Sadie’s twenty-first birthday just so happened to coincide with the bachelorette party she decided to throw herself. As a bridesmaid and lifelong friend, according to the boasts of the wedding website I refused to look at yet somehow was constantly up on my screen, I was expected to be there but never once asked to help plan it.
Most girls probably would’ve found it odd or have been offended by this omission, but not me. I was taking it as a little gift from someone up above. I knew I wasn’t a good enough liar to pretend to not only think the wedding was a good idea but to be excited about it. Either Sadie realized I wasn’t one hundred percent in on the wedding or she didn’t trust me to do things to her high standard. I could see both those things being true and I couldn’t be upset with her about it.
I found myself attached to numerous group texts about the event. I’d send my obligatory I can’t wait sentiments while thanking the cellphone-gods every day for text messages giving humans the ability to easily lie. But all the hoopla was making it harder and harder to ignore that not only was this insane wedding happening, but soon.
One major downside to not frequently seeing Sadie amidst all the planning was not seeing Brooks. The one day she and I spent together was at the Ross Park Mall forty minutes away, trying on bridesmaid dresses. Because I hated almost everything I tried on, I bought the dress Sadie said to. I was feeling so deflated after the whole ordeal I wouldn’t have been up to seeing Brooks even if Sadie did invite me over afterwards.
It was odd and pitiful, because I barely knew him, but he was the most stable person in my life. The fact that he never even asked for my phone number bothered me. So much so that I let it cloud over all the other things he did for me.
Isn’t that how things are supposed to go? Shouldn’t he have gotten my number, then waited three days and called? Or at least texted. I would’ve killed for a text.
Sadie, on the other hand, had my number and called it every day leading up to the party. But she never invited me over again, and I couldn’t help but feel like there was a very specific reason for that.
If I was a braver girl I would’ve just invited myself over.
My mom and Aaron both called a lot too in those couple weeks between the last time I saw Brooks and Sadie’s birthday/bachelorette extravaganza. My mother called because she loved all the drama that went along with a wedding, and Aaron called because he didn’t. It was as if we actually had a relationship, like old times, before Sadie and weddings. It was like we could be ourselves again, and I think that was something we both wanted.
He never called when Sadie was around, obviously, and we never talked long, but we always talked. I was getting used to it and maybe even depending on it. That would’ve been a problem except I think Aaron was enjoying it just as much as I was—maybe more.
I considered just showing up at Brooks’s house like I had before, but with every passing day it seemed more and more ridiculous. I never really planned on seeing him, it just happened, and somehow showing up without the guise of visiting Sadie seemed too bold. I’d tell myself he wanted to spend time with me and that he furnished a room for me. I’d even drag out the receipt for hard physical proof, but I’d always manage to talk myself out of it. I didn’t want to be the girl who needed constant reassurance, but that’s what I was acting like.
Still, my thoughts always came back to him, and if the magic of his house was real or imagined. Thinking of him created a kind of glow that radiated from my thoughts to my body and shot through my fingertips. Someone who could see auras would’ve noticed the change in mine. I don’t know if I believed in that kind of thing, but I wanted to.
My drawing professor commented on the romantic style my art had taken of late and attributed it to my own personal renaissance. She was very pleased with me for getting out of my “gloom and doom” stage, as she so lovingly referred to it. Everyone has to have a signature style, though, and mine just so happened to be heavy on heavy material. A good artist draws inspiration from real life anyway.
The guys at Young and Beautiful, however, were not so pleased. They had gotten used to me being the go-to girl for fiery, morbid tats featuring skulls and blood droplets; that’s what a lot of people like anyway. But lately all I wanted to do was tiny little hearts and bows, or else I practiced my lettering skills with quotes by long dead poets about love. Those kind of tattoos were a dime a dozen, and not something in high demand at Young and Beautiful. I was going to love-struck myself right out of a potential job.
All of it was cause for concern. I’d practiced so hard on separating my feelings from my work, and my life in general, for that matter, that I could make it through even the worst day with robotic efficiency. I’d only perfected sorting out the bad—not the good. That was another issue in my life. Good things happening to me were, well, a problem.
