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Cat sidled up to me, eyes on mine to gauge my reaction. I remained motionless to take it all in without falling headfirst. “Where would you like to go first?” she asked.
I didn’t know which was worse: letting her choose for me or choosing something and not knowing what I was getting into. After a while, I realized that I probably didn’t even have enough working brain cells to make any type of decision. I waved a drunken hand in her direction. “You choose.”
She grinned and took my hand, pulling me in the direction of the mani-pedi craze. “I thought you’d never ask.”
The funny thing about being more than slightly drunk is that everything starts to feel somewhat okay. I was no longer touring with my favorite band? No problem. I had to give up my soul mate of a best friend to please the love of my life? Not a care in the world—give me another drink. The higher my blood-alcohol content level, the less I cared. Maybe if I drink enough, it’ll numb all the pain.
After our mani-pedis, we stopped at a store that was exclusively for brides and bridesmaids. The windows were lined with tiaras that spelled out messages like Bride to Be and Head Bride in Charge. The T-shirt and tank-top messages ranged from simple—Bride, —to obvious—Here Comes the Bride, to outrageous—Spend One Night with Me—I Get Married Tomorrow ;). At the last one, I turned to Cat with a side-eye. “Really?”
She shrugged. “I don’t make these things, so don’t blame me.”
I sighed and picked the least offensive of the T-shirts, one that simply stated Bride. I turned it over in my fingers clumsily and was struck by how different my fingers looked than Andrew’s. I was assaulted by the memory of those fingers attached to the hands that bracketed my body on the wall, that wrapped around my curls and held me in place with little else than gentle pressure. But I have a feeling that you already know what that’s like, he had said. An unexplainable longing. Missed opportunities realized.
“You ready?” Cat’s face swam in the corner of my vision, her voice somewhat muted in my head. I turned to her, waited for my vision to catch up with the motion.
“Sure,” I said. “Okay.”
We spent a couple more hours in bride hell before Catalina looked at me and told the girls to call it a night. Turns out that it wasn’t a moment too soon; once everyone agreed, I promptly looked for a bush to throw up in.
The trip home in the limo was unmemorable for me though everyone else seemed to have a good time. Champagne and drinks abounded, and Catalina, at the very least, looked like she was having the time of her life. I crawled into the quietest corner of the car that I could find and curled up, trying not to vomit everywhere.
We dropped off the other three first, and then Catalina had the driver drop me off. We pulled up to the curb in front of my apartment building, tired and only a little worse for wear. Catalina eyed me with some trepidation. “You done throwing up?”
I rolled my eyes, remembering how much she hated vomit. “For now. Thanks for your concern.”
She grimaced. “Come on, let’s get you out of the car.” She opened her door then walked briskly to my side and opened that door, as well. She reached in and pulled me to a standing position.
“For someone so small, you’re awfully strong.” I smirked down at her.
She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I work out specifically for moments like this.”
“Last I heard, you didn’t work out at all.” The familiar voice rose up from the shadows and, despite my drunkenness, my head turned toward the sound. Andrew, like a figment of my imagination, pushed off the building’s edge and walked toward us.
“You actually came,” Catalina said. When I turned toward her, she shrugged. “Listen, girl, you’re like twice my height and outweigh me by a good fifty pounds. I had to bring in reinforcements.”
“You could’ve called Michael. Or even Jeremiah.”
“Couldn’t get a hold of them.”
I pursed my lips, disbelieving. Jeremiah always picked up Catalina’s calls. She probably didn’t even try to call him.
It didn’t escape my notice, even in my drunken state, that I wasn’t surprised that Michael didn’t come.
“No matter now,” she said. “I’ll leave Andrew to it. Thanks, babe.”
“Anytime. Come on, you.” Andrew wrapped an arm around my waist. “Let’s get you inside.”
Everything feels a little different when you’ve had too much to drink. It wasn’t so much that the room spun; rather, I felt a quaking in my stomach, a tumultuous roll that threatened to take me with it. I closed my eyes, made my body heavy to indicate that I wanted to stop moving for a bit. Andrew made a noise as if to protest, but I held up a hand. “Trust me, you’ll want me to stop.”
We paused on the stairs for a moment, my heavy breathing the only sound between us. Finally, I opened my eyes. “Ready.”
As we journeyed up the stairs, a thought occurred to me. I turned to look at him, and he watched me with a hint of exasperation. “What?” he said.
“Why aren’t you on tour with the band?” I asked.
“You mean, you don’t enjoy being in my presence?” He smirked.
I rolled my eyes. “Even though we’re not supposed to be hanging out together, it’s not that. It’s just—I just saw you in the band photos.” He frowned and I waved my hand dismissively, somewhat off-kilter. “Online. Social media.”
