by Nikki Chase
I laugh nervously. “No, Mom. David’s just really happy the interview went well. His family lives here in Ohio and he’s hoping he’ll get this position.” I drop my voice conspiratorially. “I think he might’ve drunk a few glasses of whisky already.”
David opens his mouth to protest, and I quickly get up to put my hand over the lower half of his face.
“Oh, that’s fine, A,” Mom says. “Go out and have a few drinks with your friends. It’s not every day that you visit Columbus.”
“Yeah. We’re leaving in a few minutes.”
“Just don’t party too hard and wake up in Vegas,” Mom says, laughing.
Oh, if only she knew . . .
“Of course not. I know how you feel about that,” I say.
“Good. Remember what I’ve always told you. Vegas is bad luck. Only bad things will happen if you ever step foot in that city. Don’t ever go there, and don’t ever contact anyone who’s ever been there.”
“I know. I’m telling you, you’re worried over nothing. Now, I have to go. See you on Monday, okay, Mom?”
“Yeah. Bye, A. Have fun.”
“I will. Bye, Mom.”
I feel David’s stare before I even see it.
“Ohio? Really?” David asks. “Also, you lied to your mom to go to Vegas? Dude, what the fuck? You’re twenty-six.”
I give him a wry smile. “My mom’s . . . different.”
“What do you mean? She’s extra controlling?”
“Nah, she’s not like that at all. She just has this weird fear about Vegas,” I say as I put on my jacket and head toward the door. I don’t really want to get into this.
“Because it’s the Sin City? Is she religious?” David follows me out of the hotel room.
“No.”
“Has she been here at all? She lives in San Francisco, right? That’s just a stone’s throw away,” David says. He’s not going to drop it.
I don’t like talking about my mom’s irrational phobia because I don’t want people to think she’s crazy. But there comes a point in a conversation when it’s better to reveal some information, rather than let someone’s imagination go wild with speculation.
“Actually, we used to live here. My dad used to gamble a lot. You know those people who walk into a casino and only come back out days later?” I ask as we get into the elevator. “My dad was one of them.”
“Oh,” David says, obviously feeling bad about asking so many questions now. He knows my dad’s dead.
“Yeah, he got himself into a lot of debt and he was drinking a lot from feeling like a failure, and then one day, he got into a car accident because he was driving drunk.
“I guess my mom’s not completely wrong because something bad has happened to us in Vegas, but she blames the location instead of my dad’s own behavior. It’s not rational, but grief does strange things to people.”
That should be enough information to shut him up.
“Sorry, man. That must’ve sucked,” David says.
“Nah, that’s okay. It happened a long time ago.”
The elevator door opens at the ground floor, and we have to go through the casino to get to where we’re supposed to meet the other guys.
I’m not a fan of huge casinos like this one. This place has been designed to manipulate people into gambling their hard-earned money away.
The warm lighting and cool air-conditioning keep people in a state of sedentary comfort, making it more likely that they’d stay on their seats at the slot machines or at the poker tables.
When they’re hungry, they just follow the neon lights to find fast food restaurants where they buy greasy, unhealthy food—all just a few feet away from their aforementioned seats.
It’s a recipe for heart attack and short life expectancy.
But, I can’t bring myself to blame the casinos, much less Vegas, for what happened to my dad—or whatever’s happening to any of these suckers in this casino right now.
My dad was solely responsible for his choices to gamble, to drink, and to drive under the influence. Vegas didn’t make him do all those things; he did.
Besides, as long as you don’t go overboard, gambling is fine.
In fact, I think I might’ve indulged last night. I woke up to a bunch of bills scattered all over my bed this morning. Not a bad way to start the day.
I don’t remember much about last night, though. I guess I drank too much and operated on autopilot.
I vaguely recall going to the casino and talking to some girl . . . but I was alone this morning—unless you count David, who was sleeping in the other bed in the same room.
It’s no wonder I didn’t manage to pick up that girl, though. I can’t even recall what I said to her, or what she looked like. I’m pretty sure she was hot, although I was also wearing beer goggles, so she could’ve been an ogre for all I know.
For some reason, though, I have this vague memory, from last night, of me talking to the skateboarding kid from the day before. But I must be mistaken because I saw that kid in San Francisco, and I was already in Vegas last night.
Maybe I shouldn’t have drunk so much . . . but the best man ordered a few bottles of vodka and whisky, then kept refilling everybody’s shot glasses. Besides, Earl’s getting married—that’s a good excuse to let loose and party.
