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Blair: Sounds good. I’ll bring snacks.
Mona: Oh, I mean I guess you can bring a guest if you’re hungry, but you might scare my friends.
Blair: Cute.
Her one-word reply seems as close as she gets to admitting she liked my dumb joke.
Grace shows up early with a bottle of cheap wine and a family-size pack of cookies, stress written on her tense brow. She’s shoved her hair on top of her head in a bedraggled bun and there’s a stain on the collar of her sweatshirt. She’s still struggling with her ex-husband’s engagement, though she won’t admit it. I squeeze her tight in greeting, and some of the tension in her posture melts away. “Thanks, I needed that.”
“Me too! It’s the most human contact I’ve had in days,” I say, only half joking.
She makes herself at home, heading straight to my kitchen to rifle through my utensil drawer. Digging out my neglected corkscrew from the back, she holds it up with a flourish. “Here’s to dying alone and touch-starved!”
“Don’t you need a glass of something in order to make a toast?”
“Fine, one sec.” Grace goes up on her toes to grab two wine glasses and fills them with a heavy pour, then passes one over to me. “Here’s to dying alone! To never feeling the touch of a man again!”
“Men are overrated,” says a husky voice, and I almost drop my glass when I see Blair standing right behind me, a grocery bag in one hand that looks ready to break under the weight of whatever’s inside.
“Oh shit! I didn’t hear you come in. Hey Blair!” I move to hug her, then stop myself midway. She doesn’t seem like a hugger. Instead, I take the bag from her and see it’s full of candy bars. It looks like she grabbed every kind the store had. “Thanks for bringing these!”
Grace raises her glass to Blair. “Nice to see you outside of class, Blair. Did you come here from work?” She takes a deep swig of her wine and fusses with the stain on her sweatshirt, as if she can scrub it away with her fingers. I swear her pale cheeks tinge pink as she looks at the vampire. I don’t blame her. Blair is hot in her intimidating, severe way, dressed tonight in a semi-sheer white blouse and black pencil skirt more suitable for a boardroom than game night at my kitschy apartment.
Blair looks down at her pristine outfit, then back at Grace. “Something like that.”
“Knock knock! Am I the last one here? Should I lock the door?” Rachel’s bubbly voice calls out from the bottom of the stairs.
“Yeah, thanks. I’m so glad you could make it!” I do my best to disguise my surprise that she showed up.
Rachel huffs when she gets to the top of the stairs and pretends to wipe her brow. “Damn, those are like climbing a mountain,” she says, gathering her locs and lifting them off her neck to cool down.
“Hah, just imagine what it was like for me to carry a geriatric pug up and down them twenty times a day. I got my daily cardio in with that alone.”
Rachel rests a gentle hand on my back in comfort, no doubt expecting tears at the mention of Nugget. I wait for the stab of grief to hit me, but it doesn’t come. All I feel is warmth, remembering how sweet he was about letting me carry him and how soft his fur felt against my face as I rained kisses on his head with each journey up and down those stairs.
“I loved how he would groan at us until we gave him snacks. Spoiled old boy, I miss him,” Rachel says with a chuckle. Out of all my friends, Nugget loved her the most. Probably because she snuck him snacks all the time.
“You’re talking about the dog that lives with you?” asks Blair. It’s an odd way of putting it, since it’s clear he’s no longer here.
“Yep, my sweet old pug. He passed away about six months ago.” I gesture to a framed photo of me holding him in his shark costume.
Blair looks at the photo and then back at me with a hint of a smile. “He’s still here with you.”
“That’s what I keep saying! I still feel his energy when I visit.” Rachel nods emphatically in agreement. “I’m Rachel, by the way. You must be Blair. Wow, you’re hot!” She reaches out a hand to Blair, who takes it after a beat, smiling at the zaftig ball of joy that is Rachel. Even badass Blair can’t resist her infectious charms.
“Nice to meet you. And thanks,” Blair replies. She accepts a glass of wine from Grace and slinks over to take a seat at my dining table. Rachel and Grace follow, pulled like magnets to our gorgeous new game night member.
* * *
We’reon our third game in a row of Rachel kicking everyone’s ass when my phone buzzes, rattling against the table next to my empty wine glass. I look at it with a frown. Everyone who’d be texting me at this time of night is here with me. Unless there’s an emergency with my Mom or brother, but even then they’re more likely to text each other than me.
I pick my phone up while I’m waiting for my turn, my pulse quickening when I read the message.
Max: Just wanted to let you know I haven’t found anything yet to stop our dreams.
A few seconds later, another message joins it.
Max: I’d apologize for coming up empty, but I can’t find it in me to feel too bad. Not with how…compelling they are.
