HAVE A DRINK ON ME
IT WAS FRIDAY afternoon, and her parents were gone until Wednesday at a conference in Philadelphia. Despite her assurances that she would be fine on her own, Matt insisted on coming over, and he’d be here any minute. The truth was that she liked having him around, and the thought of being alone in that big house for four nights was intimidating. She probably could have asked Dallas to stay over. Girlfriends did things like that, didn’t they? Were they too old for that? Or was that just something fictionalized in the movies? Dallas would certainly laugh and lovingly correct any misperceptions she had, but investigating the validity of sleepovers would have to wait.
Celeste rearranged the glasses and bottles on the kitchen counter for the fifth time. Presentation and mood felt important here if she was going to prevent Matt from completely flipping out. She turned on a country radio station because most country songs were about pining over love or about drinking, and both seemed fitting. She heard the front door rattle and then struck a casual pose by her display.
“Hello, my open-minded, sweet brother. I am most looking forward to our weekend together.” She flashed Matt a smile. “Have you eaten lunch yet?”
Matt tossed his overnight bag on the floor. “I did. Pasta from an Italian place near my apartment.”
“Carbs! Perfect. You may need them.”
“Why would I need—” Matt looked around. “What’s going on? Why do I feel as though I walked into an old fashioned saloon?”
“It’s funny that you should say old fashioned because—”
“What’s up with all the booze?”
Matt looked exhausted, more pale than usual. His dirty blond hair had again grown longer than she knew he liked, and he appeared generally washed out. In need of some sunshine, she thought. And happiness.
“I am eighteen, heading off to college in a matter of months, and I thought it appropriate to try my first drink. It seemed best to do that under brotherly supervision. And there is the added bonus in that it will be a bonding experience. Afternoon-cocktail-hour-in-the-library type situation. Fun, yes?”
“Illegal is more like it,” he scowled. “I think this is a terrible idea. We don’t even have a library in this house. What exactly are you planning on doing with bourbon and gin? I feel sick already.”
“You do not feel sick,” she protested. “You feel festive and ready to partake in relationship building with your sister.” Celeste rounded the kitchen island and tossed one arm around Matt. “Matthew, do not be so uptight.”
“Uptight? I’m uptight?”
Celeste frowned. “Fine. Perhaps we both could use a little loosening up. Let’s have a cocktail together, shall we? I find it rather civilized, the idea of sitting back with a fancy drink on this dark afternoon.”
Matt laughed lightly. “You know what? Sure. Let’s have a drink. One drink, okay? That’s it. One.” He pulled out a barstool and sat down. “What are we having, bar wench?”
“Assuming you do not again refer to me as bar wench, we will be starting with an Old Fashioned.”
Matt wrinkled his nose. “An Old Fashioned? That’s rather an odd choice. Although perhaps not for you. But maybe you should start with something fruity with parasols and fizz?”
“Absolutely not! How undignified. Although I will confess that while I do not have parasols, I do have mini swords for piercing the orange peel and cherry.”
“Mini swords?”
“I hear they are a fine finishing touch for cocktail presentation. One is simply not going to haphazardly slosh liquor into a cup and chug it.”
“Well, no, we couldn’t have that.”
“Besides, Justin mentioned Old Fashioneds one time, and my curiosity has been piqued. I spent a decent amount of time investigating various methods to mix this drink, though all involve muddling, a term I find undeniably charming. Then we can move on to the classic gin and tonic, always a solid choice from what my research tells me.”
“Nice to hear you’ve been so thorough.” He crossed his arms. “Hey, didn’t I say one drink?”
“Yes, we’ll see. Anyhow, first I am going to douse this sugar cube in bitters and then smash it up in the bottom of the glass until it takes on the look of a syrup.” Celeste narrated as she concocted the first drink, not unaware of the bemused look on Matt’s face. “Because I did not have access to a true muddling device or whatever it is termed, I have opted to use the handle of this oversized wooden spoon. Now I shall squeeze the oils from this slice of orange peel and incorporate that essence into my muddled… my muddled stuff. Ahem. Then, a few ounces of this lovely bourbon, poured slowly and mixed in nicely to dissolve the sugar. Now some ice cubes, another quick splash of bourbon and garnished with another spritz of orange peel that I will then affix to this garish mini sword along with a disgusting maraschino cherry.” Celeste carefully carried the nearly overflowing glass over to Matt and set it down gently onto a coaster. “For the gentleman.”
“You’ve lost your mind.”
“I have not. Now try it,” she ordered.
Matt lifted the glass to his lips, took a tiny sip, and then winced exaggeratedly. “Oh dear Lord! Horror of horrors.”