I was teetering on the edge of becoming a lovesick goon and there was nothing I could do to hide it, and worse yet, I didn’t want to. Staying away from Brooks was only making it worse.
I had to pull my shit together, though, because the birthday/bachelorette party was finally—or maybe dreadfully—here, and I certainly couldn’t let my glowing self take any attention away from the bride. That would probably be cause for removal or even a backstabbing beauty queen mishap like Sadie putting glue in my lip gloss or tripping me on purpose.
Sadie spared no expense on the big night out. We had a party bus with neon lighting, two flat screens, a fully stocked bar, and a chauffeur to drive us around the South Side. Her cousin, Mariah the bar fly, as I liked to call her, or as she was known for the night, the maid of honor, got us into the VIP areas of most of the bars and clubs.
The only problem of the night was me, and it certainly wasn’t because of the killer mix I made for our travels. It was because everyone else was twenty-one or over. Despite my many attempts to get out of going to the bar—because you know the law—Sadie insisted beyond words that I had to be there.
Somehow, I ended up with a fake ID that my mom paid eighty dollars for. Sadie said she knew a guy, but when or how that exchange took place was still beyond me. Paying eighty dollars for one night of bar hopping is ridiculous. I knew I’d never use it again, and besides, I’d actually be twenty-one in less than a year.
Sadie was about to burst with excitement and rushed my car when I pulled up front at her house. She plastered the fake ID to the driver’s side window before I could even jam into park. Her waiting for me outside majorly derailed my plan of popping into Brooks’s before going into Sadie’s.
“Look, look what you have,” she said in her sing-songy voice after she moved aside to let me out.
“What’s that?” The girl in the picture did look eerily similar to me, but the license stated she was about three inches taller.
“It’s the best of the best of fakes because it’s actually real. It’s just not you.” She took my hand in hers as we walked up the small incline to the house.
“Since when are you such an expert on fake IDs?” I inspected it closely, trying to memorize Kayla Rashner’s information—because that’s what they always did on TV—while simultaneously keeping an eye on the house across the street. I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing and if he had plans for the night. Was he dating anyone? Did he cook for her and make her fall for him without even trying?
Because it wasn’t just a twenty-first birthday, we were required to wear black dresses and hot pink heels—both of which I had to buy new because I didn’t have acceptable ones. Sadie wanted us to match, as if all the penis paraphernalia wouldn’t do that, but mostly I think she wanted her silky white dress to stand out.
And she did stand out. I tried to look good in my body-hugging—well, body-hugging to me—black dress and too-high-for-comfort heels. They turned out to be a necessity because of the fake ID, but I only felt out of place and unstable.
The other maids sat on the bus with their legs tightly crossed, shiny rings on that important finger, and perfectly straightened hair. When I realized all the other girls on the bus were married or engaged besides me and Mariah, it gave me at least a little more insight into Sadie’s desire to rush into a wedding.
I never considered myself a painfully shy person until I was sitting in a crowded and loud bar with a group of women I couldn’t find a thing to say to. As Sadie’s cousins and college friends prattled on about wedding colors and registries and flowers and tuxes and dresses and all the other things that should be discussed at a bachelorette party, I thought about going home and crawling into bed.
They were all nice. Each of them was a lovely lady who went out of her way to try and include me in the conversation, but I couldn’t do it. It made me feel like a troll, sitting there in my too-tight dress and hands that couldn’t decide what they wanted to do. Small talk was always difficult for me, but with Mariah and the other girls it was impossible. I moved away from the group to be alone.
When I was bored enough and I could hear my social insecurities asking to come out and play, I left our roped-off area of seclusion to find the bathroom. Sadie followed closely behind, because of course it was too much to ask to pee in freaking private.
“Can you believe this is my bachelorette party?” she asked in my ear. While we were walking she was always scanning to see how many guys were checking her out.
“No, I really can’t.” At least four that I saw. But to be fair, it was a club and that was the point, right?
“Ya know, you really should be my maid of honor. I would never have met Aaron if it weren’t for you,” she yelled as we zigzagged through the crowd in the low light.
