I didn’t plan on coming here. It’s Monday night, “Box Monday” as people call it: the night a DJ comes. Everyone is dancing and jostling and bumping into each other. My drink keeps sloshing over the edge of the plastic cup, adding its own layer to the thick grime that already covers the floorboards.
Theo was, of course, the one who convinced me to join the rest of the staffers tonight. Usually, I’d say no, but my mom texted me saying that she was going to dinner with William, and despite my promise to talk to my father tonight, the idea of sitting with him, my grandfather, and Aunt Elizabeth without Rose’s backup sounds like a nightmare.
I love this place but I haven’t been back all season. I used to come twice a weekend with Henry. My mom won coveted “Box Passes” at a charity auction years ago: two black-and-white cards that grant us access without a cover fee.
By the bathroom, there’s two grungy pool tables, covered with beer-stained plastic wraps, a dartboard no one ever uses except in the offseason, and a shuffleboard table that moonlights as a sales area for branded merchandise. Outside, concealed by chicken wire and wood fencing, is the smoking area. And inside, past the large bar, is the dance floor with a small stage. A little booth in the corner reads “Hen House.” The ceilings are covered with various paraphernalia: license plates, old posters, quarterboards, a wedding banner from ten years ago.
Becca and I used to dance onstage. Once, Jade was in town and joined us. Looking around now, I can’t help but miss them both.
Minutes ago, I went to the bathroom, weaving my way past the bar, past the pool tables, avoiding the cigarette smoke and bad decisions. On the wall of my stall, there was a bulletin board filled with graffiti signatures and names carved with pushpins. I remembered Rose telling me about a time when she snuck in through the bathroom window when she was a teenager. In an irrational flash, I went to check for her name.
I didn’t find it, but at the bottom of the board, someone had written, “Laura was happy here” and the date—ten summers prior. For a moment, I was transfixed by the sentence. It didn’t just say, “Laura was here,” but “Laura was happy here.” The distinction seemed significant.
I’m still thinking of this Laura girl now. It reminds me of Rose, oddly: how Rose was a girl at this bar, too, how she is still in many ways just a girl falling in love, figuring out her relationships. It’s her first time around the sun, too, and more than anything, I hope she’s happy here.
“Your refill, madam.” Theo emerges from the crowd, a drink in either hand.
His forehead is damp with sweat and his curls are sticking to it,looking windswept. He has been on the dance floor almost the entire time since we arrived two hours ago.
“Thank you, sir,” I say.
“We’re going to move to karaoke at the Rose and Crown,” Theo shouts. He has to talk directly into my ear to be heard over the music. Someone next to us drives a sharp heel into my pinkie toe as she shuffles closer to the stage.
“Okay,” I shout back, moving away from the girl. “I’m game for whatever.”
“Cool,” Theo is saying when I spot them across the crowd.
A strange hot flash spreads across my face, as if I’ve just stepped into a cloud of steam. My legs become wobbly. Of course, I knew there was always a chance of running into them, but for once, I let my guard drop. For once, I wasn’t thinking of him, but there he is…
Henry and Mary are dancing toward the stage. Becca is there, too, with some of Henry’s friends from home. Henry spins Mary and she laughs. They look happy, carefree. They look, somehow, already married. It’s the connection in their eyes, the effortless nature of it. All of the oxygen abandons the room, like I’ve been sealed in a vacuum.
When Becca sees me, I smile, but she turns her back. So much for not choosing sides, I think. Then, pushing through the crowd, I see the red-shawled psychic again. She moves past me and winks, wearing the same mischievous smile. Before she can disappear again, I tear my eyes away from the sight of Henry and Mary dancing and grab her shoulder.
“What are you doing?” I demand in a hiss. “What do you want from me?”
She’s been haunting me ever since the night of the greenhouse fundraiser. I keep thinking I see her in crowds, like at the wedding. Ikeep hearing her warning: “Choose your next steps carefully.” What business did she have scaring me like that? And why did she tell me that my soulmate’s name starts with the letterH? It’s making it even harder to move on from Henry.
The lady jerks under my touch, but when she turns around, it’s not the psychic. It’s a young girl in a red top who looks nothing like her: a young girl who, under my grasp, looks at me with terrified, wide eyes.
“What?” she says. “You’re crazy.” She hurries away to her friends, and I lose sight of her in the crowd.
Maybe she’s right. Maybe I am losing it.
“I need to get out of here,” I say into Theo’s ear, trying to keep the panic from my voice. Luckily, he seems to have missed the exchange. “I need to get out of here,” I repeat.
I don’t wait to see if Theo follows my line of sight. Instead, I head right toward the exit, handing my new drink to a drunk college boy standing by the bouncer.
“I didn’t drink out of this, if you want it,” I say to him.
The frat boy shrugs and eyes the drink with glee. “I wouldn’t care if you did. A free drink is a free drink!”
I can hear his friends cheering as I exit the bar and walk into the cool mist outside.
“What was that about?” asks Theo from behind.
In my panic, I find it difficult to look him square in the face. It’s like I’m only viewing him from the periphery, squinting at the sides, so his features are blurry and watery: the view out of a passing car. Sometimes, when I’m having a panic attack, I’m left gasping for air. It’s terrifying how physical the sensation is, like I really am drowning.
“Nothing,” I say, trying to calm my rapid breaths. “Just something better off avoided. Let’s go to the next place.”
