Page 43 of A Second Chance

“Megan?” Ben said. “That’s my cousin.” He headed over, Brandon on his heels. Then the group became thirsty and needed a trip over to the bar, where the women happen to be sitting. His attention had never been far from Gwen anyway; he’d watched her put down two pink drinks in a martini glass and had another in front of her. She wasn’t driving home anytime soon.

Eli made a beeline to the side of the group nearest the new girl, even though she and Ben were having a hushed conversation. “Guys,” he said, “this is my cousin Megan.”

They all responded with, “Hi Megan,” like they were in an AA meeting.

He slid next to Gwen, leaning on the bar. “Enjoying your drinks?”

She grinned. “At first it was a bit strong, but not anymore… they’re so good. I think he started making them weaker.” She attempted to whisper the last part, but failed.

They weren’t any weaker, she was drunker. He waived down Jack and ordered a ginger ale.

“I haven’t seen you drink alcohol,” she said after the bartender walked away.

“That’s ’cause I don’t anymore.” He held his breath. Sometimes his non-drinking posed a problem for others that he didn’t quite understand. It didn’t bother him in the least what they did. He said nothing to make them feel guilty about their choices. But his making a different choice seemed to convict some people and piss them off. Now he feared she’d fall into that category.

She swiveled in her seat to face him, and he prepared to catch her if she fell, but she remained upright. “Cause of the brain injury thing?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“I happen to believe…” she reached out and ran a hand up the front of his shirt, “that taking responsibility for your health is hot.” She fisted his shirt, pulling him toward her and he responded by planting his lips on hers. She tasted like Cointreau, and he might get a contact buzz from this. It was the strangest reason for finding someone attractive, but he wasn’t about to question it.

“You’re hot,” he whispered in her ear. She giggled.

“I am so sick of this shit,” Rebecca’s voice cut through the crowd and everyone turned. While her husband swore like an angry drunken sailor, he’d never heard her curse at all. Weasel was trying to pull his wife by the arm away, but she shook him off. “No,” she said. “Mom, I’ve done nothing but try to show you that I’m happy here, I have a good life, a great husband, a job where I am executive chef.” she waved her arms around. “This is what I do, and this is my tribe. And if you can’t accept my life—”

“Yourlife?” Ellen asked. “Well, you certainly made one and didn’t tell me about any of it. You married a man that you didn’t even introduce beforehand, and you didn’t even tell me you were getting married. Not even an invitation.”

“We didn’t either,” Ben chimed in. “We run a wedding venue and they ran off to thecourthouse.”

“Not the time, bud,” Weasel said.

“Well, I’m still upset about it,” Ben huffed. Brandon put his arm around his boyfriend and consoled him.

Rebecca, undeterred, turned back, her flowy dress swinging. “It’s why I quit talking to you, but I thought now we could smooth things over and have you in our lives, but since you’re determined to disapprove no matter what, you can just go. I’m done.” She turned, took a step, then swayed her arms crossing over her middle, she bent.

Weasel grabbed for his wife, his arms sliding around her, keeping her steady. “Babe?”

Rebecca leaned against him and said something Jason couldn’t decipher.

The incident seemed to sober everyone at the bar and they rushed toward Rebecca. “Back up,” Weasel growled.

“I’m fine,” Rebecca said, her voice faint.

“Well, I’m not taking any chances with you or the baby,” he said. The room went stone still for a beat as Weasel’s words sank in.

“Baby?” at least three women yelled at one time. Ellen Gilbert was white as a ghost, but Roger next to her was beaming.

“Quiet,” Weasel raised his hand to silence the epic squeal rising from the ladies. “I’m getting you checked out,” he said, and despite Rebecca’s protests, he scooped her up and carried her from the barn.

The women had all insisted they go out to the hospital and support Rebecca and Weasel. Since he was the only one of the group not imbibing, he found himself behind the wheel of Ben’s gigantic SUV driving seven drunks to the hospital. Eli and Megan followed. And Ellen and Roger fell at the end of this convoy, Rebecca’s mom rendered mercifully mute by the whole thing. Too bad the rest of the group wasn’t on mute as they sang ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, and Jason decided that sobriety was the raw end of the deal. The song ended early when all forgot which number they’d sang last.

“Guys,” Jason said when the chatter ended, “Rebecca’s pregnant. Weasel’s gonna be a dad.”

Hannah snorted. “I hope it’s a girl.”

“Oh my god,” Autumn said. “It would be funny, except the poor girl will never get a date. He’ll be the one on the porch cleaning a rifle and talking about how he hopes it doesn’t ‘misfire’ into the boys’ head.”

“That’d be karma,” Ben said, groggily from the third row of his car.

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