Page 92 of Rule the Night
His hand landed on my bare thigh. “But I’m right here.”
I lifted his hand off my leg. “No thank you.”
“Boyfriend?” he asked.
“Nope, just not interested tonight. Thanks anyway.”
“Come on! It’s Friday night! Come and sit with us.” He looked over at a group of guys crowded around a table on the other side of the room. “You can bring your friend.”
“I said not tonight.”
“But— ”
“Are you deaf?” Bailey said, returning with two purple-hued drinks. “Fuck off.”
Anger flashed in the guy’s eyes as he stood. “Fucking bitch.”
Bailey turned to follow him but I put a hand on her arm. “It’s not worth it.”
I wasn’t looking to antagonize some asshole when we were out alone.
“What a dick,” she said, taking the seat next to me.
“Agreed.”
She raised one of the glasses. “To dicks. May they forever fuck off.”
I touched my glass to hers. “Amen!”
“And to you!” she added. “Happy twenty-two, girl!”
I smiled. “Thanks.”
I was happy in the moment before I remembered June, who would never celebrate another birthday. Who would never wish me another one either. In two years I’d be older than she was when she’d died. She’d be frozen in time forever, while I kept on living.
Bailey’s mouth turned down, like she knew I was thinking about June.
She leaned in to hug me. “She’s here, Maeve.”
But she wasn’t. That was the thing about death. You could tell yourself all the nice things about how people lived on in your memories of them, in your love for them, but the truth was, they were gone and they were never coming back.
And no amount of Huckleberry Twists could ever really make you forget.
58
MAEVE
Not that Ididn’t try. By the time Bailey settled our tab, I’d had two more drinks (okay, maybe three) and I was feeling a lot better. We’d laughed as we’d recounted each of our birthday’s since we’d met in second grade, including the time we’d snuck down to the kitchen during my sixth-grade slumber party, eaten the rest of the confetti cake my dad had made after I’d begged for a “normal” cake, and promptly puked all over the other girls’ sleeping bags.
We’d danced our way through the 80s songs in the jukebox, bought drinks for a woman celebrating her bachelorette party, and played secret games of fuck, marry, kill with every guy who walked into the bar, including the Aventine boys, who we both opted to kill.
We were more than a little unsteady on our feet as we spilled onto the pavement outside.
Bailey flung her arm around my shoulders. “Come stay with me at the apartment. We’ll have a slumber party!” she shrieked.
“I can’t. I have to cook tomorrow.” Plus I was having dinner at my parents’ house for my birthday and I wanted plenty of timeto get my shit together, because after tonight, I was going to need it.
“Boo,” she said. “This sucks.”