Earl’s best man, Trey, is a doctor he works with. He seems like an okay guy, although he can be a little pushy. He also seems to be really into partying.
That’s why, despite Earl having said repeatedly that he doesn’t want a crazy bachelor party, Trey has arranged for one anyway. We’re going to have dinner at this seafood buffet place, and then we’re off to a strip club.
“There you are! Are you guys ready to party?” Trey asks loudly as soon as he sees us walking out of the casino-slash-hotel where we’re staying. The air is hot and oppressive, even though it’s already dark.
“Yeah!” David responds enthusiastically. “Sure.” I give Trey a big grin.
“Awesome! I’m so excited I’m literally about to explode,” Trey says.
That would be an interesting sight, although sadly I’m pretty sure he meant “figuratively.”
I don’t really mind going to the strip club with a bunch of guys, because this is what people come to Vegas for, right? This is not how I spend most of my weekends, but I’m having a vacation right now, so who cares?
I feel a little bad for Earl because he’s probably not going to like the surprise.
But these guys are already high-fiving and talking excitedly about watching girls take their clothes off on stage. Somehow I doubt this bunch is going to willingly walk out of the strip joint to have a quiet barbecue in someone’s backyard.
Aubrey
I can't believe Earl went to a strip club last night,” Mom says as she shakes her head.
I play with my phone on the couch as Mom and Hannah primp and preen in front of the mirror. They're going the full nine yards with smoky eyelids, false lashes, and big hair.
I’ve opted for my normal look, which takes considerably less time to achieve. I’ve got my blonde hair up in a messy bun, and I’ve put on a little bit of tinted moisturizer and lip gloss.
Personally, I don't care if guys want to go to strip clubs, although the implication that they need to have one last party before being tied down to the ol’ ball-and-chain is kind of offensive.
It also doesn’t make sense in Earl’s case, because he's been living with Hannah for years. Other than having to wear a wedding band, his life won’t really change much.
“Oh, that was probably Trey’s idea,” Hannah says as she widens her eyes to put on some mascara. Her lips are parted in concentration. “I knew he was going to do that. That's why the rehearsal is tonight, so they won't have any time to do much after dinner and they’ll show up sober and awake tomorrow morning for the ceremony.”
“That’s smart,” I admit, although I’m not surprised. Hannah has always been organized, not to mention good with people.
She’s always been a social butterfly, and I’ve always been the weird, loner bookworm. While it’s obvious that my parents love me, too, I’ve always been aware that Hannah’s their favorite.
I used to get better grades than Hannah, but they didn’t matter.
There was one time I came home with mostly A’s in my report card, except for French. Peering at me over his reading glasses, Dad asked, “Where's the other A?”
When I told him everybody in my class got low grades in French, he said, “You’re better than average, and that's what a B is—average. This wasn't your best and you know it. Set higher standards for yourself.”
Yet even when Hannah got B’s and C’s, he showered her with praises and put her report cards up on the fridge.
They used to push me into joining various clubs at school like Hannah did, and tell me to be more friendly to people like Hannah was, and herd me out of my room so I’d read less and hang out with people more—again, like Hannah.
Let’s just say it wasn’t easy growing up as Hannah’s sister.
“Of course.” Hannah smiles and raises her eyebrows at me through the mirror of her vanity. “I don’t make mistakes.”
“Oh, so Grace sleeping in my room wasn’t a mistake either?” I ask.
“Well, okay . . . maybe one mistake, Bee,” Hannah admits, laughing.
My sister used to call me Bree for short. But Marcus couldn’t pronounce the letter “r” when he was little, and so he started calling me Bee instead. Now Hannah and Earl call me Bee, too.
It’s hard to hate Hannah when she’s always so nice and agreeable. It’s not her fault my parents like her more than they like me. I’d probably prefer her too, if I were them.
“Sounds like my girls are having fun,” Dad says as he pops his head in the doorway. “I’ve missed having all of you home.”
“Hey, Dad,” I say. “Why aren’t you in your suit yet?”
We had a little argument this morning about him tracking my phone, but he just said, “It’s for your own good,” and refused to admit he’d messed up. As usual.
But he didn’t say anything when I told him I was getting a new number, so I left it at that. Small victories.
Despite the egregious breach of my privacy, he was paying the bills for the phone, so there was nothing much I could do anyway.
It sucks that I can’t support myself yet. Dad’s paying for my education and in return, he wants me to focus on my studies, which means I can’t work.
To be fair, though, most of the medical students in my school don’t work either, unless they’re really strapped for cash. The packed schedule and heavy competition mean that the best use of my time is to hit the books. Doing anything on the side would be a waste of my expensive education.
