A young woman with an afro and glistening earrings raises her glass from the couch. “We can always drink more wine!”
“Raleigh, this is my neighbor, Amanda.” I raise my hand in a wave, and she again raises her glass before taking a sip. “I’m sure you’ve figured out that this is my brother, Dustin.” He continues around the room introducing me to a few more of his neighbors. Thankfully, he tells them that I’m a coworker. Anything more or less and I would have been overthinking it.
“Thanks for having me,” I manage to say as he leads me through the living space to the kitchen.
Taking my goodies, he puts them on the counter next to all the other offerings. “I’m so glad you could make it. My friends have been looking forward to meeting you.” I smile as he hands me a glass. What he doesn’t know is that there was literally nothing keeping me from coming, except for maybe aGilmore Girlsmarathon alone at home on my couch.
Following Dalton back into the living room, he makes space next to him on the couch, and I cautiously have a seat next to him. Merle clunks down in a ball at my feet and then, in an instant, I’m sucked into the current conversation.
No one here has crazy worries over an American idol or how much the first leg of a national tour will cost. They converse about everyday things: Christmas Day plans, stories from work and their love lives. An honest night with a group of normal adults seems to be exactly what I need because when the idea of a drinking game is brought up, I’m the first one to volunteer.
“Blind Christmas karaoke!” Dustin blurts as he boots up the laptop. “I’m gonna play a Christmas classic. The volunteer isgoing to have their back to the screen of lyrics and has to try to sing the song to the best of their ability. The audience will then give a score from one to 10 and the lower the score, the more you have to drink.”
“What about the neighbors?” Amanda says from where she’s draped over the ottoman. “They most definitely don’t want to hear Dalton’s drunk singing.”
“They’re used to it,” Dalton says, laughing. Amanda and the man next to her laugh. I suppose all of Dalton’s neighbors are actually here anyway.
“Who’s first?”
“Raleigh and me!” Dalton yells, grabbing my wrist and raising it with his.
“That’s not allowed,” Dustin retorts with his arms crossed.
“My house, my rules,” Dalton answers in the only way a brother could.
On normal occasions, I would be very uncomfortable singing, but everyone here will be blackout drunk and most likely not remember any of this come morning, so I say to heck with it and letDalton drag me to the center of the room.
We’re welcomed to the pretend stage with whistles and hollers as Dustin hands me the mic. Holding it between the two of us, the music starts.
“Do you know this one?” Dalton asks immediately, giving away the fact that he clearly has no idea what it is. Luckily for him, I know it well. Answering would mess up the timing so I count in my head. “Wait, it’s that song the chipmunks sing—” he’s cut off because our cue arrives.
Sure enough, the song is “Christmas Don’t Be Late.”The audience snickers and Dustin laughs, knowing he chose a funny one to start the game. Jokes on him though, I had this song on a loop as a child.
We get a round of applause when we guess the song correctly and then it devolves from there as Dalton stumbles over the lyrics, and I try my best to get us through enough of it so as not to incur a bad score.
Having enough of the missing lyrics, Dalton puts an arm around my shoulder and raises his free arm up to the crowd. A chorus of drunken voices rises up around us to bring us home. Swaying back and forth we finish the song, and once again, we get applause. We take our bow and Dustin passes around a makeshift scoresheet.
“I didn’t know you sang, too,” Dalton says, as party guests converse about the score we’ll be given. I thought the laughing and general volume of the karaoke machine had covered enough to not give me away, but I forget that Dalton observes everything.
“Okay, everyone, let's give it up for our guinea pigs!” Another brief round of clapping ripples through the apartment before Dustin opens the folded paper. “Dead middle score of 5.”
“5?” Dalton yells, my mouth simultaneously dropping open.
“Judges determined that Raleigh was a perfect 10 but with you dragging down the performance it’s only fair that we split right down the middle.”
Dalton continues to argue with the emcee, but I merely shrug and grab one of the shots that Amanda has procured. “Damn, I’d hate to see what a lower score results in,” I laugh. Raising my drink to the crowd, I tip it back and nearly gag. Whatever was in there was strong.
Brooding, Dalton snatches his drink and tips it back. The alcohol doesn’t give him the same trouble it does me. Sure footed, he takes two big steps forward and flops onto the couch. “Sorry I suck, Raleigh. Singing is not my strong suit.” He reaches out a hand to me, and I take it without thinking.
“We can’t all be stars.” I’d meant it as a joke, but it still resonates. How many times had others said that to me in a way that truly meant “no, you’re not good enough”? I try to let the sourness dissipate, but without Dalton suddenly pulling me down next to him, I may have stayed in that darkness all evening.
As the next sorry sap is nominated, Dalton eases back and I feel his arm snake behind me once more. He gives my shoulder a comforting squeeze. Maybe it’s the drinks or the sudden onslaught of melancholy, but I wish his touch would linger. It doesn’t. He’s already moved on to belting out “All I Want for Christmas Is You” with his neighbors.
***
The party game survives the rest of the party. All us Nashville nobodies enjoy our moment of living room fame, drink away our troubles, and make new friends before the booze runs out andthe clock strikes 3 a.m.
Dustin takes Merle, who I learned was being fostered here while Dustin was away. Amanda, who has a shift at the hospital tomorrow and had stopped drinking much earlier, stops by on her way out the door. “If you need a place to crash tonight, I’m right next door.” She grabs her wrap and drapes it around her shoulders sleepily. “Dalton has a key. Just let yourself in.” I nod in thanks, not wanting to read too much into that last statement.
