Page 64 of Kiss Collector
Upstairs in the kitchen it’s a disaster of bottles, cans, cups, and two-liters. Quinton is standing at a crystal punch bowl with a fancy pewter ladle that makes us laugh.
“Y’all like that, right?” he asks with a grin. “High class.”
“What’s in it?” Lin asks.
“Little o’ this, little o’ that,” Quinton says.
He pours cups of red liquid and passes them out. I decline and grab an empty cup, filling it with ice from the freezer and water from the tap. I hold it up and we clink them together. Lin and Monica drink and then gasp simultaneously, coughing. Quinton brings a fist to his mouth and chortles. I’m guessing it’s strong.
A huge new group of kids arrives, throwing their hands up and hollering lyrics as they come up the stairs, so we move out of the kitchen to let them in. We wind up in the dining room overlooking the backyard. The dining table is littered with trash, just like the kitchen. The whole place looks wild, like there’s been a week-long party going on.
Wylie would love this party. The thought of him sends a pang of longing through me, and I brush it away. I miss that closeness. That feeling of being a partner in all ways. Having that one person who’syourperson. God, we used to laugh so much. Why did he throw that away? Am I doomed to always care for someone more than he cares for me, or vice versa? Is it possible that I’ll ever find the person who loves me as much as I love him? Someone I’ll still be holding hands with when we’re old?
“What’s wrong?” Lin asks, taking another gulp of her drink and giving her head a brisk shake.
“Nothing,” I say. Then I decide to tell them. “I met my dad’s girlfriend at the restaurant.”
Both of their faces are mirrors of wide-eyed shock.
“What was she like?” Monica asks.
“Cute. Young. Nice.”
“Well that’s...” Lin glances at Monica. “Good?”
“I hate her,” I say.
Monica nearly chokes on her drink and Lin says, “Okay, yeah, I hate her, too. Skank.”
Now I snort a sad laugh. I stare down at the ice in my cup. “She’s a waitress at his work.”
They’re both quiet, then Lin says, “I’m sorry, sweetie. Iknow you’re going through a lot. But in other news, your hair is on point. It’s super smooth today.”
I run a hand down my thick strands that took me two hours to straighten this morning, and still required a touch-up session before we came. “Thanks.”
Monica peeks out the window. “Ooh, they’re playing beer pong on a table out there. Let’s go!”
This time we go out the sliding glass door and down a set of warped wooden steps to the back patio. Our feet trample weeds that have sprouted up through cracked concrete.
“I wanna play!” Monica says. She and Lin make their way into the teams of drunken players and I stand to watch, thoroughly content at that moment.
“Hey.” Someone bumps me hard and I have to catch myself, spilling cold water over my hand. “Sorry!”
Dean’s eyes are laughing when I look up at him, and my stomach spins. My smile is too big, but I cannot tame it.
“Hey,” I say back.
He looks over at the game, grinning that dimpled smile of his. “This place is crazy, huh?” Beer pong players are fumbling and laughing.
“Yeah. And apparently the drinks are a little strong.”
“I see that,” he says. He takes his eyes from the game and looks me over, settling on my face with concern. “You doing okay?”
I nod. I’m about to answer him, when I feel compelled to look over, past the game, to where Joel and Kwami stand near the basement door. Joel is looking right at me, and something about his gaze is so strong, so focused, that all thought is knockedfrom my brain. All I can do is stare back. Then his eyes slide to Dean. Before I can quite register it, Joel turns to Kwami and pulls out a cigarette. My stomach drops in disappointment.
“You sure?” Dean asks.
“Huh?” I look up at him and his expression turns funny.
