by Lisa Suzanne
Bachelor parties tend to go to one type of club, and it’s not a nightclub. It’s more of a place where women take off their clothes and dance, so I’m not too worried about running into them at Shrine.
If Axel isn’t working, and Carter isn’t working, I have a hunch about who will be working the bar at The Port tonight, and it’s not somebody I’m ready to deal with yet.
I suddenly get what Courtney means when she says she needs to write about it. Getting my thoughts out with that article I posted the other day made me feel a lot better. I felt extra supported when I read the comments from readers—for the most part. If I just write down how I’m feeling about Axel and what’s happening between the two of us, I can’t help but wonder if it will help me feel better.
Maybe I’ll write something tonight when I get home. I won’t post it on the blog, obviously, but maybe just getting my thoughts down on paper and out of my head will give me some peace of mind.
I shake it off for now. These emotional highs and lows that have been attacking me at random lately have got to go.
I head over to Deanna to say goodbye after I see Karoline pay the bill and give Courtney a hug. While I do wish we’d had more time to chat, I can’t say I’m sad this part of the night is over. I’m ready to go out with my girls, even if I’m not actually drinking tonight.
God, when did I become all responsible and shit?
“Thanks so much for coming,” I say to Deanna, leaning in to give her a hug. “It was so great to finally meet you.”
She hugs me tightly. “I’m so glad I finally got to meet you, too. We didn’t spend nearly enough time together tonight.” She pulls back and grins at me, and I can’t help but smile back. “Which is why I’m not leaving just yet.”
“You’re not what now?”
Her grin widens. “I decided to join in on the rest of the festivities.” She leans in conspiratorially and giggles. “Don’t worry, none of the old ladies are coming, just us young ones.”
I’d hardly call the mother of a twenty-eight-year-old one of the young ones, but obviously I don’t mention that aloud.
I’m horrified, absolutely horrified. The mother of the guy I’m fucking but not committed to (and not currently speaking to but possibly pregnant by) is coming out with us for my best friend’s bachelorette party, and I pick tonight of all nights to give up drinking.
I need a drink in my hand right at this moment more than I need air to breathe.
“Okay, great,” I say, mustering a warm smile I’m sure doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “We’ll be taking off in just a few minutes. I’m just going to gather the girls up.”
“I’ll be here, darling.”
Darling? What is she, eighty?
I hurry over to Courtney who, thankfully, is clear across the room. In a hushed voice, I say in a rush, “Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod. Axel’s mom is coming out with us.”
“What?”
“Axel’s mom is coming out with us.” I grit out the words between my teeth, practically hissing.
“Oh fuck. I suppose she doesn’t know that you’re not currently talking to Axel?”
I shake my head. “She also doesn’t know that I’ve been throwing up at exactly four o’clock every day for the past week and I’m pretty sure it’s not because I ate bad tacos.” I clamp my hand over my mouth as my eyes widen.
I can’t believe I let that slip out.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
So this is why people think I’m bad at keeping secrets—because I am.
The. Worst.
“WHAT!?!?” Courtney screeches, and a whole bunch of eyes turn toward us.
“Shut up,” I hiss.
“Oh. My. God. Emme, are you…?”
“Shut up,” I repeat, louder. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it.”
“Are you?”
“Can we not right now?”
“Oh, we’re going to right now.”
I grab her elbow and direct her out of the room. She’s starting to ask questions as we walk, but I tune her out. I can’t deal with this, and I especially can’t deal with this while Axel’s fucking mother is in the same room as us.
We end up in the restroom, which is—by the grace of God—empty.
“Are you knocked up?” she asks once we’re certain we’re alone.
I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
“Are you okay?”
I bury my face into my hands. “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Does Axel know?”
I shake my head and look down at my feet. “No one knows. This is just a scare.”
“Have you taken a test?”
I shake my head again.
“You have to take a test.”
“I don’t want to take a test.”
