Page 93 of Delayed Intention
My sisters look amazing. Tamar’s long blond hair is in a low, messy bun, and she is wearing jeans and a black tank top with polished-looking black sandals. She has a pink Chanel crossbody bag; because, of course, she does. Even though Tamar is in her forties, she could easily pass for a younger age than I am. Roselyn has a pretty pink and white scarf on her head, covering her hair, and tied in a beautiful bow at the nape of her neck. She is wearing a pink boat neck long-sleeve shirt with an ankle-length distressed jean skirt. Daniella is over at the bar and is wearing a light-yellow cardigan over a navy A-line dress. She keeps her curly blond hair at the length of her shoulders.
“More alcohol.” I say after I’ve polished the first drink.
We walk up to the bar to order and, one by one, the other hens arrive. This is the same bar where Josh and I attempted karaoke last fall. My body remembers slow dancing with him here and I flush with the memory, becoming very thirsty for a drink. Of course, it’s the same bar where I was rescued by the bartender and a few patrons when Josh transformed into a drunk asshole a few months ago. Considering all of this, I decided maybe I’m entitled to be more intoxicated than I originally intended.
The entire place isn’t rented out for us but there is a side room, of sorts, that is covered by a tent and is all ours. That’s where the DJ is set up and there are two food trucks for us to order either non-kosher BBQ, in keeping with the southern belle theme, or kosher pizza options for Roselyn, me and anyone else that is so affiliated. Something for everyone.
I go order a small pizza for myself, and Felicia saddles up next to me in line.
“Hi there Lily.”
“Felicia, I’m so sorry about last night. I’m mortified—that party was supposed to be about you and I’m an asshole.”
“Thank you for saying so, but I’ll be honest with you, there is a reason I’m a surgeon.” She smiles shyly at me. “I don’t like being the center of attention and having all eyes on me. You did me a favor, honestly.”
“Well then, you’re welcome?”
She smiles wider. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. And to say thank you for everything you’ve done with Josh to make this week possible.”
“I’m okay. I’m going to get drunk again, but hopefully in a more fun way than a suck-out-all-the-air-in-the-room way.”
She laughs. “Whatever blows your skirt up girl.”
She wanders off, and I make my way up to the bar to order another drink. The tables are getting cleared out to put down a dance floor in front of the DJ. I need to drink more if I’m going to dance. And to stop the other memories I have of this place.
I take my pizza back to the table and join some of Felicia’s friends from the residence, who are all eating barbecue happily. We laugh as we eat, and it’s awesome to spend time with people who aren’t my grandmother’s age. Dana and Abbie join us at our picnic table and, within minutes, I’m laughing so hard with these women my face hurts. Somehow, we’re on the topic of learning to take a sexual history on a patient while trying not to sound like a creeper. We are all in hysterics, and as I head over to the bar with Dana to place drink orders for the table, I remember the last time I had so much fun.
It’s a tie between karaoke night with Josh and the Purim festival in Lincoln. Maybe there’s not enough alcohol I can drink to forget.
“Are you having a good time?” I asked Dana.
“Absolutely.”
“I see you and Abbie are on again.” I eye her.
“I’m a total commitment-phobe and I freaked out when she moved to Nebraska.”
“I know.”
“She’s really great though,” Dana said, looking fondly back to Abbie.
“She is.”
“How are things for you and Josh?” Dana asked.
“Complicated. We’re friends… with less benefits at this point.”
“Yeah, that never works.”
“Not for me anyway.”
We order and wait for drinks, and the music starts to get loud enough that small talk is off the table, which is fine with me. I like Dana, but I’m so tired of talking about myself. I want a night off and a good time.
We head back to our picnic table with two trays of shots and various other drinks. One of Felicia’s Georgia friends makes a toast in her honor and we all drink, and move over to the dance floor.
Under the tent are string lights that turn on above us, as well as the stars and the shadows of mountains all around our horizon. We are line dancing, or at least the ladies from Georgia are, while others—such as my sisters and me—are just bumping into everyone else.
I look up to the stars, and as good of a time as I’m having, I ache right in the middle of my chest.
