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I go outside and find Shay sitting in her car in front of the house. I knock on the glass, but she doesn’t bother looking up from where she’s sitting, in the passenger side of the car, a hot pink flask in her hand. Is she drinking outside a kids’ party? I knock again. She still doesn’t raise her head, but she does raise a hand to give me the finger.
I laugh. This is more like the Shay I remember. She wants me to leave her alone, but I can’t before I make sure she’s okay. I open the driver’s side door and get in. This gives me a reaction I expect.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“You got eyes. I’m taking a seat, and you’re taking it straight to the head, huh?”
“Sometimes you just have to.” She tilts the flask back to her mouth, resting her head back.
“Not letting you drive if that’s the good stuff in that bottle.” I turn my head to her, and she swipes the bottle under my nose.
“Relax, officer; it’s Juicy Juice and ginger ale. Unless you want to make a citizen’s arrest for being hopped up on one hundred percent juice,” she says dryly.
I laugh and shake my head. “Why do you have it in a flask ?” I turn it around to read what it says: Cool me down I’m hot! and there’s a guy in a G-string whose hips gyrate when you turn it. My chuckle turns into a full-on guffaw.
Her lips twitch with a suppressed laugh. “The flask is a long story. Got it today as a gag gift from the guys at work. I was thirsty when I got here, but I couldn’t find a cup, so I took my faux-alcohol beverage to go.”
“Your personality hasn’t changed much. Still hilarious as ever. Good to see some things are unchanged.”
“Hm.” She nods, turning her head to the side window.
We sit in silence; I guess we’re both waiting for Lace. I break the silence with a comment that is meaningful to her but wouldn’t be to many others. “I wish I had a time machine.”
“Yeah, where’s Marty McFly when you need him?”
“Exactly.” I smile. “How’s your life been going?” I’m curious; Shay’s always been an interesting character. Half the time you don’t know what’s going on in her mind.
“Can’t you tell? Life is like a box of chocolates.”
Tapping my hand on the console I ask, “Is it sweet?”
With a crooked smile, she says, “Hell, no. You never know what you’re going to get.”
“Who knew Forrest had such wisdom. You still crack me up.”
“I’m a riot. I’m thinking about busting through that kiddie party and stealing the clown’s job, give them real live adult entertainment, show ‘em what I’m working with.” She gyrates the man on the flask by shaking it.
We both break up at the thought of how all those prim and proper parents would respond.
And that is the enigma that is Shay McQueen: she blows into the middle of a kids’ party without warning, and nearly cuts me down with the past. Minutes later, she’s almost bringing me to tears with laughter.
I know she deflected answering my question about her life. She doesn’t want to share. I will.
“You know, I own a bar.”
“I’ve been told.” She sounds uninterested, but I’m leading up to something which might make her interested.
“Stop by The Office. I’ll hook you up with the real stuff.” I point to the flask. She just nods, and I continue. “I have a partner you might run into. He’ll be happy to see an old friend. He misses you.”
She turns her head, blinking at me like she struggling with something weighing down on her shoulders, then coming to an answer. “Let’s not.”
“He does. He misses you.”
“Does he have a girlfriend?”
“Girlfriends. Nothing serious.”
“Some things never change,” she says, sounding irritated.