Celeste stomped her foot and tried not to giggle. “Matthew, that is not funny. How is it really?”
He took another taste. “Actually, it’s pretty damned good, I must admit.”
“Fabulous. Now I will make one for myself.”
“For the record, I’m not encouraging you to have a drink, but since I think you’d go ahead and do it anyway, I am here to supervise.”
“Yes. You be the responsible adult, and I shall be the out-of-control teenager who is experimenting with alcohol consumption.”
“Great. Role playing in its most pathological form. Fine.” He swirled the glass, clinking ice cubes before having another longer drink.
Two hours later, when Matt had finished his third Old Fashioned and was halfway through a gin and tonic, he and Celeste found themselves sprawled on the living room floor. Her own gin and tonic was going down rather easily, and the country music was sounding better and better. She rolled over onto her back and reached for the volume on the stereo.
“This is fun, Matty, isn’t it? Cocktail hour is intoxicating.”
“It is.”
“I made a little joke there.”
“It was a riot.” Matt was on his stomach with his chin in his hands. “It is kinda fun. I think I might be a little drunk.”
“Good for you, Matty! If I don’t go to college next year, I could be a bartender, huh?”
“Yeah, totally.”
“I know this country tune,” she said loudly. “This is a very famous song called ‘The Gambler’ by Mr. Kenneth Rogers.”
Matt started laughing uncontrollably. “I think he just goes by Kenny.”
“Whatever. The point is that I know it.” She started singing from her spot on the floor, and much to her surprise, Matt was soon belting out lyrics with her. “I had no idea that you had such a country–boy side to you.”
He paused in his now near-screaming singing. “I do not have a country side to me, but everyone knows this song.” When the song ended, he tapped her shoulder repeatedly. “Celeste.”
“What?”
“I have to know what song you sang for that rock band audition.”
“They were skate punk, not rock,” she corrected him. “That is important.”
“Fine. What song?”
“A very meaningful song by Joan Baez called ‘The Night They—‘“
Matt finished the title with her. “‘Drove Old Dixie Down’!”
She rolled over so that they were practically nose to nose. “How could you possibly know that song?”
Matt smiled drunkenly. “You don’t remember, do you? You were probably too little.”
“Remember what?”
He looked at her for a moment. “You know how much Mom hates any sort of hippie political folk music singer stuff? Like, Arlo Guthrie makes her gag?”
Celeste nodded vehemently. “And Pete Seger. And Bob Dylan.”
“Right. So Finn used to piggyback you around the backyard. And he’d sing that Dixie song at the top of his lungs while he ran around and around with you bouncing on his back, laughing the whole time. Mom used to hate it, and she’d yell at him to knock it off, but the more she yelled, the louder he’d sing.”
Celeste’s jaw dropped. “And he would say to me…” The memory was coming back. “‘Here comes the chorus,’ every time so that I would join in. I’d forgotten.”
“That’s right. He was very good with you.”
Celeste put her hand on top of Matt’s head. “You are very good with me.”
“I never gave you piggybacks.”
“That’s okay, Matty. You give me other things. You always have.”
“Like the T-shirt that I gave you for Christmas?”
“No, not like that, dummy! And that shirt is inappropriate.”
“Is not. You like science. That’s not inappropriate.”
“The shirt says, All This Science Gives Me a Hadron. I understand the play on words, and it’s inappropriate. I can’t even get a Hadron, Matthew! I don’t have the right parts.”
“But it’s funny,” Matt snickered.
“Okay, it kind of is,” she agreed.
Celeste grabbed for the coffee table to lift herself to a seated position. Her hand landed on a stack of mail that she pulled onto her face, causing her to fall into a fit of giggles. “That did not work out as I planned.” She managed to sit up and started to gather the envelopes. Matt was looking rather glazed over, but he made a sudden swipe for one envelope.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Nothing. I’m just helping.” He picked up a flyer. “Oh, look, how fascinating. Do you need a new roof?”
She squinted her eyes and held out a hand. “Gimme.”
“I had no idea you cared so much about shingles, but you’re in luck because they have a wide assortment for your roofing pleasure.”
“Give me the envelope that you are hiding!”
“It’s just a personal letter from the roofer threatening to sneak on over and poke holes in”—Matt jabbed his finger in the general direction of the ceiling—“this here roof if he is not hired. Desperate times and all. So sad.”
Celeste lunged for the letter and snatched it from Matt. “You have delayed reflexes, brother. I win.”
“Celeste…” Matt mumbled as he crawled to a stand, slammed back the rest of his drink, and headed for the kitchen. “Don’t get all crazy mad, okay?”
The letter was addressed to her, and she tore it open. She read it three times. “MATTHEW!”
