, I look over at the bottle of wine and contemplate pouring myself some. But clearly that would be a bad choice. Or would it? Thanksgiving is only a few months away; I’m sure they’d appreciate a new story to tell.
I clench my fingers under the table and pass on the wine.
“So, the table’s ready, but by now she’s like wobbly and can barely walk. They sit down, my brother orders her water, but of course she orders…” Jenn opens the floor for guesses, smug and glib while she waits for the obvious to be stated. I have to remind myself once again that she is my friend and does not know she is talking about me. Does she?
“Another Manhattan,” Lori guesses correctly.
“Yes, and a shot of whiskey.” Jenn nearly bursts delivering that juicy nugget.
“Nooooooo.” Lori’s mouth is agape. “What is that, like four Manhattans and now she’s doing shots?”
I don’t remember ordering a shot, but my memory is a bit fuzzy from certain parts of that night, and hearing that I ordered a shot at the table is mortifying. The tears burning my eyes are getting harder and harder to contain. I may not remember everything, but I do know how this story ends and I can’t bear to hear it. I need to get out of here.
“Manhattans are strong, aren’t they?” Tiffany chimes in. “What’s in those?”
“Whiskey and vodka?” Jenn shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“I think it’s whiskey, soda, and something orange,” Katie says.
“There’s no soda in a Manhattan.” Henry sniffs. “I believe it’s whiskey, gin, and vermouth.”
Adam reenters the dining room, places two bowls on the table, and takes his seat across from me.
“What are you talking
about?” he asks, tucking in his chair.
“We’re discussing what’s in a Manhattan,” Lori says, and his face turns white. “No one seems to know.”
Frightened eyes slowly make their way over to me. His mouth opens, but nothing comes out.
“Rye whiskey, sweet vermouth, a dash of bitters, served on ice with a bright red maraschino cherry to garnish.” I deliver the correct ingredients with a shaky voice.
“Look at you, fancy girl,” Jenn teases.
“It looks like I have a whiskey chick of my own.” Henry chuckles and puts his arm around the back of my chair, making me flinch.
“Adam, now that you’re back you can tell the rest of the story. I told most of it, but I left out some of the best parts. The lobster, the souffle, the you-know-what.” Jenn giggles.
I know what. The puke. I don’t remember the shot or the lobster, and seriously, a souffle? How on earth did we make it to dessert? But I do remember the car and the walk up to my parents’ front door. He was a gentleman, never abandoning me, no matter how ridiculously drunk I got.
I felt my stomach start to gurgle and I clutched, leaning forward. It almost seemed as if he stepped in closer at that exact moment and then... bleh. I barfed on him. His reaction shocked me. He didn’t run or yell; he pulled my hair back as I dropped to my knees and unloaded the rest into my parents’ rose bushes. Then as if that wasn’t enough, he grabbed the hose and made sure to rinse away all traces of my poor decision-making from the porch and budding pink blooms.
The next day the hangover wasn’t the only thing making me feel bad. I’d felt miserable for months over fucking up so horribly with such a great guy.
But it seems I was wrong because this “great guy” has made me a running joke to his family and friends for the last two years.
“No.” Adam chokes on the word. “I’m sorry, that’s a stupid story. One that should never have been shared. She just had a bad night.”
Whiskey Chick Page 4
