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Both Jane and Eric had been mum since the Fourth––Eric because he never said anything about his love life, and Jane because she still staunchly denied the long weekend meant anything at all. More interesting was that although I had talked to her several times in the last three weeks, she had also not mentioned a visit. Not once.
"Will she?" I asked with a raised brow. "And when was this decided?"
Eric took a gulp of his beer. "Last night. She's planning to spend her vacation in Boston."
"And is she planning to stay with us?"
Eric looked up. "What, do you want me to pay more of the rent? I didn't think you'd mind. I'm sure she was going to tell you after her exam. She's just not done until tomorrow."
He popped a piece of fried cheese into his mouth and focused on aligning his coaster and beer glass with the edge of the bar, as if knowing Jane's bar exam schedule and the fact that he would be hosting the same girl every night for two weeks wasn't completely out of the ordinary. I said nothing, just gave a hard stare while he ate.
"Okay!" he finally exploded after swallowing his food. "Jesus. If I tell you that I like her, will you stop staring a freaking hole through my forehead with those laser beams?"
He rubbed viciously at said spot, as if the pressure was literally killing him. I folded my arms with a satisfied smile at Jared, who just looked confused.
"I'm glad you can admit the truth," I said haughtily before picking up my drink.
"I'm not the one you should worry about," Eric grumbled. "You should be talking to Jane about the truth, not me."
I quirked my eyebrow, but that was all he was willing to say about the matter.
Two more shots and several rounds of drinks later, the entire bar was effectively shitfaced. I had already seen at least three soon-to-be-prominent Boston attorneys sprint to the bathrooms to throw up, and a few others had just skipped the line and dashed outside to hurl over the pier. We were messier than a frat house during Rush week.
Steve was getting sloppy with one of his BC classmates on the improvised dance floor by the juke box, and Eric was working hard not to fall off his bar stool while he checked his phone every two minutes and crooned George Michael's "Faith" every so often. Eric, as it happened, could actually sing. I was willing to bet a thousand dollars that most of his texts were drunk missives to a certain half-Korean friend of mine.
I, on the other hand, had sent my share of drunk-texts to Brandon, who was trapped in meetings at the office. Jared had kept me company at the bar and continued to ply me with alcohol and greasy food while we competed with our worst law school stories. We all sacrificed a lot to get to this point, financially and personally. The road to becoming a lawyer took a lot of time and money that most people couldn't understand. While many of our friends from college and high school were well into their careers, we were just starting now, and wouldn't be able to take a reasonable break for another several years.
"You have no idea what I've given up for this," I pronounced to Jared for the fifth time, sweeping my arms like great wings. I smacked the shoulder of a dancing classmate. "Sorry, girl."
"I bet I can beat you." Jared's voice was becoming increasingly slurred too. "Summer in Europe."
I snorted. "Oh, I'm so sorry, lil' rich boy, that you had to skip your special snowflake vacay." I held a thumb out, preparing to count. "Thanksgiving three years in a row. My grandmother's seventy-fifth birthday. Helping my dad through rehab. Missed every one of 'em."
Jared frowned at the last one. "Shit. I didn't know about your dad, Skylar. Everything okay?"
I tipped back the last of my fourth whiskey soda. "It will be. He's...got some issues." I turned to the bartender and signaled for another round, barely managing to keep myself on my barstool. "So, summer vacation? That's all you got for me, precious?"
Jared grinned and pushed his floppy brown hair off his forehead. "Okay, okay, no. I got a few more. My best friend's wedding. In Tahiti."
I shook my head so hard I almost fell off my stool. "Still a rich boy problem, but yeah, that had to hurt. But I got you again." I held out a second finger: "Spending time with my long-lost brother and sister this summer."
"Spending time with my aging grandmother. She's got rheumatoid arthritis, you know."
"Missing my sister's birthday party in New York," I shot back.
"Missing every party all summer long," Jared countered.
"All the money I could have been making to pay for my dad's rehab."
"All that gas money driving back and forth from Andover every day."
"A baby."
The words fell between us like a stone, tumbling out of my mouth in spectacular word-vomit before I could stop them. I stared at the ground, as if I could actually see the bomb I'd just dropped. The blood drained from my head, and I swayed on my seat. Did I really say that? No, no, I didn't. I couldn't have.
"You were pregnant?" Jared asked, all signs of friendly competition replaced with sharp curiosity.
Fuck.