“Ems, it’s the only way you’ll know for sure.”
“I don’t want to know for sure.”
“Stop being a stubborn brat and get a test. Let’s go get one right now.”
“No. Tonight’s your night, Court. I didn’t mean for that to slip out. I’m sure it’s nothing. Let’s just go have some fun and forget about this.”
“Right, like I’m going to forget that my best friend might be preg—”
“STOP. Don’t say that word. Do not say it.”
“But what if you are?” Her eyes glance down at my stomach, and it makes me feel…uncomfortable.
“Then I’ll figure out what to do.”
“You have to tell Axel.”
I close my eyes. “I’m serious. Stop it.” I open my eyes again, and she’s studying me. “Let’s just forget about this tonight.” I make a move toward the door, but she stops me.
“Wait a minute.”
“What?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Haven’t you been drinking vodka all night?”
I shake my head. “The waitress brought me water every time I ordered vodka.”
She purses her lips and nods. “Sneaky.”
“I thought I could keep it a secret at least until after the wedding.”
“You’re the worst secret keeper in the history of secret keepers.”
“I managed to keep secret the fact that my high school ex-boyfriend kissed me earlier this week.”
Ah, fuck.
“WHAT!?!?” She’s screeching again.
I sigh. “God, I really am bad at secrets.”
“Can we please get you a pregnancy test?”
“Tomorrow. Tonight, let’s just celebrate. Let’s have fun. Let’s get wasted.”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I hold up both hands.
“Kidding, kidding. You get wasted, and I’ll make sure you get home safe.”
She grabs me into a hug, and I feel an unexpected wave of emotion. She holds me tight as she speaks. “Whatever this is, Emme, I’m here for you. Always. You can trust me.”
“Don’t tell Carter.”
“You can’t ask me to do that.”
“Don’t you dare.”
She sighs. “Fine, but promise me that tomorrow we go get that test and you tell Axel immediately. I’ll hold your hand through it. I’ll even hold the stick after you pee on it.”
“That’s gross.”
“I know. It’s disgusting. That’s how good a friend I am.”
“You’re the very best.”
“You speak the truth. Now let’s go party with your baby daddy’s mom.”
I roll my eyes. “Why is she coming?”
“Carter’s told me a little about her. Apparently she’s sort of a wild child. I’m sure that’s not something Axel would tell you about his mommy.”
“Great. So not only do I need to get the bride home safely, but I also need to take care of an overgrown child who might be a grandmother soon.”
Courtney giggles. “At least we can laugh about it.”
“I’m not laughing.”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Me neither.”
*
Shrine is one of those places I’ve been to a million tim
es, but in the past it wasn’t to party; it was so I could find the big groups and bring them over to The Port. It’s not hard to get big groups to leave. It only takes one, actually. All I have to do is find the leader of the pack and convince that person there’s a better party somewhere else. After a few drinks, people tend to be fairly amenable, especially with the promise of a free drink or two.
Tonight, I’m not here to grab groups and get them to The Port—our group will likely end up there anyway. Since dinner was the shower portion of the evening, Lori and I only put the closest friends and family members on the guest list. The club and bar portion of the evening, however, extends to our wider circle of friends and acquaintances.
I’ve carried a glass of ice water all night, and people are already tipsy enough from dinner to believe it’s vodka. Things are going smoothly as I dance with Courtney and a bunch of our friends…plus Axel’s mom. Drinks are starting to slosh over the sides of cups as the girls around me dance, a sure sign of a good time.
The night doesn’t get complicated until the shot girls make the rounds. They sort of look like vendors at a ballgame, but way sluttier. They’re basically in bikinis, and they have big boxes in front of them filled with shots and attached to straps secured around their necks. They wear flashing lights and a whole bunch of sparkles, so as soon as they walk through the room, people take notice.
One of the people who thinks shots are the best idea ever happens to be the mother of the man I’m dating.
