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“Fred, you ever think that maybe she’s just like the rest of us and likes her jokes funny?” Verog smiles as Fred and the rest laugh at his remark.
“Good one,” Don says, then lifts his glass, and I know what’s next. I grip the side of my drink cup with a hand to brace myself. Somebody, please tell me this isn’t how I look when I’m blowing off steam. “To winning!”
“Winning!” the men yell, and this time, Verog joins in, clinking each of their drinks with his own glass.
It means I have to do the same thing. I smile my best fake grin and down the rest of the beverage. The guys holler and cheer as I do so, grunting and whooping with joy. Like they’re the last survivors of some long and bloody battle, and the pizza and drinks are the spoils of war.
I excuse myself to the bar for another drink. Though I don’t know the exact ratio of Tina’s concoction, I’d rather look strange from the bartender’s perspective than hear the words ‘to winning’ one more time.
“Not so fun and cool looking at it from the other side, huh?” Verog’s voice isn’t nearly as smug as I thought it’d be. “The trick is to treat them like kids while talking to them like a friend.”
Of all the sober parents who came to the game and subsequent celebration, three of them are moms. Two of which have already left with a slew of kids. If it hadn’t been for Melody keeping score of who went home and who didn't, none of those dads would know where their kids were.
I frownas I watch a few of them try to best each other in a breadstick-eating contest. “Does that mean all the shit you give me isn’t you showing you care?” I tease.
Verog’s seen me at my most wasted, but it never really occurred to me what he had to do when that happened. They always made funny stories back in the day.
“Correct,” he answers flatly. “Your mother’s been paying me to hang with you for years. I get the biggest Christmas bonuses when I have to babysit you because you won’t. See this watch?” He shows me his wrist and accompanying Rolex. “I got it after I had to carry you all the way home barefoot.”
“You never had to carry me all the way home barefoot?” I say, recognizing the watch as the one I bought for his birthday.
“How do you think you got home after Jessica Septer's spring break party?”
I smile as the memory of one particularly rowdy college-era bash floods my mind. “Don’t tell Melody,” I say, looking around for her. “I’m just now growing on her.”
“And what will you do when you head back home?” he asks. “You once ended a good thing because the chick lived two towns away.”
“Two towns is far with no ride,” I reply, then hand the bartender my empty glass. She fills a fresh cup with apple cider and orange juice, then tops it off with carbonated water.
“The little one wrote the recipe for me on a napkin,” she explains, gesturing to Tina over by the whack-a-mole. “Enjoy.”
“And multiple states is even further,” Verog says.
I reluctantly nod and sip my drink, realizing Melody isn’t going to be the only person I’ll be leaving soon. Tina and Ryan – all the kids but especially them – remind me just how fun the little things are. None of them need liquor to have a good time. Or a lakefront view. Or a fleet of jet skis.
“Melody isn’t just anyone,” I say, remembering my summer fling for the first time in years and years. “And I’m not the same Jaromir. We’re sneaking around now, but that’s only because this is new.” I take another drink and think of something else. “New but not over. She’s mine.”
24
MELODY
“And I’m not going to ask you twice,” I tell Ryan. With both my hands currently trying – and failing – to get out the bright pink yarn currently knotted up in Isabella’s hair. I can feel the wet popcorn sticking to my exposed knee, currently bent to the ancient carpet. I take a deep breath that I hope goes unnoticed by Isabella, who’s already doing the get-it-out, get-it-out dance on medium speed.
Please be soda. Please be soda. Please be soda.The question beats against the back of my skull. It takes everything in me not to do the get-it-off, get-it-off dance, similar but not identical to the get-it-out, get-it-out caper.
“Any luck?” Tina asks, her perfect face squinting in the most adorable and unhelpful way. Now is not the time to show panic. It’s the time to show control and confidence. “Yikes.”
I close my eyes as the word escapes Tina’s lips. I’m fully expecting Isabella to really get her groove on now. I take another deep breath in and forget about being obvious.
“We’re in this together, okay?” I tell Isabella.
My reflexes are just good enough to avoid her flailing arms. I feel her sticky hands and will myself not to ask a question I’ll never know the answer to. I don’t need to know what’s grazing a small part of my jaw to know water and soap will see it gone.
What if the popcorn is wet because someone spat it out?My heart practically stops at the inconvenient question threatening to force me to my feet and to the nearest sink immediately. No matter the consequences, which will most likely include a full-on sprint across the restaurant and into a busy server. Or worse, kids. What would the parents think if my panic run took out a couple of young ones in the process?
Forget the popcorn!
“Ugh. Why did I convince you to braid my hair with yarn?” Isabella whines at June, whose worried eyes are currently blinking back a few tears. “We’re going to have to cut it out, I bet! Just tell me. I can handle it.”
