Whiskey at Midnight, page 27
Wren leans up onto her tiptoes and kisses him on the cheek. “Thank you, Steve. For everything.”
“Don’t go getting all emotional on me now, gorgeous,” he says and pats her on the back.
The walk back to the car is quiet. Steve breathes heavier the farther they walk. Wren follows behind, smoking a cigarette. It’s just as well, she can’t keep the mildly embarrassing grin off of her face.
The parking lot is empty when they return, save for Steve’s beat up car. Steve tosses the bag into the backseat, not worried about the wine bottle breaking now that it is empty. He shuts the door with a slam that makes Wren’s shoulders jump. She jumps again when the car is cranked and music blares out of the speakers.
Steve laughs and says something, but the music is so loud that Wren can’t quite catch it. She looks out the window, at the darkening sky and the park moving away from them, and sighs.
The first stop for Wren is the restroom. She briskly walks through the bar, ignores everyone she passes, until she’s down the hallway and right at the bathroom door. The door is opening as she reaches it and at the last second, before colliding, Wren puts her arms up to steady the person who has just left the little bathroom.
It’s Chase. She’s taller than Wren and so Wren’s hands grasp onto Chase’s forearms. Chase moves her arms up to readjust her glasses and Wren lets her arms drop.
“You guys made it. Good. It was starting to get boring here all alone,” Chase says and smiles.
“Yeah, Steve’s probably at the bar,” says Wren.
“Perfect,” Chase replies. She starts to walk past Wren then stops and looks over her shoulder. “Oh, congrats on your exams. I’ll buy you a shot when you’re back out.”
Wren takes her time in the bathroom. She hasn’t brought her makeup with her, but she still pokes around her eyes, smudging her eyeliner more. Wren smirks. Chase isn’t dressed up, but she certainly looks nicer than Wren. Chase’s outfit consists of a black t-shirt with some slogan on it that sounds nerdy and a button-up shirt over it, unbuttoned. Even her jeans, a dark blue color, put Wren’s to shame.
Victoria obviously knew that Wren and Steve had a history. Maybe she was under some mistaken idea that Wren and Steve were more than just friends who slept together. But what does Chase know or think?
Wren steps out of the bathroom and slowly makes her way back to the bar. Steve has an arm loosely slung over Chase’s shoulder and a dumb grin on his face. True to her word, Chase has a shot ready for Wren. It’s purple and tastes something like berry on Wren’s tongue.
It’s only Taylor working behind the bar. Though she and Reese work well together, she walks with more ease by herself. “We’re going to get you trashed,” Taylor says with glee.
There’s only a few other guests at the bar. Most are businessmen in suits, talking quietly amongst themselves. It’s a little late for happy hour, but it might be normal at the bar. Wren rarely comes out this early.
She sits in one of the empty chairs at the bar and feels along the edge of the seat until her fingers graze a rough spot, as if someone has bitten a chunk out of it. She smiles. The music on the radio is boring, a mixture of alternative rock that is inoffensive to anyone’s standards. Wren taps her foot on the chair leg.
“The DJ gets here around nine,” Taylor says. “What kind of night is it going to be?”
“Vodka,” Wren says.
“I got a new friend,” Steve says. “He used to be a magician and he taught me a little magic trick in exchange for a six pack.” He wiggles his fingers in the air. “I’m going to pull my thumb apart.” He performs the trick and cackles, rubs at his eyes like the laughter is making him cry.
“Everyone knows that trick,” Chase says. “See?” She does her own version of it, without all of the finger wiggling.
“That fucker,” Steve says and laughs again.
Emma shows up thirty minutes later with a sheepish grin. She’s not wearing the shirt with the cartoon frog on it and for some reason that makes Wren frown. Instead Emma wears one of her usual outfits for when she’s trying to look nice. It’s a light colored blouse and a flowy skirt.
She hugs Wren and Wren is transported to Emma’s bedroom, where it smells like a meadow and Emma lays on her stomach on the bed, grading papers and drinking a cocktail. Wren sits beside her and paints her nails. Wren blinks when Emma ends the embrace.
