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“Hey, you want to prove me wrong so bad? Fucking do it! If I’m wrong, let me eat shit, I’ll take the blame. But it ain’t gonna happen.”
I march back into the locker room, throw my bag over my shoulder, and walk out.
16
In the kitchen, I sit on a stool as I mix ingredients and slide a tray in the oven.Step one, fudge brownies. Step two, get drunk.I reach into the wine fridge, feeling around for a bottle. My fingers wrap around the neck of the first one I touch, then I pull it out, uncork the bottle, and take three very healthy gulps from the rim.
“I owe Camden Teller one bottle of whatever this is,” I announce, then glance at the label. “Ah, a Riesling. Lovely.”
Forty minutes later, Cam comes home from practice. I’m three-quarters of the way through the wine and halfway through the nine-by-thirteen pan of chocolate heaven. At least, I think it’s half. It’s not like I’ve started on one end of the pan and am working across. No, I’m plunging my fork wherever it lands. The whole pan is mine, who cares where I start? He walks in to me sitting on his sofa watching reality TV.
What stage of grief is binging brownies, wine, andRuPaul’s Drag Race? Is it the one before or after bargaining? I can never remember.
He looks surprised to see me. “Hey. Saw you called. Sorry, didn’t have my phone on me.”
The silly straw in my wine bottle spins around the rim, and I struggle to get my lips around it for a drink. When I finally take a sip, it makes a sucking noise, unable to reach the wine at the bottom of the bottle. I pluck out the now-useless straw. “Well, that’s disappointing,” I mutter.
He gets closer and jerks his head back. “Whoa. What happened to you?”
“Oh!” I respond with the most facetious smile I can manage. “I’m having a horrible fucking day! Would you care to join me, sir? It’s BYOB.” I hold my breath to burp. “Want my straw?” I offer it to him.
He cautiously sets down his gym bag. “Why?”
“Because everything is better with a silly straw!”
“Jordan. Stop.” He grabs the remote off the table and pauses my show, then takes a seat on the coffee table in front of me—blocking my view.Rude. It was getting to my favorite part!
“Dick! Put it back—they’re sissying that walk! It’s Mermaid Fantasy Extravaganza. Ineedto see this.” I shove another bite of brownies into my mouth and gesture with my fork. “Trixie’s our bitch, she’s gonna slay this shit,” I say with my mouth full. Hopefully, the muffling hides my slurred speech.
He raises his eyebrows, gives a paused blink, and blows out a breath. “How much have you had to drink?”
“Not near enough.” I take another pull from the bottle, bummed I no longer have my fun plastic orange straw.
“Okay, tell me what happened.”
I hiccup. “Pass.”
“No, you’re done deflecting. You gotta face your problems.”
“I’ve faced them, Cam!” I throw my arms out to the sides,wine sloshes inside the bottle as I emphasize my words. “All morning!”
He furrows his brow. “I thought you were at work. And where is your car?”
I raise the bottle of wine into the air victoriously. “At the impound!”
“Why is it at the impound?” he asks with furrowed brows.
“That’s what happens when you steal a car,” I answer in the same cadence. “Which, apparently, I did.”
“Wait—”
“Thankfully, dear ol’ dad funded the department for a slew of new vehicles last year. It helped convince the officer to not arrest me. Well, that, and I may have bribed him. Shit, I’m on fire.” I almost forgot that even happened. I laugh and take another sip and wipe my mouth with my arm. “I was almost arrested!” I laugh.
He squints at me. “Stolen? So, wait, how did you get home?”
“Buses, baby! I got to the library and walked from there.”
He stands and points out the window, shouting. “The library is miles from here!”