“Shots!” Deanna exclaims gleefully. “Let’s all do a round! It’s on me!” She glances around the group, pointing to each person she recognizes from dinner. The shot girls are eating it up as they hand vials filled with green liquid to each person Deanna points to. The last person she points to is me.
“Oh, I don’t do shots,” I say.
“You do tonight!” She’s giddy with excitement for all of us to do this, and I’m not sure how to get out of this one. The shot girl hands me my green vial and I look around at the group of enthusiastic drinkers. “C’mon! It’s a celebration!” Her words are starting to slur just a bit, and I’m starting to wonder how the hell I’m supposed to take care of her tonight, too. Is she my responsibility? I thought I was taking care of the bride, not the aunt of the groom.
Wild child repeats in my head, and I feel like I’m going to be sick. I don’t think I am, but just the thought of alcohol has my stomach turning.
I take the green vial in my hand and smile weakly at Deanna. She holds up her shot glass, and we all do the same. The shot girls have some sort of flashlights they’re waving in circles to draw attention to the big group doing shots so all eyes are on us, and my hand wavers as I hold it up with the rest of the group. My eyes lock with Courtney’s, and hers are wide on me. “To the bride!” Deanna yells, and I’m pretty sure every person in Shrine yells out in one chorus, “To the bride!”
I lift the liquid up to my lips and smell the apple liqueur—I want to gag. I’m starting to feel the cheese from my quesadilla at dinner climbing up my throat, but I force it back down, toss the liquid in the shot glass on the floor, and pray no one caught me since about twenty of us just threw back shots.
I lift the glass back up in the air in triumph of a shot well taken, and everyone else does, too. My foot feels suddenly wet, and I realize I dumped the liquid right on my shoe. I’ll be leaving with green shoes tonight, apparently.
Some girls slam their glasses to the ground afterward, which means shattered glass and a mess for somebody to clean later. I think of Axel losing all those shot glasses when Anthrax’s Revenge played The Port. When did I start thinking of bar owners when I’m supposed to be out having a good time?
Probably right around the time Axel signed the paperwork that made him co-owner of a bar.
I push the serious thoughts away as Courtney’s favorite song starts pumping through the speakers. She’s a little drunk, but not unaware of her surroundings drunk. More like having a good time and maybe might have a headache in the morning drunk. She’s at least two drinks away from slurring, and at least four drinks away from becoming messy.
Deanna helps that process along when the shot girls swing by again a few minutes later. Flashing lights and sparkles apparently enrapture her attention. She’s like a child.
She obviously wants everyone to have a good time, which is really nice, but she doesn’t need to keep treating everyone to shots. “I’m okay,” I say with a smile when she points at me. “I’ve gotta get the bride home safely.”
“You will,” she says, and then she hands me another vial, this time definitely filled to the brim with tequila. Great idea, mixing tequila with apple liqueur and whatever else they’ve been drinking. I don’t say this, obviously, but mixing the way they are is the fastest ticket to Sickville.
My stomach rolls again as I breathe in the tequila. Just last week, I remind myself, I loved the smell of tequila. I loved the warmth it spread in my chest when I drank it down.
Now, though, not so much. Regardless of whether I’m pregnant or not, my body is staging a revolt against alcohol.
We do the same toast and hold our glasses high. All eyes are on us again, and I’m just hoping no one catches me. After we make our toast and everyone tips their glass back to their lips, I drop mine down again, move my shoe out of the way, and empty the liquor onto the floor before I quickly pull the glass to my lips, faking the entire thing. I feel like everyone is watching me, but I know it’s just in my head.
Our glasses meet again after the shot, and everyone’s cheeks are rosy—I can see that even in the dim lighting in this place when a strobe flashes and runs across the faces of the girls in our group. Each girl squints when the light lands on her, and then it darkens again.
