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“Holy shit,” Jamie says, averting her attention from Jason and over to Carly and me. The cuss word sounds ridiculous coming from between her lips. Unnatural. She’s just not that person. “Get a room, guys.”
I open my mouth to say something, but before I can, Rowan clears her throat and her eyes fall to the floor. “Jason,” she says. “Are you ready to go?”
He nods and starts to say something, but before he can find the words, Carly speaks up again, cutting him off.
“Oh my God, you guys, we should go on a double date.”
Silence settles over the kitchen. Even Jamie looks appropriately horrified.
“Um, Carly,” Rowan says softly, but she’s cut off once more as Carly jumps and claps her hands excitedly, as though this random idea is the cleverest thing she’s ever thought of. I see Jason glance quickly at Rowan, whose eyes are now on me. When I shrug, Jason forces the weakest smile I’ve ever seen and nods.
“That sounds fun,” he says, unconvinced, and then looks to Rowan for validation. For a second I think she’s going to turn Carly down flat, not that I would have blamed her. But instead she smiles again, fake this time, and nods.
“The more the merrier.”
Yeah, right.
“I was going to take Rowan to the Mexican restaurant a few blocks down,” Jason explains. “Their margaritas and chicken tacos are to die for.”
“Oh good,” Carly moans, stepping around me to find her shoes by the front door. “I’m starving and thirsty.”
I open my mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. For one of the first times in my life, I feel utterly speechless. How can I go on this double date with Carly and pretend to be interested in anyone other than Rowan?
“Wow, guys, have fun,” Jamie says, following us out into the living room where I have to steady Carly as she tries to drunkenly pull on her boots. When I glance over at her, she’s got an amused smirk playing on her lips. “What a blast.”
“Wanna come?” Jason asks her, and I silently hope she says yes, even if it’s just to ease the tension, but Jamie shakes her head so quickly I’m afraid it might fling off her shoulders and soar across the room.
“Raincheck? You guys have fun, okay?”
I look at Rowan, who is scowling at Jamie’s back as her friend retreats to her bedroom, probably thrilled to be as far away as possible from this shit show of awkwardness as possible.
“Ready?” Jason asks Rowan, and she takes the arm he offers her. Another twinge of jealousy flutters through my chest, but I avert my gaze to Carly who is humming something under her breath, hardly coherent, it seems. I sigh. My true feelings might be for the stunning redhead standing next to me, but that’s not an excuse not to be halfway decent to Carly. Bryce keeps telling me I have to stop being such a douchebag, because apparently for some girls it’s a turnoff.
“You look great,” I say, my lips near Carly’s ear. She giggles, raising her shoulders like I’d tickled her neck, and takes my hand. I sneak a glance at Rowan. She’s pretending not to notice, but somewhere under that fake, plastic smile is something like … resentment?
Good. Now we’re getting somewhere.
“We can take my car,” says Jason as we all follow him outside. “Does that work?”
Like I have a choice. Plastering on my best bullshit smile, I open the back door to Jason’s tacky sport’s car and Carly slides in, nearly ripping her pants on the sharp edge of the door. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and wink at her instead, jogging around to the other side to slide in next to her. Rowan is still silent, fuming probably, and she’s making it a point not to make eye contact with me.
The drive to the restaurant is short but awkward. Jason talks, like, a lot, which is both obnoxious and relieving at the same time. If he didn’t talk, nobody would, and then this fuck up of a date would be screwed before it’s even started. Even Carly, who is sipping off a small flask of what smells like tequila, can’t get a word in edgewise.
The best part? Jason can’t stop talking about himself.
The first thing Carly orders when we sit down at a booth in the corner is an enormous margarita with an extra shot of tequila poured in there. Rowan orders a glass of wine–classy, I know–and Jason orders a sweet tea because apparently he’s a bigger Doucheboy than I thought he was. I order a beer and finish it within five seconds of delivery, then order another to help me get through this date.
“So,” Carly says, supporting herself by her elbows on the table. Her gaze is blood-shot, eyes glassy, and I know I’m not the only one who can smell the booze seeping from her pores. For a mere moment, that smell takes me back in time, and I see my dad’s face in front of me suddenly. I focus on his own drunk eyes, the smell of booze on his breath as he screams at me, yelling, shouting, punching the walls and breaking the dishes …
“Carly, do you think maybe you should slow down on the liquor?” Rowan says softly, dropping her tone. “I really don’t want you to be sick.”
“Do I look like I’m about to be sick?” Carly snarls, her cheerful, buzzed demeanor replaced with one of fury. It’s like the tequila has kicked in; it used to happen to my dad, too.
“Hey,” I say, nudging her playfully in the ribs. “It’s hard to spend time with you if you’re not really here.”
It’s not a lie, either. Any family member of an alcoholic will tell you the same thing.
Carly ignores this, reaching for another drink. Jason, for the first time all night, is looking kind of awkward again. His incessant rambling might have saved us this time, but instead, a heavy silence weighs over our table as Carly continues to drink. Finally, when our server arrives at the table to take our orders, I have to help Carly order because she’s too drunk to look at the menu.