There was a lot wrong with that sentence and it broke rule number one of our friendship: don’t talk about Aaron. I waited till the graffiti-covered bathroom door shut so I wouldn’t have to shout to answer her.
“You only have one first cousin. It should be her,” I answered, ignoring everything else she said.
“You don’t have any close female relatives, unless you count Karl’s daughters, and I know you don’t, so what’ll you do?”
The grimy mirror and unforgiving florescent lights offered little help in retouching makeup, but Sadie still tried.
“I probably won’t get married,” I said, securing my already secure lashes.
“What?” She cackled. “Why not?”
“I’m not even dating anyone.” I hovered by the door, ready to bolt.
“That’s because you’re not even trying. If you’d try, you’d date like crazy.”
“You make it sound so easy.” It wasn’t for me, anyway. What did trying even mean?
“Ollie, it is.” She turned away from the mirror to stare at me blankly.
“I don’t know. Maybe I will. Maybe I won’t.” Who would want me for life? Honestly, I couldn’t imagine that scenario. To me the chances of getting married were about the same as winning the lottery. Then add a happy marriage and the chances became the same as winning the lottery twice in one year.
“Well, that’s stupid. Every girl wants to be married.”
“Well, that’s sexist, and I just want to be happy,” I mumbled.
She narrowed her sharp eyes and studied me for a long minute. “You’re really pretty, Ollie.” It was a total Mean Girls moment—was I supposed to say thank you? “You don’t have to be single right now.”
“Thanks.” Like it was by my choice. There wasn’t a line of gentlemen callers outside my door, and with Aaron it was leave or be left. I did what I had to do. The idea of going out and meeting guys was so foreign.
“Do you wish you were the one marrying Aaron? Is this where all your issues stem from?”
The words floated around in the grimy air before finally settling in my ears and leaving me speechless. The breath was completely knocked out of my lungs like I’d just been sucker punched. I didn’t know she felt that way, because I always followed rule number one to the letter.
Maybe if we had a healthy relationship we would’ve had the messy and emotional talk about giving her my boyfriend, but we didn’t. Maybe if we had a decent relationship we would’ve had at least one conversation when they got engaged, but we didn’t. Now, there we were, with the wedding quickly approaching, and she finally, finally wanted to ask me how I felt about it?
With Herculean effort, I tried to keep all my emotions from darting across my face. I watched Sadie watching me, and before I could answer, she did.
“Never mind. I know that’s not true. Ignore me. I’ve already had too much to drink.”
“It’s all right.” I didn’t know what else to say.
Sadie gave me a big, phony, teeth-displaying smile, then excused herself to a stall. “I think I have cold feet.”
I wasn’t sure if she was drunk or not, but I wanted to believe she was. But even if she was, drunk words are sober thoughts, and Sadie had just given me a lot to think about.
Ditching her in the bathroom, I headed back to the group through the somehow even more crowded corridor. When I got closer to our spot, I noticed our reserved area had grown considerably. It was easy to pick Aaron out of the group—it was like I could see his aura. Then I noticed Sadie’s and Aaron’s older brothers as well as their cousins. The complete bridal party had made it out for the night.
Wonderful.
With each step, the towering figure in back of the cluster looked more and more like Brooks. I told myself it couldn’t have been anything more than a slight resemblance, wishful thinking, and my overactive imagination. But I’d be damned, it was him.
He stood right behind the far-off stool where I’d been sitting, making me wonder if he knew that was my seat or if we picked the same spot out of coincidence. He appeared to be more uncomfortable than I felt, but somehow still managed to be the most attractive person I’d ever seen.
The force pulling me to him was strong, but all the family members got to me first, then Aaron. He looked drunk and tired and angry and perfect all at once with his faded t-shirt and messy black hair. We hugged briefly, horribly, awkwardly, while Sadie, who had made it back from the bathroom while her family greeted me, watched the whole time.
I can’t hear anyone in this place, he signed, then pointed to his ear. It sounds like everything is underwater.
Don’t worry, I signed back. No one’s saying anything important anyway. His lips curved up.