“Are we doing shots yet?” Emma asks. Then, more quietly, so that only Wren can hear, she says, “I’m on a tight budget, so make it count.”
Wren doesn’t take another shot, not yet, not so early in the evening. She orders a cocktail for Emma and stares until the argument that Emma wants to make, that Wren shouldn’t buy her anything on Wren’s special day, evaporates into the air.
“You always get what you want,” Emma says, accepting the drink that Taylor makes her.
“Not always,” Wren says. “Come on, I want a cigarette.”
No one walks by as Wren smokes. The two lean against the building. Cars drive by on the adjacent road. The parking lot has never looked so dead since they’ve been going to the bar. Emma flicks her thumb over her fingers, a nervous gesture that Wren has never seen her do before.
“So are we going out when you graduate?” Wren asks.
“I suppose that would be the thing to do,” Emma says. “I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Liar,” Wren says and smiles at her. “You know exactly where you want to go, what time, and who will come. You’re already thinking about what you want to wear, even though you’ll toss that outfit aside and pick something else when you’re getting ready.”
Emma turns so that one shoulder is leaning on the building and she’s facing Wren. “Okay, maybe I have,” she admits. “My parents are coming up for it. It’ll be nice to see them. I guess you and Steve will be my entourage for the after party.”
“And if Steve’s tires aren’t slashed, I would guess that he’ll be bringing Chase along,” Wren says.
Steve appears then, holding two shot glasses. Chase follows behind, an amused look on her face. “Come on, drink ‘em up!”
Emma raises her eyebrows at Steve, lets her lips curl up at the strong smell coming from the shots. She sips at her own drink.
Wren sets her mixed drink down, takes one shot and then the other, gags and hangs her head down toward the ground until she recovers.
Steve laughs hysterically. He bends over at the waist, claps and stomps his foot. “You took them in the wrong order,” he says. “Oh, that was good.”
Emma places a hand on Wren’s shoulder, squeezes it for a moment and then lets go. Although Wren has stopped gagging, she stays bent over.
Steve takes the glasses from Wren’s hands and goes back inside, mumbling something to Chase that neither Wren nor Emma can hear.
“God, what is he like on your birthday?” Emma asks.
Wren picks her cocktail up off the ground and stands upright again. “You don’t want to know,” she says. She pulls out another cigarette, offers one to Emma. Emma takes it.
“Ugh, fucker,” Wren says, between drags.
A car backs up into a parking space nearby then, covered in bumper stickers. The driver is a guy in his thirties and he wears baggy jeans. He begins to pull equipment out of the trunk, whistling as he works.
“The DJ is here super early,” Wren says. “Maybe he’ll start the music early too.” She twists the ends of her hair around her finger, looks at it, then lets it drop. “Are you going to dance with me?”
Emma smiles at that and takes another drag off her cigarette. “If Steve lets me,” she says.
Wren chugs the last half of her drink all at once. “Don’t worry about him,” she says. “Do what you want tonight. I am.”
They go inside after to sit at the bar again. Steve has just begun a story, one that Wren has heard before. She smirks.
“So, it’s prom, right? Me and my buddies find this little harmless snake. Wouldn’t hurt a fly…”
Wren orders a cranberry and vodka for herself, but doesn’t immediately begin to drink it. She crosses her legs, smiles when her leg touches Emma’s. “So, Ms. Nielsen,” she says. “How is teaching? Everything you hoped for?”
“Well, it’s certainly not as inspirational as they make it seem in the movies. But I also haven’t been threatened by a student yet. So, not bad? Be glad you’re not getting into it. Not many whiskey nights on a teacher’s salary.”
“Boring. Come on, give me something interesting that has happened this semester,” says Wren.
Emma taps a finger against her lips for a moment. “There’s a girl that kind of reminds me of you sometimes. Not the talkative you now. The old you. In the morning, she comes in and just sits at her desk, doesn’t say a word. But somehow she’s got this group of three boys who fall all over themselves to do her bidding. If she’s writing and her pencil tip breaks off, one of them jumps up to offer a new pencil or to go sharpen hers. I’m always having to remind them that they need to ask first. It’s not even like they do it because they like her, there’s something more to it. We’ve tried telling her that she can’t order other students around, but we never really see her talking so it’s hard to say what’s going on.”
