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“I’ll let ‘em know you’re here,” he says as we’re walking away.
I’m not sure what he means. Does he mean Josh? Did he say ‘em as in them or ‘im as in him? Either way, the unselfish part of me is hoping he doesn’t bother Josh so that Kara can have her birthday celebration. Another part of me—yeah, that part—is hoping that I get to see him. Even if we don’t get to resolve anything right now.
The music’s blaring. Not exactly surprising. We make our way to the back, hunting a free table. Heads turn. Not shocking since my roommates are hotties.
Cherise breaks off from the group, “I’ll get a pitcher.”
“Hey,” I start. “Don’t—”
“I got this. Don’t worry.”
TheI got thispart is exactly what makes me worry. I know she has my best interests at heart, but still.
We elbow and jostle our way across the big room and find a table in the very back. Very, very back. One that’s half-hidden by a large column.
I’m not complaining. At least it’ll allow me to hide from Josh, assuming he’s here. Why wouldn’t he be here on a busy night, right?
Like last time, the table turnover seems quicker than the staff can keep up with. The dinged, scratched wooden surface is piled high with mugs and wing bones. Just as I’m starting to clear it off and make space for us, a busser comes by, gathers everything up, and shoves it in a gray tub he’s toting around.
A waitress is on his heels, dropping coasters on our table. She asks what she can get us. Riley tells her that we already have a round on the way.
Riley picks up a coaster, turning it over and over in her hands. She’s clearly nervous. She puts the coaster down, twirls her blond pixie hair around a finger. She picks the coaster back up, over and over—she’s turning it again.
Kara’s on her phone. Hopefully, replying to a happy birthday wish from her mother. Then she says she has to go to the restroom, and when we volunteer to go with, she states that she doesn’t need company. She seems okay. Even happy.
“What’s wrong?” I reach for the coaster, taking it from Riley’s hands, hoping to calm her nervous energy. I glance at the square cardboard. That’s when I see the name. Trashed.The font is the same as Wasted,printed on the coasters I’ve seen there before. The room’s din fades away. It’s replaced by noise that sounds more like the surf coming in, waves crashing in my ears, in my mind.
This is not a coincidence. I look toward the bar, but I can’t see who’s manning it. Is Josh there? Now it seems I have another question for him. Wait. I’m overreacting. Trashed is another word for wasted. It’s got to be that. It can’t have anything to do with me. I feel lightheaded.
Suddenly, Billie’s words play in my mind—over and over again.‘Why don’t you let Josh get on with his life? Haven’t you destroyed enough? He deserves to be happy.’These sentences constantly replay on a loop. Dizzy, I grab the table’s edge and grip it in a white-knuckled hold. The coaster floats to the floor, or maybe it plummeted. I can’t tell. Everything’s surreal.
“Cassie.”
My name’s being called, but it’s like someone’s in a fog. Or maybe I’m the one in the fog.
“Cassie.”
I look up. I try to focus my vision. Riley has a concerned look on her face.
“I’m sorry.” I run my fingers over my face.
“You’re not okay,” Riley says.
“I’m fine.” I push the thoughts away from my mind. “Just need to get some food. My blood sugar’s low, I think.” More like my life’s at an all-time low. Collecting my thoughts is like trying to collect sand in the middle of a windstorm.
“So, what has you bothered?” I return Riley to a different topic so I can take this off of me.
Her eyes cloud with tears. “My family. Graham. Everything.”
This is so unlike her. She’s always happy. I don’t interrupt so she can vent.
“They all think I’m stupid for wanting to be a teacher.” She presses her fingers into the bridge of her nose and takes a deep breath. “And I haven’t even told them that I plan to look for a teaching position in underdeveloped areas.”
“And Graham agrees with them? He’s not supportive?” I don’t really need to ask this question. I know the answer. He’s a douche.
Riley sniffles, then says, “I’m not doing this on Kara’s birthday.”
I study her. I’d love to help her with her problem, but she’s right. This night is not about me, and it’s not about her. It’s about Kara. Yet, I don’t want Riley to be left hanging. She’s dealing with her own shit now because even in a perfect life, there does seem to be some strife. “Let’s talk about this tomorrow. Okay?” I give her a hug.
