Page 28 of So Thirsty

“Let up, Nay. I’m here at your orgy. You go do whatever you want. I’m not stopping you.”

“No, we’re talking about this.”

“Is there no hand towel?”

She shakes her head, looks up at the ceiling. “You’re not ever going to confront it, are you? You’re just going to bury it.”

“I bury everything,” I say, giving up and wiping my hands on my T-shirt.

“You deserve more than—”

“It’s not about deserving, Naomi. That’s what you don’t understand. Life isn’t some, like—I don’t know—fairy tale. Not everyone gets to frolic around the world, partying with bands and movie stars and heiresses and counts. Not everyone gets what they want.”

“That’s bullshit! You’re trying to make this about me and whatever you think my life is like. But this has nothing to do with me. This is about you giving up.” In her voice there’s a quaver that destroys me.

“It’s too late,” I say. “I made my choices.”

“It’s not too late! It’s not.”

She takes my left hand and slides off my engagement and wedding rings, the two simple white gold bands I asked for because I felt weird about Joel spending thousands on flashy jewelry when that money could be put toward a house, or my debt.

I let Naomi do it. I let her slip the rings into her jacket pocket.

“You should fuck someone tonight,” she says. “Maybe you’ll come so hard you’ll remember who you really are. Happy birthday.”

She pushes past me and opens the door. She pauses to make sure I’m following.

“You could have been a great poet,” I say.

“Maybe in my next life.”

I go with her, back to the party. Not because I want to. Because I can’t hide in the bathroom all night. It has a weird smell.

—

“Elisa is worried,” Ilie says, stabbing at the fire with a long cast-iron poker. “She thinks she makes bad drinks.”

“Gin and tonic,” Elisa says, looking genuinely distressed as she holds up two giant cobalt wineglasses. “I can try again if it is too strong.”

Naomi accepts the drinks for us, then passes one of the glasses to me.

“Cheers,” she says, and takes a fearless sip. “It’s perfect.”

I bring my glass to my lips, slowly tilt it back. Pure gin. Normally it’d be too much for me, but under these circumstances…

“Yeah, agreed. Perfect,” I say.

Elisa claps. “Wonderful!”

She embraces Naomi, kissing her on the cheek. I take another gulp of gin.

I hear that distant clanking sound again, just for a moment. It’s there and it’s happening and then it’s gone. Then it’s quiet, save for the pop and hiss of flames, and the soft slurping of Costel and Miri making out.

Ilie leans the poker beside the fireplace and turns his attention to a record player set on a retro stand. “We need music, yes?”

He slides an album out from a stack on the floor, a seemingly random selection. It’s Who’s Next by the Who. I don’t know if “Baba O’Riley” is the right song to set the mood for group sex, but I’m not going to offer up my opinion on the matter, since I won’t be partaking.

Ilie looks at the album in his left hand, then down at the record player, then back at the album. With his right hand, he fiddles with the tonearm. I can tell he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He doesn’t know how it works.