The dancing becomes a bit less like dancing and a bit more like stumbling. Drinks aren’t just starting to slosh over cups anymore; now they’re full-on spilling. I’m starting to see lots of laughing and hugging and arms thrown over each other’s shoulders.
It’s strange seeing this from the sober perspective. I don’t do my job drunk, exactly, but I do allow myself to get tipsy enough that I don’t always notice what I’m seeing now.
Drunken people are idiots. Was I like this, too? Am I like this?
I get paid to get people to a bar and buy drinks. I get paid to party, have a good time, and get people drunk. I get paid to find entertainment for said drunks and make sure whoever is entertaining is also entertained.
This is my career, my livelihood.
What the fuck am I doing with my life?
The shot girls make their way by again about a half hour later. I’m grateful they waited, but they’ve already learned to target our group. They always target bachelorette parties and those big groups of men where they’re basically having pissing contests to see who can spend the most money or who is the most macho or who can pick up the most women—and, incidentally, it’s never the shot girls they end up with.
This time, though, the shot girls aren’t carrying their big boxes filled with little glasses of alcohol.
This time, they just brought the whole bottle.
My eyes immediately seek out the type of alcohol in that bottle. It’s vodka.
Having worked in the industry for several years, I know that what’s actually in that bottle isn’t all vodka. Some shot girls have been known to water down their product, and I wouldn’t put it past these two who’ve been hovering around our party all night.
But that doesn’t mean it’s safe for me to take a shot.
I realize I’m ruining my own good time, but what the fuck am I going to do when Deanna inevitably gets the grand idea that we should all have the shot girls pour the shots directly into our mouths? It’s the first thought any drunk shot taker has, and I know she’s going to get our whole group on board.
I can decline, but I’m afraid she won’t let me. I consider excusing myself to the restroom, but I’m afraid that’ll be too obvious. I debate just moseying on away from the gr
oup for a few minutes until the shot girls leave with their bottle, but I just know Deanna is going to want to do a shot with me right from the bottle. I can just sense these things after working with a bunch of drunks since I graduated from college.
Sure enough, Deanna doesn’t disappoint.
“Oh my God!” she yells over the music. “Let’s do a shot from the bottle! I haven’t done a shot from the bottle in…God, in years!”
I half expected her to say she’d just done one last weekend, so I’m a little disappointed that it’s been years since she’s done this. I keep staring at her, trying to connect her to Axel, but it’s hard. He’s the guy who only drinks upon occasion because he learned from the mistakes of his past. He’s the guy who bought a bar and gets other people drunk, yet his mom…well, his mom seems wilder than him.
Deanna got knocked up in her teens, clearly didn’t have a good relationship with the father, and had a baby at a very young age. Who knows what sort of life she led back then—or after, really. Axel doesn’t talk much about his childhood, but he does speak lovingly of his mother, so she must’ve provided a good home for him. Maybe tonight is just her letting off some steam, getting a chance to relive the past in some small way. I’m sure the mother of two little ones and one adult doesn’t get a lot of opportunities to party with the girls these days, and I wish I could have a drink with her just to indulge her. I wish I knew what was going on with my body.
I wish I would’ve just acted like a damn adult and bought the pregnancy test instead of waiting it out and pretending like this isn’t my new reality.
That’s not how it all went down, though. Instead, I’m avoiding Axel, likely because Courtney’s right—I can’t keep a secret. As soon as I see him, especially if it’s confirmed by a test, I just know I’ll blurt it out, and that’s not really how he deserves to find out he’s going to be a father.
My hand subconsciously goes to my belly, and I see Courtney’s eyes widen as she stares at me.
I look down to where she’s looking, not even realizing what I’ve done. I move my hand and look back up at her, and she shakes her head.
Well, clearly she’s still lucid enough to notice my slip, which means I need to get more alcohol in her. If she’s sober enough to care that my secret might slip out tonight, then she’s not drunk enough for her last night out on the town as a single lady.