“I said don’t get all crazy mad,” he called back.
She stood unsteadily and marched after him, waving the paper around. “Either I am more inebriated than I think I am, or this is a letter from Barton College.”
Matt pushed his glass under the ice dispenser and did a terrible job disguising his amusement. “Is it? How interesting.”
“What?” she shrieked. “It is not interesting. The words on this page indicate that I have been accepted into Barton College for next fall, something which I find confusing because I did not apply to Barton College.”
“Well, that’s weird.” Matt refused to look at her as he poured another gin and tonic. “Are you gonna go there?”
“No, I’m not gonna go there, Matthew Watkins!” she said snidely.
“Why did you apply then?”
“I don’t know. I guess I thought that Justin said so many good things— Wait, stop that. I did not apply to Barton!”
“See? You do want to go there!”
“Maybe you want to go there, Matty. You filled out the application.”
“Technically you filled out the application.”
In the back of her head, Celeste could hear her own words from last December. Oh, would you turn off my computer for me? I believe that I left it on. She gasped. “The online application on my computer. You sent that? You went snooping through my computer? That was… that was not a real application,” she protested. “It was just for demonstration purposes.”
Matt raised one of his eyebrows and held out his drink in the most pompous of manners. “Or was it? One might conclude that you had secret hopes and dreams of attending the school in question.”
She balked at his drunken accusation. “Oh, please.” She took the glass from his hand and gulped down a mouthful. “I got into… into… other places.”
Matt laughed. “You don’t even know where you got in ‘cause you don’t even care, do you?”
“I care! Bunches! And bushels! And… other amounts that start with the letter B.”
“Barrels?”
“Yes.”
“Bounds?”
“Yes.”
“Banshees?”
“One cannot,” she said waving a finger at him, “care banshees about something.”
“That is not true. I care banshees about you, my dear sister.”
“You do?” Celeste clapped her hands to her heart. “Matty, that’s so sweet of you. I care banjos about you, too.”
“Banshees! Not banjos!” Matt added a second lime slice to his drink.
“Whatever. Anything with a B is cool beans with me.”
Matt laughed. “Beans starts with B, too.”
“It really does, doesn’t it? We are so smart.”
“Know what else starts with that letter?”
“Burlesque?”
“No. Fine, it does, but,” he said as he leaned over the counter, “I was thinking of Barton.”
She nodded. “You are correct.”
“I think you might like it there.”
“Matthew, you are clearly drunk beyond sanity.” Celeste rolled her eyes and started pouring herself another gin and tonic.
“I think you might. Really.”
“Why would you say that?” she asked with a slight slur. “You wanted me to go to Yale.”
“I want you to be happy.”
“I am happy.”
“Okay. I just want you to stay that way.” Matt was then silent.
Celeste peered at him. “Do you like Justin?”
“I do.” He nodded. “Very much.”
Celeste circled around the kitchen island and leaned over the counter, shoulder to shoulder with Matt. “I know another word that starts with B,” she whispered. “Beach.”
He nodded.
“Matty, I wanna go to the beach.”
“It’s winter. Too cold,” he said. “Too dark.”
“We could go.”
He thought for a moment. “Know where they have nice beaches?”
“Brazil? Bali?”
“California.”
Celeste continued to whisper. “That does not start with the correct letter.”
“Still…”
“Then we should go to California and look at some beaches.”
“That sounds fun. I think we have to,” he agreed. “We could look at Barton.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
“You could see that boyfriend of yours.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
“It would be sunny.”
“Okay, let’s go.”
“We could catch a plane right now, I bet. We should go to California.”
Celeste nodded. “We should do that. Book us a flight. I shall go pack for our travels.”
Matt was already tapping at the screen on his phone. “Do we like first class?”
Celeste stood up tall and clamped her hands on her hips. “I believe that sounds very elitist and obnoxious.”
Matt looked up briefly to stick out his lower lip. “Fine. You can fly for the first time in the cramped section of the plane, and I’m gonna stretch out in first class.”
“Oh. Well, okay then. I do not want to be separated from you.”
“Then it’s first class, baby!” Matt whooped.
“Okay, let’s go,” Celeste said and started to make her way rather clumsily to the front door before stopping in her tracks. “Oh wait. I must pack. Didn’t I already say that? And we must call a taxi cab because I do not want to walk to Logan Airport. It is cold. And far away.”
Matt continued booking their flight online. “Wait. Do I need to pack?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea. You need to wear clothes in California.” Celeste spun around to go for the stairs, but tripped over his weekend bag that he’d thrown on the floor. “Oh look! You already packed!”
“God, I’m so smart,” he muttered.
