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“There was a bet going on that you weren’t going to show today,” Savannah said as I walked into the house. It was packed with people. Some I knew, others I didn’t, with a wide array of red Solo cups floating around.
I nodded her way. “You bet for me or against me?”
“Always bet for you, brother.” She smiled and held her cup toward me.
I shook my head. “Not drinking tonight.”
Her eyebrow shot up. “You always drink.”
“Trying this new thing.”
“And what’s that?”
“Being sober.”
She shivered. “That sounds awful.”
Depends on the day.
“What Tom are you?” I asked her, glancing at her oversized outfit and backward baseball cap.
“I’m a tomboy, duh. What about you?”
I looked down at my outfit—a white T-shirt and black jeans. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m Tom from Myspace.” I glanced around the living room, then back at Savannah. “Where’s the birthday boy?”
“He’s in the kitchen, probably dancing on the countertop.”
That sounded about right.
I started toward the kitchen but paused and turned back to Savannah. “Hey. Sorry for treating you like crap for the past few years. I wasn’t in the best headspace.”
She narrowed her eyes. “And you’re doing better now?”
“Getting there.”
“Good. We all missed you.”
“I’ve been around.”
“You’ve been around but not here. I see it again…the light in your eyes is back. Whoever she is, I’m glad you found her.”
“What?”
She grinned and took a sip from her red Solo cup. “A guy doesn’t heal like that without a badass girl in his corner.” She narrowed her eyes. “Is it Ms. Evans? Tom is convinced it’s Ms. Evans.”
I shook my head. “It’s not Ms. Evans.”
“Then who is it?”
“Nobody.”
“Liar.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“Nope.”
She studied me, debating how much more she should push for an answer, but then she gave up. “Just treat her well, will you? Like a princess.”
I gave her a half grin before heading toward the kitchen to find the birthday boy. In all his glory, he was dancing on the countertop in a white button-down, white ankle socks, and a pair of white briefs. He was taking his Tom Cruise from Risky Business seriously.
The second he saw me, he cheered loudly. “Best friend!” he shouted, hopping off the countertop. I was surprised he didn’t twist his damn ankle with that leap.
He shot over and hugged me tightly before slapping his hand against my chest. “Are you Tom from Myspace?”
I nodded. “I’m Tom from Myspace.”
“Hell yeah, you are.” Tom looked around and held his arms out. “Hey, everyone, Tom from Myspace is here!”
Everyone cheered for me as if I didn’t just toss on a white T-shirt and call it a day. I was the laziest costume in sight, but they all seemed amused. That was the power of alcohol. It made the most mediocre individuals seem like Superman.
“Let me get you a drink,” Tom said, patting me on the back.
“Oh. I wasn’t going to drink tonight.”
His eyes widened as if I’d confessed that I hated puppies. “What do you mean you’re not drinking tonight?!”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
“Are you pregnant?”
I smirked at the drunkard and patted my stomach. “Expecting in six months.”
Tom turned toward the crowd. “Hey, everyone! Tom from Myspace is pregnant!”
Everyone once again cheered.
Idiots.
“You have to at least take a birthday shot with me,” he urged, nudging me.
“I’ve got a math exam on Monday. I can’t get messed up this weekend.”
“Uh, news flash, we all have a math exam on Monday, but your best friend only turns eighteen once.”
“I’m surprised you’re not spending the day with your parents.”
“Yeah, well, some parents don’t give a shit about their kids.” He said it effortlessly and with a smile, but I saw the twitch behind his grin. What the hell was that? Was perfect, bubbly Tom not as happy as he played himself up to be? Did we maybe have something in common? Parental issues?
“But you know who does give a shit about me?” he asked.
“Who’s that?”
“Jose.” He held a bottle of Jose Cuervo tequila and waved it toward me. “Jose has never let me down, unlike my parents. So let’s take a shot to celebrate!”
I wanted to argue with him, but from the split second of truth that slipped out of Tom, I felt guilty for his disappointment in his parents. I didn’t want to add another wave of disappointment, so I allowed peer pressure to pull me in.
I took the shot glass from him and patted him on the back. “Bottoms up.”
Before I knew it, the shots were flowing and studying for my exam in the morning seemed less likely.
I wasn’t having a shitty time.
I was having a damn good time with everyone. I found myself laughing more than I normally did, and even though I was drunk, it didn’t feel like a depressed kind of drunkenness. I simply felt…good.
People conversed with me as if I were the person I’d once been before Mom passed away. I was talking back, asking how they’d been, too, and I wanted their answers.
