“Really? I thought it was kind of sweet.” We looked at each other for a beat and I walked over to the sink to place my glass in its wet bottom.
“Here,” she said, and I placed hers next to mine. It was all very intentional, very clean. And I knew in that instant that Olivia cared deeply about Danny, or she would have left the room. I’d been watching her all weekend but I realized she’d been watching me too. The understanding was empowering.
“You were very good in the play, you know.” We circled. “Your physicality was really spot-on.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Danny told me you used to act.”
“I did, yes. It just wasn’t that fulfilling in the end. I needed something more . . . permanent. That’s not the right word.” We looked at each other again and Olivia’s face broke into a massive smile. The fullest smile I’d seen her make all weekend.
“What?” I’d been going for condescension.
“Nothing. Just—there’s a lot of Danny in you. The way you talk. Your expressions.” For some reason it felt like an insult and I had the desire to smash her face into a wall again. “I mean, you were probably smart to do something else. It’s stupidly hard, especially these days. And let’s be honest, none of us would be up here if we were actually going to make it.” It was a strange thing to say.
“Danny’s going to.” My response was immediate. “I know Danny’s going to.”
I’d surprised her. She looked at me sideways because she could tell that I meant it. “I mean, he’s really talented, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” she said. Still trying to figure me out. “He’s fantastic.”
“Isn’t he?”
I smiled. And it seemed like things were shifting. Danny was on my team all along, he had to be, and looking for proof was not the point. Maybe it was the wine or the exhaustion, but for some reason I believed in Danny in that moment like I’d never believed in him before. I raised my eyebrows and left the kitchen.
When we came out, they were setting up Yahtzee. Eric had taken out the pieces and Ricky was scrambling around for pens. Noah was rolling a spliff.
“You know when I was in Taiwan, those monks I was staying with played this game like all the time where they had these dice and these cups and I never really understood how it all worked but they would bet all this crazy shit, like bags of rice or like chickens,” he said, licking the joint as he rotated it between his fingers.
“Dude, you gotta stop talking about Taiwan. You’re becoming the kid who went to India.” Danny tore off a scorecard and placed it in front of him.
“I didn’t go to India.”
“That’s not the point.” He looked toward Olivia and they shared a smile.
“Noah spent last summer in Taiwan,” she said to me. “If you’re lucky, he’ll show you his album of eight million photographs later . . . but it will be hard because you can’t really understand unless you’ve been there.”
“Oh fuck all of you,” Noah said. He’d finished rolling and everyone was finally gathered around the table.
“Here,” Olivia said, pulling a chair back for me. I sat down but I didn’t like that she was talking to me now like we were friends.
We started playing. Things began slowly but sped up as we sobered. Apparently their late nights often ended in a game, and their strategies for when to count a three of a kind were beyond me. It was competitive. Danny, Olivia, and Nick were peering over at each other’s scorecards and keeping track of who was on track for the thirty-five-point bonus.
“Fives, fives, fives,” Noah chanted, using his palm to cover the top of the red plastic cup and shaking. He spilled and we stared. He got a single five and scooped the rest of the dice back to roll again.
“Fives, fives, fives!” He got another five.
“I’m literally going to kill you if you do that every time you roll,” Danny said.
“But it works!”
“Fuck off.”
He rolled a third time to reveal two more fives and stood up to high-five Eric. “Aye yi yi! Five-sa fives!” Danny swiped up the dice for his turn and ended up a lucky but last-minute small straight. Still, he was losing and he didn’t like it.
The game meandered on and stories began to take over. It was getting late but going to bed meant good-bye so we pushed forward. My anger had begun to fade to apathy as the prospect of tomorrow loomed nearer and I could get in the car and be done with the whole ordeal.
But that’s when I saw it happen. Noah was telling a story about a production of Othello in this Queens warehouse where a castmate filled his water-glass prop with vodka as a prank before he walked onstage, forcing him to take small shots throughout his climactic scene with Emilia. Ricky was eating it up and everyone watched him as he mimed his narration with his whiskey and Coke. Even I was laughing, but I turned an eye toward Danny as he finished his last turn. If it had been a second earlier or a second later I would have missed it, but for some reason I looked back at him at that moment and saw his hand dart up toward the table and switch a two to a four. Just like that: rotating the die on its side and sliding his hand back to his lap. It was subtle. Quick. But it said everything. Absolutely, absolutely everything.
“Yahtzee!” he shouted. Standing up and grinning right at Noah. “Yaht-zeeee!”
“Bastard,” Noah said.
“Dannyyy,” Olivia whined.
“He always wins.” Eric took a final hit off the joint. “You suck.”
Danny beamed and moved his shoulders side to side in a little dance.
But everything was so instantly, remarkably different. I was shocked. Literally incapable of comprehending what I’d seen. I felt stabbed, like the air was forced out of my chest, and I looked at him aghast, hurt, shut behind walls. It was unfathomable to me. The game didn’t matter. The stakes were so low. There was no part of me that would—could—ever consider doing what he did. But it was so easy for him. The easiest thing. And that, I realized, had been there all along.
I’ve wondered sometimes if things would have turned out differently if I hadn’t seen him turn the die. If I’d lingered a few more seconds on Noah’s bearded laugh or taken a sip of my drink. Or if I’d chosen to say something. Stand up, wide-eyed, and make the public accusation. Embarrass him, force him to grovel in front of his darling and her cohorts.
But the articulation of his crime would have been meaningless; he would never have understood just how deeply that tiny turn of his wrist had pierced me. Just how utterly I’d been reduced. Mocked. Betrayed.
I didn’t say much for the rest of the night. Sat stiff in my chair and even stiller in our bed when he stroked me. He asked me if something was wrong just before we fell asleep but it didn’t seem worth it.
“Are you still upset about Olivia?” I nearly laughed. Olivia was nothing, I wanted to say. It was a carnival. That’s all.
I woke up at sunrise to a dead-low tide, placed my skirts and flats in neat piles inside my bag, padded down the staircase, and walked out the door into the now crisp Cape Cod air. The drive to New York felt short and I didn’t stop until I reached the city and walked in the door and padded up the staircase and turned off my phone to sleep for a long, long time.
*
I remember trying to explain to my mother why the Yahtzee was so essential but she didn’t understand. We were getting lunch on Bleecker and I was trying to convince her I was doing okay. She’d driven up from Pennsylvania but all I let us talk about was my sister’s sister-in-law and the Oscar nominations. It was pouring rain but it stopped by the time she paid the check and the restaurant’s awning dripped outside the window. We had plans to spend the afternoon at the Met but the prospect seemed unbearably exhausting. I imagined myself holding a brochure and walking from room to gigantic room with waning focus. I’d read descriptions on marble walls and realize I’d stopped comprehending. I’d begin to look for benches. I’d become dehydrated. Outside, the sun would blare and crowds of people would wait, sunburned, to get inside. I’d want to go home and sink into bed or at least sit down for more than two minutes. But I wouldn’t be able to. And it would hurt me. Frustrate me. The waiter came back to pick up the check and a cupcake passed by with a sparkler candle flicking.
Cha-cha-cha, I thought. Cha-cha-cha, cha-cha-cha.
In years to come he would whisper it at parties as the cake paraded by or mouth it across a restaurant table at a sibling’s birthday dinner. On our wedding night, Danny winked at me when the cake came out and we both knew what he was thinking. My mother always said how amazing it is that things seem so absolute when you’re young. But the sand slides down in chutes until the dune craters are all full. Inevitable, the magazines write, and we shake our heads with somber nostalgia for the grass and its crickets. We always will.