Page 37 of Maybe You

I finish my own drink and set the bottle down. I’m starting to feel sort of nice and floaty, and then an excellent idea hits. Liquid courage. I’m thinking another drink will get me to a place where I have enough guts to put sex on the table.

“The next round is on me.” I head to the bar. I’m back quickly enough, seeing that there aren’t that many customers here, even though it’s a Friday night.

I slide another beer in front of Sutton and take a big gulp of my own drink.

The night goes from there.

They’re not so much secrets that we exchange, more like an assortment of random facts about each other.

He went to an expensive private school. I went to a regular high school.

He’s never had a pet, and neither have I.

He listens to indie rock. I lean toward alternative.

He can eat his weight in shrimp. I don’t like seafood.

His first car was a BMW. I’ve never owned a car.

Even with all the many, many differences between us, words come so easily. I don’t remember the last time talking to somebody felt like something that came effortlessly.

We talk for so long that by the time Marlon kicks us out, I have a lot of drinks in me. So many, I lost count on the way to my current state. But it’s okay because I feel all relaxed and serene and with a head full of great ideas.

“I should take up drinking,” I announce once we’re outside.

“Sounds like a terrible plan,” Sutton says, which is reasonable, but not at all supportive.

“No, but hear me out. Drinking makes me so fun.”

“I’d say you’re about the same amount of fun when you’re sober.”

“Sure, sure.” I give an impatient wave. “But here’s the important part. Right now, I don’t give a fuck. And that’s fun.”

His lips twitch as he looks at me.

“See how you feel in the morning and then decide if alcoholism is still the road you want to take.”

“It is,” I say with complete conviction. Drinking is fun. No wonder people do it so much.

“Okay.”

I stop walking and send him a wide smile. “Aww. You are supportive after all. See, you’re actually really nice. And you say you’re not, but you’re actually really nice.”

I don’t know why he doesn’t seem to believe me on this. I know stuff.

“I think we should get you home,” he says. “Where do you live?”

That stops me for a moment. I know the answer. I totally know it. Because I, Wren Aaron Mills, know stuff.

“A house.” I nod with satisfaction. See? Those brain cells are pulling their weight for sure.

Sutton looks somewhere between amused and exasperated. He should have another drink. It’d relax him right up.

“And where is that house located?”

I roll my eyes. It’s a bit embarrassing for him that he’s wasted enough that he doesn’t know where he is, but hey, I’m a good friend, so I’m not going to tease him about this too much.

“New York City?” I say, making sure I enunciate every syllable properly.

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