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Our second stop was a dive bar where the female lead singer of a blues band nearly had Jake declaring his love for her. We practically had to drag him to the next location.
Over the course of the night, Owen had transitioned from his quiet, introspective state to entertaining us with mostly coherent spiels about the history of Hoosier breweries or the science behind alcohol metabolism. I had half a mind to record his ramblings to play back for him later—maybe this would be good podcast material?
By the fourth stop in our bar crawl, Jake still hadn’t obtained a single phone number—but Xander got two with absolutely zero effort. The shot girl at the third bar willingly gave hers up on a napkin, and one of the women Jake tried talking to asked for Xander’s socials instead.
He was still unsuccessful in acquiring Kendall’s number, however, and that gave me a small sense of satisfaction. Of course, we still had the wedding to get through, in which the two of them would inevitably meet. But I wasn’t worried—especially after Xander tried to ask Owen twice if he knew whether or not Abigail had RSVPed.
I had other things to be concerned about, anyway. Every so often, Owen and I would exchange this look like we both knew we had an awkward conversation in our future. I wasn’t sure which one of us would initiate it—or how—but it was inevitable.
Owen was probably high on Kendall’s list of people she didn’t want to know about us—for a number of reasons. And by extension, Sarah was going to know soon, too—and she was even higher on that list. The two of them would be married in a week, and I couldn’t imagine they kept many secrets from one another.
On top of these worries, I had my own issues with Owen having seen the picture of Kendall. I’d gone through the trouble of preventing him from accidentally swiping on Kendall’s phone and seeing one of her nudes only for my dumb ass to practically hand him one. Was he aware I knew they used to date? Maybe they just slept together a couple of times. I still wasn’t sure of the extent of their relationship, but maybe it was time to start asking questions. Just get it all out in the open.
Some other time, of course.
“I’m freezing my fucking nuts off. It’s cold as shit.”
I nodded in agreement at Jake’s astute observation as the four of us made our way down Meridian Street. The final destination in our bar crawl was only a block and a half from the last spot, so we opted to walk. Owen was the only one of us unaffected by the cold, but I noticed him starting to wobble on his feet. Twice, we had to direct him away from obstacles on the sidewalk—a traffic cone here and a pipe jutting out from a building there. It reminded me of the way I had to physically guide a half-awake Finley toward the kitchen table for breakfast some mornings.
We had almost reached the bar when we came upon a mound of leaves along the curb. Owen staggered toward them, and I shook my head, expecting him to leap into the pile or at least traipse through them. He had other plans, however, and the rest of us stood back and watched in awe as the six-foot-four giant curled up into the fetal position in the middle of the leaf pile. As Owen tucked his folded hands beneath his cheek, I glanced around, half-afraid someone on this crowded sidewalk might recognize him from SFTW and pull out their phone for a chance at a viral video. The secondhand embarrassment nearly killed me.
“We should probably–”
“Ahh,” Owen sighed, closing his eyes. “Now I know why they call it a bed of leaves.”
It was time to call it a night. I was completely sober, and the other two had accomplished what they’d apparently set out to do—get Owen fucked up beyond belief for his last weekend as an unmarried man. “That’s it, I’m getting an Uber to take us back to Owen’s car.”
“What—now?” Xander glanced from me to Jake, who looked equally displeased. “The night’s still young.”
“Our groom-to-be is currently napping five feet away from traffic. It’s time to go.”
“Why do you get to decide?” Jake asked.
“I want Sssssarah,” Owen moaned. “Or crêpes.”
“See?” Xander motioned toward Owen. “He doesn’t know if he wants his fiancée or breakfast food. Let’s stop in this last bar real quick and then find this guy a Denny’s.”
By then, I’d already ordered us a car. “You guys are free to stay, but Owen, the Volvo, and I are heading back to Woodvale. Geoff and his–” I glanced down at my phone, “–Toyota Camry will be here in six minutes.”
That got both of them to shut up. My next challenge was getting the three of them from the Uber to Owen’s car in the parking garage. It was like wrangling a trio of toddlers. Two of them were pouting, and the other one was so sleepy he needed to be physically guided toward the car. “Why don’t you lay down back there, cousin,” I said, pushing Owen into his backseat.
He mumbled something about Xander being his pillow as I was closing the door. Up front, I had to deal with Jake reaching for the steering wheel as I maneuvered through the maze-like parking garage. He tried it again when I merged onto 465—and that time, I slapped his arm away. “You’re going to cause us to wreck and Owen’s going to break his pretty face and his bride will be very sad. Is that what you want?”
“I want you to stop driving like Grandpa.”
“Grandpa’s a perfectly sensible driver. So shut the fuck up.”
Thankfully, that was the last comment out of him. The rest of the ride to Woodvale was relatively quiet, with only a few groans from Owen and some mumblings from Xander about how we should’ve gone to a strip club.
Jake and Xander lived outside of town, and I dropped them off at their houses first. They’d figure out a way to get to their cars in the morning. With Xander out of the backseat, Owen slumped over and rolled onto his back. “Unnngh.”
“Hang in there, man,” I said, trying not to laugh at the sight of his lanky body stretched across the entirety of the backseat with his squeaky-clean Converse propped up against the headrest. “We’re eight minutes away.”
This stretch of the two-lane highway was eerily empty, but I supposed that wasn’t unusual for the middle of the night in a small town with a non-existent nightlife. It was quiet—too quiet. I fumbled with the buttons on Owen’s dash until I found a radio station playing an early Green Day song to fill the silence. We pulled up to a red light and I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, softly singing along. For it being so late, I was feeling pretty energized—and all I could think about was the fact Kendall would be at Sarah’s house when we got there. Would the girls still be awake?
Owen stirred in the backseat. I heard him inhale, and then he spoke. “I’m sorry for what I did to Kendall.”
My hand shot toward the volume button and my mouth went dry. “What—what do you mean?” I asked, turning the music down. I strained to see him, but it was too dark to even tell where his head was.