“I’ve never made people do my bidding,” Wren replies.
“But you could. If you wanted,” Emma says. “It wouldn’t be hard.”
“Hm.”
Somewhere between Wren’s second and third cocktail, Emma’s hand touches Wren’s knee and doesn’t move away after. Emma’s thumb rubs little circles along Wren’s jeans and Wren doesn’t stop her. Wren has had enough that the world feels like it’s upright, like nothing could ever go wrong ever again. Her lips stay in a little smile as she looks from Steve, telling yet another story to Chase, to Emma, who looks a little scared and a little happy all at once.
The DJ brings in a bag of fast food and sits nearby, stuffing french fries into his mouth between sips of beer. His equipment is all set up and just waiting for him to begin. Despite it being creepy, Wren stares, as if that will make him eat faster. When he looks up at her, she looks away, down at the hand on her knee.
“What was it like fucking Cam?” Wren asks.
Emma coughs and blinks rapidly. Her brows furrow and her nostrils flare. The angry expression dissipates when she looks at Wren again. As her face softens, she smiles sadly and pats Wren’s knee. “Why do you want to know?” Emma asks. She looks around Wren to make sure Steve and Chase are still preoccupied. “I wouldn’t take Cam as your type.”
“I just want to know what it was like for you, being with someone you felt so much for,” Wren says. Her eyes remain fixed on Emma’s, even when she reaches forward to pick up her drink and take a sip.
Emma looks skeptical for a moment and gazes at Wren like she’s not sure she should say what she’s about to say. She bites her lip. “Probably the same as you felt when you were fucking me,” Emma says. “I’ll be right back.” She squeezes Wren’s knee and gets up to head toward the bathroom.
Wren watches her go then turns to face the bar. Taylor is grinning at her. “Oh, fuck off,” Wren says, but then laughs.
“Reese might be up here later,” Taylor says. “She might take some more pics for you. If you ask nicely.”
The music starts soon after. Steve pretends to know the songs, bounces up and down in his seat like he can’t contain his excitement. Chase looks utterly charmed. Just as Wren is starting to wonder what’s taking so long, Emma sidles up behind her.
“Why aren’t you drinking?” Emma asks.
“Gotta last all night, don’t I?”
Emma sways behind Wren to the beat of the music.
“Do you want your seat?” Wren asks, gestures to the unoccupied seat next to her.
“I’ll sit down later,” Emma says.
The damn warning bell is back. The one that says look out, danger. As if Wren is sitting on the edge of a cliff, moving her legs back and forth, just waiting for a small gust of wind to knock her over into whatever is far below. But it’s a good day, has been since Wren woke up, somehow certain that she would pass her last exam. She ignores the little warning in her mind, takes another sip of her vodka. When Emma brushes her hand along Wren’s shoulder, Wren reaches up and grabs hold of it.
Emma is close enough that Wren can hear her quiet gasp. She doesn’t take her hand back though, lets Wren hold onto it. They stay like that for another moment before Steve stands up and Emma has to move to let him out.
“Alright, gorgeous,” he announces. He pulls Wren to her feet. “It’s time to dance.”
Wren doesn’t protest, not verbally at least, but she doesn’t make Steve’s job of hauling her closer to the speakers easy. She walks stiffly and much too slowly for Steve’s brisk strides. When he stops walking, the little bit of resolve she has melts away as Steve twirls her around and begins to laugh.
He doesn’t smell so strongly of cologne tonight. His head, freshly buzzed, dips closer to her as his hands circle her small frame and rest at the small of her back. “Having fun?” he asks.
“Yes,” Wren says. And then, “It’s going to be a good night.”
“You bet your ass it is,” Steve says and pulls her into a hug. “I think Chase is having fun, too. If tonight goes well, I bet I could get her out on a date.”
“You already could,” says Wren.
Steve smiles brightly, practically beams at her. “And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why it’s good to have little Wren around. She likes me, huh?”
