Page 5 of The Write Off

Rilla

“Enjoy, ladies.”

A chorus of cheers erupts at the bar as I line up the shots for the women in front of me. They’re clad in thin tank tops and stilettos despite the late February blizzard that rages outside. Body glitter is smeared on their faces, arms, and chests like war paint. They celebrate me like I’m a decorated hero returning from battle. I feel valued. Appreciated.

I love bachelorette parties.

They’re not all champagne and giggles. From my years of working as a bartender, I know that they can get pretty messy, but for the most part, they’re a lot of fun. Sometimes there are tears and occasionally a brawl breaks out, but I’ve only had to call the cops once.

This group seems like a gentler type. They’re throwing back syrupy drinks between trips to the dancefloor. From what I’ve observed, several of them are related. There is a lot of hugging and no shortage of declarations of love. Seriously, I’m waiting for them to start a braid train.

“You’re the best,” a girl in her early twenties slurs as she looks at me with unfiltered adoration. She wears a Maid Of Honor sash over her black tank top and bears a striking resemblance to the bride-to-be. “And you’re, like, so pretty.” The dozen women all start to chime in about how wonderful and beautiful I am.

Before I can awkwardly respond, the DJ changes the song. The entire group breaks out in shrill screams as they sprint back to the dance floor.

“They’re really drunk,” Phil says as he unloads a flat of clean glassware. “You’re not that pretty.”

I don’t try to hold in the cackle that bursts out of me. I walk around the middle-aged man, giving him a hip check as I go. “We can’t all be beauty queens like you, big guy.”

Phil has worked at this bar since he was twenty-one, and that was not yesterday. I was probably learning about primary colors when he started mixing drinks. He’s about my height, but even when we’re eye to eye, I get the impression that he’s towering over me. His head is shaved, his arms are covered in tattoos, and he’s got the personality of a brick wall.

I love him.

He’s the first new friend I’ve made since moving to Boston, not that Phil would ever admit to the fact that we’re friends.

“I must have forgotten my sash at home,” he grunts.

“I bet the bride-to-be would lend you hers.”

“Didn’t you have plans tonight?”

Don’t remind me.

“Yeah. Betty and I were supposed to hang out, but something came up.” Josh landed last-minute tickets to the sold out Foo Fighters’ concert at The Garden.

“She’s your brother’s girlfriend, right?”

She was my friend first. “Right. We’ve been best friends since we were ten.”

“Is she as irritating as you?”

I toss a towel at him, laughing. “No, she’s the best.” Friends don’t come any better than Betty St. Claire. She’s my kind, funny, and fiercely loyal other half.

Though, now she’s also my brother’s other half. Which is amazing. They got together just over a year ago and I’ve never seen either of them so happy.

A loud “wooooo” wafts over from the dancefloor which is all but empty with the exception of the bride-to-be and her merry band of ladies in waiting. They sing along to the cheesy bop as they dance in a circle, arms around one another.

I feel a stab of longing, wishing I saw more of my friends, but I push the thought out of my mind.

Ridiculous. With a shake of my head, I busy myself by tidying up behind the bar. I can’t possibly miss them. I saw Betty yesterday morning, for God’s sake. She popped over to the apartment before leaving for her run with Josh. She was there for all of five minutes and managed to empty my dishwasher and color-coordinate my bookshelf.

The move had come about rather organically. Betty had been sharing her apartment with our friend Maggie for the better part of a year. It had worked out great for them, since Betty spent most of the time down the hall with my brother Josh. When Maggie decided that she was moving in with her boyfriend, Callum, Betty announced that she and Josh had decided to live together as well.

It felt like the sign I was waiting for and the change I so badly needed. It was fate; as if the dominoes fell into place and all the stars aligned. The following month, I packed up my life and moved to Boston, into the vacant apartment 2C.

Alone.

I found out very quickly that it was not going to be all hanging out all the time. Everyone has full time jobs and relationships. I still see them, especially with Josh and Betty just down the hall, but it’s not what I expected.

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