“You really are, Matt.” Celeste was floundering up the stairs to her room.
“You should tell Justin we’re coming.” Matt’s voice carried up the stairwell.
“You have had yet another smart idea, Matthew Watkins. I shall do that. I shall tell him that we are listening to our guts and behaving impulsively. He will like that!”
“Hurry up. The cab will be here in fifteen minutes, and our flight leaves in two hours.”
“Yes, sir, boss man. I shall do as instructed.” She barreled into her room and delved into her closet to locate a suitable bag. As she rooted through her dresser and tossed clothes into the bag, she called Justin. “Ouch!” She tripped over a shoe and dropped her phone, but thankfully caught herself before she careened into her desk. It would not due to show up to see Justin with a giant lumpy bruise on her head.
She heard the beep of voice mail from where her phone had landed across the room. “I AM COMING TO SAN DIEGO IN AN ACT OF IMPUSLIVITY! WE SHOULD HAVE LUNCH OR SOMETHING ALONG THOSE LINES! I WILL BE ARRIVING LATE TONIGHT, SO I SHALL SEE YOU ANON, MY BELOVED ONE!” she shouted. Well, hopefully he caught all of that. She knelt in front of her dresser and grabbed a handful of… well, she didn’t know what, but they were items. Items for a spontaneous trip. Another few handfuls from more drawers, a quick trip to the bathroom for supplies, and she was back downstairs.
“You ready, oh world traveler?” Matt asked. He was leaning against the wall in the front hall and halfway through a drink.
“I am, oh distinguished escort.” She took the glass from him and downed a sizable gulp.
“Cool beans,” he said with a wink. “Our chariot awaits.”
They stumbled through the doorway, and Matt locked the house. “Hop on,” he said as he patted his back.
“Woo hoo, Matty! You are piggybacking me, yes?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The two miraculously made it down the front steps and up the icy path to the concerned cab driver. “You two goin’ to Logan?”
“That is indeed our destination,” Celeste said. “We are taking a spontaneous journey together for the purpose of… spontaneous journeying.” She scooted in beside Matt. “It’s a really good idea; I’m sure you’ll agree.”
“Yeah. Great.” The driver started the meter.
Celeste immediately started a search on her phone for airport protocol, as this would be her first experience with security and such. One must appear to know the part. She read for a few minutes. “Psst, Matty, did you know that we have to take off our shoes to go through the line thingie?”
“I know.”
“I,” she said drawing out her words, “find that to be an entirely civilized custom.”
“It’s not really a custom so much as a requirement.”
“I shall enjoy this part so much.”
She continued reading. “Oh no, Matty.” She leaned in to whisper in his ear. Or at least what she thought was whispering.
“What is it?”
“It says here that we are not to be inebriated when flying or they might deny us access to the airplane.”
“Then don’t act drunk.”
“We are inebriated.”
“Don’t act inebriated.”
“Sir?” Celeste tapped on the heavy plastic panel that separated them from the front of the cab. “Sir?”
“Yeah?”
“Sir? Do we look inebriated to you?”
“Pretty much.”
“That’s not okay. We cannot look inebriated. We would like to fly via airplane, and inebriated is not allowed. Do you have a suggestion for how not to be inebriated?”
“Don’t drink?”
She waved her hands. “Too late. Now what?”
“A breath mint wouldn’t kill you. And don’t talk when you go through security. Or board the plane. Or at all.”
“Aha!” She slapped Matt’s knee. “Our chauffeur has a set of brilliant ideas which we will incorporate into our sneaky scheme. Matt, are you paying attention here?”
“What? I was just booking us a hotel room.”
“Ohmigod. How are we paying for this trip?”
He leaned, or perhaps tipped slightly, into her and said, “I got a buncha money.”
“You have what?”
“I dunno. I mean, I make money and don’t spend a lot. I saved up. Then I never spent it.”
“What did you save up for?”
He started to say something and then stopped. “Nothing really. I’m just stingy.”
“You’re not so stingy. You are taking us on this trip.”
“Then I’m a big spender.”
“Hey, big spender….” Celeste started to sing.
“Don’t sing. It makes you look inebriated.”
“Oh. We can’t be inebriated, or they won’t let us on the plane.”
“I know.”
“Inebriated is not appropriate travel behavior.”
“Calm down. Don’t be scared. It’s just a dumb airplane.”
“I’m not scared. I’m going to think about seeing Justin. And you’ll be with me. I will be fine. That is what I have decided.”
“Check out the new Celeste, all ballsy and stuff.”
“Matty! Do not say ballsy! That is disgusting.” She sunk into the seat and looked out the window. “But I am gettin’ ballsy, aren’t I? It’s fun.”