“Everyone likes you, Steve. But yes, she likes you especially. She even laughed at your stupid prom story. Not one of those fake laughs either.” Wren stretches her arms out a little and then lets them rest along Steve’s neck. It’s smooth like he shaved that morning.
“Prom story gets them every single time,” he says.
Emma appears as the song finishes. “Can I cut in?” she asks.
Steve bows, staring at Wren the entire time, and leaves to go back to the bar.
Emma has a tentative look on her face, like even she knows for once that something is going to happen. She doesn’t run away, figuratively or literally. She puts her arms around Wren and lets Wren take the lead.
All of the times that Emma was a little awful come bubbling to the surface. Snatching her hand away from Wren’s when Cam was around, looking at Cam like a puppy dog when Wren was standing right there. Or how she was never going to be able to choose, thought that she didn’t have a choice when Wren was the one to finally do something about their predicament. It had all been kind of tedious, kind of melodramatic. It had been shit.
But Emma was nice, too. Her excitement on the way to the picnic had been contagious, so that Wren’s heart beat a little faster as they got closer to the spot.
Neither of them are on the short list of world’s greatest humans. They’re both a little too selfish for that, Wren thinks. Emma’s here now, with Wren, and Cam has fucked off for the last time.
Wren’s been waiting for months for this. Doubt has come creeping in during her most vulnerable hours, but somehow the certainty that they would both be standing when the dust settled kept coming back. Wren thinks of this as she closes her eyes and leans in to kiss Emma. Just like the first time, when Emma looked so shocked after, Emma doesn’t react at first. Her lips respond, finally, like instincts take over.
“I’ve been waiting forever to do that again,” Wren says.
Chapter Eleven
Wren has this way of making the world die around her without doing much at all. A simple kiss or letting her fingers brush against Emma’s hand can make it happen. In her youth, Emma heard people say that when they kissed their spouse it felt like the world melted away. When they said it, it sounded like a sweet moment, like it lasted only a second and then things went back to normal, only a little better. But when Wren kisses Emma this time, it is like the sun has come so close that everything around Emma is destroyed, melted down into a liquid goo that will never return to normal. As if nothing but Emma and Wren will exist in an apocalyptic world when Emma opens her eyes.
The music is still going and Emma nods her head in assent when Wren motions that it’s time for a cigarette. Steve doesn’t notice them walk by on their way out. He’s wrapped up in the new girl, Chase.
Emma’s feet follow Wren out the door, around the corner into their alley. Automatically, Emma takes the cigarette that Wren offers her. The moment is surreal. Emma, smoking, having to admit to herself that she does kind of like smoking, if only when Wren is around. She’s a smoker. Sometimes. And there Wren is, not speaking but looking pleased with herself. Emma is pretty pleased with Wren too, because Wren has finally wanted to do something that matters to her, done it, and verbally let Emma know. Maybe she got it a little out of order, but that doesn’t matter.
Emma is wanted in some way by the girl who doesn’t want. Emma slyly reaches around to pinch herself on the arm. It’s real.
“I’m drunk,” Wren announces. She stares at Emma until the silence goes on for a few seconds and then lets her gaze fall to her feet.
“You don’t have to do that,” Emma says and blows smoke away from Wren. “You don’t have to soften it. It’s okay.”
Wren’s shoulders hunch forward and she sighs. “Okay.”
The music can still be heard outside, though barely. More obvious is the sound coming from near the door that can only be Steve speaking loudly. He sounds childlike. Quick syllables and short sentences interrupted by cackling laughter, only deepened. The door opens. Emma knows because his voice is more clear all of a sudden, talking about the healing properties of Wren’s cigarettes if he can only fucking find her.
Footsteps grow closer to the alley until his head peeks around the corner. “Ah-ha!” he yells.
Chase brings up the rear, her arms crossed in front of her. Even though Chase is still too far away, a few yards at least, and the darkness means she can’t see Emma’s face, Emma shoots her a sympathetic look. Steve can be a handful and no one can truly realize that until they have his undivided attention.
