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“You’re early, but people will start showing up soon,” he says, sidling up next to me. We walk across the living room and through a door, propped open by a jamb, that leads to the patio.
“Didn’t you say 8?”
“Yeah, but no one’s ever actually on time.” He grins at me and guides me to some patio chairs facing the pool. I bite my tongue rather than start a lecture about the importance of punctuality. Char insisted, more than once, that I needed to tone down my “Kateisms,” as she calls them.
There’s a beer pong table set up in the lawn across from the pool, where two guys have a game going. Aren’t we a little old to be playing these college games? Then again, it is New Year’s. And Lorenzo doesn’t strike me as the type of person to care what one “should” be doing.
He plops down on one of the patio couches and I hesitate, unsure if I should sit next to him or in one of the individual chairs. Lorenzo decides for me, chuckling and pulling on my arm so I drop next to him.
The feel of his fingers on my skin is all consuming, and it makes me realize that it’s the first time he’s touched me since arriving. He didn’t hug me or kiss me… not even a damn handshake.
But I guess that’s normal for a guy I barely know who I’ve hooked up with once. It would be foolish of me to expect a kiss at midnight. The nerves start to take over again, and I wonder if I really did make a mistake in coming here tonight.
“Want something to drink?” Lorenzo asks, his eyes roaming over the few people spread along the patio. Besides the beer pong guys, the man who opened the door is speaking with a DJ, and a couple of girls are near a table with drinks. There doesn’t seem to be any food at this party.
“Yeah, sure,” I reply, regretting not having eaten dinner. But what kind of party doesn’t have food?
Lorenzo stands up and heads towards the drink table, leaving me alone. I rub my thumb against the nail on my index finger, a nervous habit I’ve had ever since I can remember. It feels less obvious than nail biting, and for some reason it soothes me. It’s as if I can rub out the nervous energy with the feel of my nail digging into my skin.
Lorenzo returns quickly carrying two black cups; the only festive items here, it seems.This is the perfect time for my questions.
“To the new year,” he says, handing me a cup. As we raise them, he adds, “And to badassery.”
This time, I don’t roll my eyes. I laugh.
“Wooo!” My exclamation of joy after sinking the ball into the cup sounds foreign to me. I’ve had at least four drinks, but I can’t be positive because I have no idea how much is actually in these cups.
Turns out, they weren’t playing beer pong. It’s shot pong. The shots are Fireball, which I’m enjoying tonight more than ever before because the cinnamon reminds me of Lorenzo.
Where is he, anyway?My fuzzy brain tries to remember where he last went, but then my pong partner, Larissa, bumps her shoulder into mine.
“Kate, you’re awesome!” she slurs. She’s a lot more drunk than she was when she asked me to play with her.
Oh, that’s right! Lorenzo kept getting up to say hi to all his friends who arrived. I’d wait on the patio couch as he gave them one of those guy handshakes, where they slap hands and slide their fingers through. I’ve secretly always wanted to do that with someone.
Each time I’d summon the courage to ask about Sara, or what any of this means, or why he’s not on social media, he’d up and leave again.
Sometimes they’d disappear into the house, other times he’d return right back to his seat next to me. He refilled our cups twice with a drink he called a French 57. Or maybe it was 75. I shrug and then laugh when I realize I’m shrugging to my own thoughts.
When Lorenzo went into the house with a group of guys and the alcohol infiltrated my system, I walked over to the drink table to refill my cup. It was really serving its purpose, easing me and stopping the hamster wheel from turning. That’s when Larissa, flanked by two other girls, came over and asked if I wanted to play a round of shot pong with them.
I felt brave enough with the drinks in me to say yes, even if they were a hell of a lot prettier than me. I was able to ignore the light intimidation I felt by being here, because the only person I know kept disappearing on me.
I should be more upset about it. I was before. But after two rounds of shot pong, nothing really seems to matter anymore.
“Who did you say you’re here with again?” One of Larissa’s friends asks. I can’t remember their names to save my life.
“I invited her.” His voice sets all the hairs on my body standing up, despite the numbness I feel inside. I smile involuntarily and turn around, finding Lorenzo taking the last step towards me.
“There you are,” I say loudly, my own words coming out a bit slurred. I hold my hand out for one of those guy handshakes, but he just raises his eyebrows in amusement.
“Are you drunk?”
“You know, I think I am,” I say with a giggle.
“We really like her, Zo,” Larissa says, coming to stand beside me and slinging her arm around my shoulder. I catch her friends on the other side of the pong table, and it doesn’t seem like they share the sentiment.
Fuck them.