What kind of music are they playing? he asked.
I paused a second to listen. He knew it was a bad sign if I couldn’t immediately answer. Bad house music. Like a Top 40 remix done by a group of fourteen-year-old wannabe DJs. Actually, consider yourself lucky you don’t have to be subjected to it.
He laughed a real laugh and so did I. Then, out of nowhere, he pulled me into another hug. The second one was much better and lasted until Sadie snaked her arm around Aaron’s back. After that he sort of pushed me aside, making me feel like we’d been doing something wrong.
When I was free to make my way to Brooks, I hustled to the back corner before anyone else could stop me.
“Hey,” Brooks said as he put out a hand to steady me. “You look great.”
“Thanks, so do you.” And he did. His going-out clothes were black pants, a gray button down, and of course his fancy shoes. It was adorable and nerdy and sexy all at once. Were the gray and black chosen for my benefit? They were working if so. “What’re you doing here?”
“Sadie invited me.” He ran his thumb across his bottom lip and squinted his eyes like he was bracing himself for my response.
“And you came?”
“Yes. For two reasons.” He took a long swig of his drink, which was too dark to be his usual vodka, ultimately finishing it. “Can I get you a drink? Actually, how’d you get in here?” He looked me over from head to toe in a gesture that let me know, yes, he was checking me out. “Never mind that. I know how you got in here.”
“Yeah, a fake ID,” I said in a whisper only loud enough for his ears.
He laughed low and sensual and said, “I hope you didn’t pay for it. You’re a hot girl and they always let hot girls in.”
I almost didn’t believe he was talking about me. He told me I looked nice, called me a hot girl, and offered to buy me a drink. It was like he was getting his lines from a What to Say on a Date checklist and it couldn’t have made me happier.
All I could do was pray my face wasn’t MAC Red as I picked up the full tequila and ginger ale I already had sitting on the table. “No thanks, but I’d like those reasons for coming.”
“Well, one reason is”—he held up one long finger—“I haven’t seen you in a while, and the other is I wanted to.”
I smiled hugely and thanked the makeup gods I actually looked good. “I’m glad you’re here.” It wasn’t what I wanted to say but it did express my sentiments. A braver girl would’ve told him he was hot too or something forward and sexy.
“I don’t think Aaron feels the same way.”
I looked over at Aaron from the corner of my eye. He was inspecting us, or maybe just me, but he seemed happy enough. As happy as any young groom who was forced into a joint bachelorette/bachelor/birthday party where the guest list included mostly the bride’s relatives.
Aaron always managed to be happy, though. It was probably what drew me to him the most. If it weren’t for his quick and reckless impending marriage, I’d completely envy his life. Mr. and Mrs. Kim are loving, supportive, wonderful, and all the things parents should be. Despite growing up with the obstacles of being biracial and hearing impaired, Aaron had the ideal childhood. And that was what made me the most envious.
“You know, this is the first time we’ve been together outside of my neighborhood. Before I saw you with Sadie that night, I was starting to think I imagined you,” Brooks said, bringing me back to reality.
“And you couldn’t come up with anything better?” The words left my mouth before I could tell them not to. I blamed the alcohol, but it was just in my nature to self-deprecate.
Brooks slid his empty, condensation-laden glass on the uneven table and took a step closer to me. The heady cologne he was giving off, combined with his intent gaze, hit me right between my legs. He leaned in before he spoke, but only got closer to my face, not my ear.
“No. I can’t imagine anyone better.”
My breath caught.
My heart clenched.
My stomach tightened.
My thighs burned.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” I said.
“I can’t believe you are.”
Brooks took the tip of his finger and flicked the plastic penis suctioned to my glass, causing it to wobble and fall. We both laughed as it landed at my feet, but neither of us made a move to pick it up.
“You didn’t peg me for a partier?”
He shook his head. “You’re not that kinda girl, Ollie Oxmend.”
“Tell me what kinda girl I am, then.” I leaned in even closer, letting his presence envelope me completely.
