I laugh, until I realize she's dead serious.
"Mom, I'm an adult."
"Staying under my roof," she reminds me.
"At your insistence. It's not too late for us to get a hotel. And staying here as guests doesn't put us under your rules. Not anymore."
I'm not backing down on this one, and I think she finally realizes that, because she shrugs, sighs, and does all manner of non-verbals to indicate just how very not okay she is with all of this before stomping into the kitchen. "Don't drink and drive," she hollers.
"We won't," Tate says.
"I'm not walking in these heels," I tell him, but he just grins.
"Got it covered," he says.
When we walk outside, our taxi is waiting for us. We make it easy on ourselves and head downtown to hit up all the bars in one night. I can at least walk that far. And maybe drinking will help this time in hell pass more swiftly.
I don't know what I'm expecting when we arrive at the first hole-in-the-wall dive, but I realize I'm disappointed after we're there for a few minutes. Nothing looks or feels familiar. I don't recognize anyone from our past. I guess I wanted this to be an opportunity to, what? Show off to the poor people of Ohio? As soon as I think this, I realize what an asshole I am and feel ashamed.
When the bartender serves us another round of shots, I down mine quickly and eye the bathroom. "Be right back," I tell Tate, sliding off the barstool.
I'm washing my hands when someone comes in. No, it's not Sebastian. And no, I don't for a moment think (wish) it is. Okay? Just let it go. I'm not thinking of Sebastian Donovan.
Of course that's all a lie. I can't stop thinking of him, and I wish I'd taken him up on his offer to come with me. As much as I love Tate, when we're home like this, it all feels like some kind of time warp, and I feel eighteen again and under the thumb of my oppressive but well-intended parents. I need someone from outside all the insanity to give me some perspective, to ground me in the real world, not these memories of yesterday.
But I do a double-take at the blonde who saunters in, because I recognize her. When she sees me, she smiles wider. "Kacie? Kacie Michaels? Is that you?"
I dry my hands and walk over to her. "Leslie, hi. How are you?"
"I'm good, and look at you! So fancy. What are you doing here?"
I don't have a ton of memories of Leslie. She and I didn't hang in the same crowd, but we had enough classes together throughout high school that we were on a first name basis with each other.
"My grandmother died. Tate and I came for the funeral."
"Oh my God, Tate's here? Jill and the other girls are going to flip! I don't think any of us have stopped crushing on him since y'all left us for greener pastures."
I smile, ready for this conversation to be over. "He'll be delighted to hear it."
She links arms with me as I leave the bathroom. "You have got to tell us everything!"
"Didn't you need to use the bathroom?"
"Oh, I'm fine. Just came to freshen up. No biggie. This is way more important."
When Jill and the other “girls” see us coming out, they form a… what would a group of giggling girls who aren't really girls be? A gaggle? That sounds about right. They form a gaggle and surround me. I'm getting dizzy trying to keep track of who's talking to me, and I gesture for Tate to come rescue me. They're here to see him more than me, and as soon as they realize he's coming over, the gaggle moves as one beast towards my poor brother.
But he raises his arms and smiles big, and I know he'll survive the encounter with his typical Tate charm.
"Ladies, how lovely you all look tonight. What a great surprise seeing you here."
I can't help but smile at how well he can work a room. It's a skill, for sure. I take my drink before one of the gaggle girls grabs it and head outside for some fresh air. I text Tate, who's now surrounded and unapproachable, and let him know where I'm going.
You're lucky I love you so much.
Don't play that card, bro. I know you love the attention. And all the tits.
I can hear him laugh out loud at my text from inside, and I smile, sit down at an empty table and sip my drink, enjoying the chill in the air. It's nice being somewhere that doesn't feel like an inferno even at night. For once I'm not sweating through my clothing.
Over the next few hours, a couple of men try to chat me up, but I'm not interested in talking, and they leave me alone. When Tate finally emerges with a few new lipstick stains, I'm ready to go, and it looks like he is too.
The house is dark when we arrive home, and I feel like a teen again, sneaking in after curfew and skipping the third step on the stairs because it always squeaks.
That night I dream about proms and kisses under bleachers and shotgun weddings in Las Vegas.
***