“For me, not you, missy!” Destiny laughs. “And don’t try to change the subject. Why do I get the feeling that you’d rather gnaw your own arm off than move to New York?”
“Not true,” I say, trying to muster up some excitement for Destiny’s benefit. “I can’t wait!” I lie.
“Don’t bullshit me,” she says.
“What?” I ask as I throw my hands up. “I’m fine,” I add as I glance around the room for an escape. This was not the time or place to have this conversation, my heart breaking into tiny little pieces as I imagine leaving Los Angeles and my family.
“Casey, we don’t have to go.”
“Yes, we do,” I say forcefully. “We’ll both be out of a job if we don’t.”
“Hey, don’t take this job because you’re afraid I’ll lose mine. This is your life. No matter what you decide, I’ll be okay. We’ll be okay.” She tucks my hair behind my right ear, something she always does right before I go on air. “Got it?”
My heart fills with love for her. Because I know she means it; she’d rather be out of a job than see Casey unhappy. “I wish it were that simple.” I sigh.
“Why can’t it be?”
I look over and see John walking toward us. “Long story.”
“Little C!” he exclaims with glossy eyes and a slight slur. He’s buzzed, I think, and wish he’d place one of his drunk, wet kisses on me. The same kisses I would have pushed off in the past, annoyed by the smell of his whiskey breath.
“Happy birthday!” I put my arms out and let him engulf me in a bear hug, leaning my head against his shoulder for just a beat too long. “There’s someone very important you need to meet,” I say as I grab Destiny’s hand. “This is my very good friend Destiny, and she helped Rachel plan this party.” Destiny gives a small curtsy and John kisses her hand.
“I can’t thank you enough. This is the best party ever!” His college roommate walks by and they high-five. “Seriously.”
“It was my pleasure. Your wife is great; you’re a very lucky guy.”
“Yes, I am,” he says as he searches the room for Casey and I feel my stomach fall. I’m right here! I’m sorry I stopped caring whether you found me in a crowded room. I promise to never take you for granted again! I squeeze my eyes shut and make a silent wish. Please, give me my life back.
“Let me get you a drink, birthday boy,” Destiny offers. “I made sure the bar is well stocked!” John gives her his order and she saunters off, the waiter she smiled at earlier falling in step beside her.
“Open Arms” by Journey begins to play and the memory of dancing with John at our high school prom is overwhelming. I can still remember clearly the smell of the butterscotch schnapps John had been sipping all night out of the flask in his pocket when we danced. I never wanted the song to end, wanted John to hold me with that urgency forever. “Want to dance?” I ask him now.
Looking over my shoulder quickly, he says, “Sure. Rachel might get a little jealous, though!” he says with a laugh, clearly not meaning it.
When was the last time I really got jealous or felt territorial or even got butterflies?
“I think she’ll be thrilled,” I say, the butterflies I hadn’t felt in years swelling in my stomach as I lead him onto the dance floor and he takes me into an easy embrace of an old friend.
“I love this song,” I say, thinking about the green taffeta prom dress I begged my mom to buy me, the hours Casey and I spent on each other’s makeup.
“Me too,” he says as he spins me playfully. “Rachel and I danced to it at senior prom. And then it was our song all through college.”
“You remember that?” I ask, shocked.
“Of course I remember that! Why don’t women give us more credit?”
I had started to think you were the one who had forgotten all the little moments that made our relationship special. Maybe I was the one who had forgotten. Either way, there was no doubt we had lost our way the past few years.
“Sorry!” I say. “I just didn’t think guys cared about the little things like women do.”
“Let me tell you something,” he says seriously. “Your best friend, Rachel? I loved her since the minute I first met her at that water tower. I love the way she gives every homeless person she sees five dollars, even if they look like the biggest crackhead on earth. I love that she cries every time someone gets kicked off American Idol and the way she has to fall asleep with her ankle wrapped around mine. Our relationship may not be perfect—in fact, it’s taken a freakin’ beating the past few years—but it’s those little things that remind me of why I fell in love with her a million years ago.”
We’ve stopped dancing and we’re standing together in the center of the dance floor, me trying not to fall apart at his words. “That’s beautiful,” I whisper. “I hope to have that someday.”