“You’re the kind of girl who would rather have an intimate one-on-one conversation than dance at a crowded club. You’re the kind of girl who will call a guy on his BS without worrying about the ramifications it will have on his male ego. You’re the kind of girl who will make an older, yet very attractive and totally into-her guy work for her attention rather than throwing it at him, leaving that same guy intrigued and dying to get to know her better.”
My breathing became downright labored. Was I that kind of girl? God, I wanted to be. “Sounds about right,” I said before taking a sip of alcohol.
“Do you wanna get out of here?”
“Is that a line?” I almost spit out my drink at that, it was so unexpected. When did he get so smooth?
He looked positively devilish when he said, “Absolutely.”
I was about to chug my drink and bolt with him before he changed his mind when Sadie clamped her spindly hand on my shoulder.
“Hey, hey, sexy people. We’re going to the karaoke bar. Down those drinks and let’s vamos.”
I’d never wanted to poke someone in the eye with a high heel more. Which coincidently was exactly what I would rather do to myself than sit in the karaoke bar.
“Sounds great,” Brooks told her to my horror.
“Oh, William, I knew we got along for a reason.” Sadie playfully patted his chest with her manicured fingers, lingering on his pec longer than I deemed appropriate. There was something off-putting about her engagement ring being so near Brooks. It just wasn’t fair that she got to feel his chest before I did, and even worse, he didn’t shake her off.
The group ambled outside after an eternity of bill-settling and drunk-wrangling. The whole process was made somewhat tolerable by the fact that Brooks kept letting his hand trail from my lower back to the top of my butt. His large hands made my ample ass seem almost small, and every time he dipped particularly low I would blush like a fourteen-year-old girl on her first date.
It was too cold for my dress to be worn without a coat, but I didn’t care—the alcohol and Brooks’s hands were making me hot.
The maids and men both climbed aboard the monstrous pink neon party bus. We stood at the back of the pack while we waited for our turn, but when I was about to take my first step up to my doom, Brooks yanked my wrist.
“Run,” he whispered in my ear as he slid my palm in his.
I did as I was told. He pulled me behind him at a brisk pace with the wind and smell of the night hounding me. It was hard to keep up with my heels, the uneven brick sidewalk, and his long legs, but I did. Determination and sexual desire go a long way in aiding physical performance.
With every person we passed—and on the crowded night we passed plenty—I wondered what they thought of our hand-holding. I so desperately wanted to be his, and in those fleeting seconds in strangers’ eyes I was Brooks’s girl. She was pretty and intelligent and had her shit together and the company of a brilliant man.
I hated how much I loved that feeling , but I’d beat myself up over it later.
When we turned the block, he slowed down but still held my hand. “I parked over here,” he informed me.
“You didn’t take a cab with the rest of the guys?”
“No. I wanted to drive myself.”
“Why?”
He squeezed my hand, making it feel tiny in his. “In case I wanted to leave quickly.” We slowed to a stop in front of a sleek white Lincoln with darkly tinted windows. “This is mine.”
I could’ve guessed it was his car—it fit his essence perfectly. The new model also explained why it must’ve always been kept in the garage.
Brooks, always being the gentlemen, opened and closed the door for me. It was clean inside, without anything littering the floor or hanging from the mirror—no surprise there—and smelled intoxicatingly of new car.
“I actually thought you wanted to go to karaoke,” I admitted once he sat down behind the wheel.
“I don’t sing,” he told me in a throaty voice.
“But you do dance,” I said with a raised eyebrow, trying to mimic him.
“Yes, and do you know what that means?”
“No. What?
“I know how to move.” With that, he threw the car into drive and pulled away from the curb.
The seemingly innocent string of words was anything but. I brought my hand to my face to try and conceal the blushing, but Brooks was glancing over at me whenever he could spare a second from the road, which turned out to be often.
Forget becoming a famous tattoo artist and being able to live completely independently of my mom, my new dream was to find out just how well Brooks could move.
He fiddled with a few of the glowing knobs on the dash until the temperature was more comfortable, then turned on some music. The volume was low but the song was upbeat, sultry, and being sung in another language.
“Where are we going?” I eventually thought to ask.
“Home.”