Page 55 of Surrender

“And I thought him complaining about changing Charlotte’s diaper four times was funny. You win.” Bree brushes her hands together as if ridding them of crumbs.

“Who’s ready for another round?” Juniper asks the group, eyeing everyone’s glass.

“Listen, the rest of us here can’t drink like we’re in our twenties.” Cortney pushes away her empty glass. “But I’ll still have another.”

“I’m in,” Bree says. “It’s a pump-and-dump kind of night.”

“Me too,” I add. “Minus the pumping and dumping part.”

“Did you breastfeed Bennett?” Bree asks.

“We had latch issues, so I had to give up after a couple of days. It was hard, especially when I breastfed Lucy for fifteen months.”

The guilt resurfaces. Devon’s complaints about listening to Bennett crying at night when he was hungry, and I couldn’t get him to latch. The lack of a support system didn’t make it any easier for me to figure things out, so I ultimately threw in the towel. Even six months later, I still feel like I deprived Bennett of something Lucy had.

Bree nudges me with her shoulder. “No shame in that. Babies need to eat one way or another.”

“I agree.” I return her sympathetic smile.

A fresh round of drinks lands in front of us, and before I can take a sip, Cortney shouts, “I want to dance!”

Just like that, the melancholy of a moment ago vanishes.

We’re all grabbing one another, sticky drinks spilling slightly over the rims of our glasses and onto our fingers. Giggles break out as we stand for the first time in more than an hour, and the alcohol hits us all at once. We form a tipsy line and wobble our way to the rectangular dance floor at the back of the room, currently sparsely occupied.

The alcohol lowers my inhibitions just enough that I don’t care how empty the floor is. As soon as I cross onto the wooden planks, I let the music move my body and relax into the beat.

“I’m so glad you came out.” Bree slings an arm around my shoulders and talks loudly in my ear. “I’m sorry we didn’t keep in touch.”

“It’s my fault. I’m the one who moved away.”

“It doesn’t matter!” she shouts over the music. “I had a cell phone. I could have kept in touch. I’m just so happy we have the chance now. And we both have kids.” She sighs.

“Itty bitty ones.”

“It’s almost like we used to imagine.” Her eyes flash knowingly.

I think of the one thing missing. The one thing that would have made my childhood dreams a reality. “Almost,” I concur.

She squeezes my hand tightly, then spins away, throwing her hands up with a laugh as the beat picks up. Music pulses through speakers mounted on the ceiling, running down the walls and filling the space with a catchy, upbeat tempo and nostalgia.

We dance for what feels like hours. Until my feet ache and my vision twists. Another round of drinks accompanied us to the floor, delivering me to the happy place I haven’t been in so long. We bat away well-meaning proposals with smiles, and nobody tries to set me up despite me being the only single girl in the bunch.

Eventually, my bladder can’t hold the drinks any longer, and Bree and I split from the others for a bathroom break. With her hand clasped tightly in mine, we tow one another down the hall beside the booths and away from the throbbing bass I can feel in my bones.

“Having fun?” she asks after I step back out of the single occupant toilet to find her fixing her makeup in a compact mirror. Her cheeks are rosy with a flush, and a sheen covers her chest. I step up beside her, finding one on my skin to match.

“Are you kidding? I haven’t had this much fun in years.” I check my mascara in her mirror. “It’s so nice to just go out and not be a wife or a mom or a... a widow.” I cringe through the last word as if it’s meant to be hidden.

“I get it. You deserve to meet your needs too.”

I nod, knowing she gets it. She did just that when she walked away from Corjan. Our circumstances may be different, but she knows what it’s like not to have your needs met for so long.

I brush a wayward strand of hair from my face, dab the makeup smeared beneath my eyes, and tilt my head toward the end of the hall. “Come on. Let’s get back out there. I think I only have an hour left in me before I need to tap out.”

Bree giggles. “Me too. When they tell you to read the baby books, they forget to mention how your alcohol tolerance goes away after not drinking for nine months.”

I point at her. “You’re switching to water.”

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