I can’t wait to start working and making my own money, though. That will open up so many possibilities for me. I’ll finally get to escape my dad’s control.
“Oh, he’s not going to the rehearsal,” Mom says.
“What? Why?” I ask. Whatever special privileges he has, I want them too.
I want to be there for my sister—I really do. But because Grace, one of the bridesmaids, arrived one night earlier than scheduled, Hannah didn’t have a hotel room booked for her. That’s why last night she had to sleep on a spare mattress in my bedroom.
She came in at 3 a.m., dragging her suitcase with the squeaky wheels. I couldn’t go back to sleep after that, so I had about three hours of sleep last night.
My eyes hurt and my head is throbbing. I feel like I’m not fully awake, like I’m on some downer drug.
“He’s got a thing at the hospital,” Hannah says, “but he’ll be there in time for the dinner.”
I eye my dad suspiciously. I’ve spent a lot of time at Hopedale Hospital, where he works, so I know this is probably a lie. I’m guessing he hasn’t finished editing his speech or something like that.
We share a look. Dad, I know what you’re doing.
As I expected, his gaze darts around, avoiding mine.
“Oh, I know that thing,” I say. “Actually, Dad, I’m done with my makeup and I’m probably not super essential for the rehearsal. I can go with you to the hospital and help you out so you’ll be done sooner.”
“Oh no, that won’t be necessary, honey,” Dad says with a suspicious smile. “There’s someone you should meet at the rehearsal.”
“This had better not be one of your match-making attempts, Dad,” I warn him.
Before Dad can reply, Hannah says, “You can’t not go to the rehearsal, Bee. Dad and I have practiced a bunch of times, but you don’t know anything about the procession.”
“I’d better go now. I’ll see you girls at the dinner,” Dad says quickly before he disappears down the hallway. I hear him go down the stairs. “Stick together, okay? Your ride will be here in half an hour,” he yells out from downstairs before the door snaps shut.
“I don't know why he's so worried. I told Dad the wedding planner had arranged everything,” Hannah says.
“Oh, you know how your dad is,” Mom says. “I wouldn't be surprised if he’d called the wedding vendors one by one to confirm every single detail.”
“I shouldn't have bothered with hiring a wedding planner. Dad could've done everything for free,” Hannah says, which makes both Mom and me giggle.
“He’s not trying to set me up with yet another guy, is he?” I ask.
Mom and Hannah exchange a look in the mirror, but neither one of them says anything.
“Hey, I saw that. You’re hiding something,” I call them out.
“Well, there is one guy that Dad likes . . .” Hannah says softly.
“I knew it. He still doesn’t believe I can make it as a doctor, does he? I’ve gotten matched to an internship position and everything. When is he going to take me seriously?” I ask.
“No, it’s not like that,” Mom says.
“He still thinks I should find a doctor to marry and then stay home to take care of the kids, doesn’t he?” I ask.
“Well, yes . . .” Mom admits.
“Then it’s exactly like that. He wants to give me away to some guy.”
“What’s wrong with staying home to take care of the kids, though?” Mom asks. “That’s what I did. That’s what Hannah is doing.”
“Mom,” Hannah says, “I’m sure Bee doesn’t mean to say there’s anything wrong with our choice to be stay-at-home moms. She just wants to pick a different option. Right, Bee?”
“Yes. Exactly,” I say, grateful for the diplomatic rescue.
“And Bee, I know sometimes it seems like Dad’s trying to control your life, but he means well,” Hannah says. “And I wouldn’t automatically reject a guy just because Dad’s the one who found him. He found Earl for me, remember?” Hannah smiles sweetly.
Like I said, she’d be my favorite kid too, if I were my parents.
“Yeah,” I say, even though I already know I’m going to hate this guy.
I’ve never liked any of the guys my dad has introduced to me. I don’t know if Hannah’s right about me automatically rejecting those guys just to rebel against Dad, though.
I mean, they’re perfectly nice guys, but it takes a little more than that for me. There has to be a certain connection, some kind of mutual understanding that comes from a place deep within, an inner acknowledgment that we’re kindred spirits.
And that’s just something I don’t come across all that often. In fact, I’ve only ever found it in Aiden.
Ah, damn it. I’ve been trying to push thoughts of him to the back of my mind, but he keeps resurfacing every time I try to push him back underwater.
Aiden.
Was it really him last night, and the day before that, at the parking lot?
To be honest, Grace’s early-morning intrusion into my bedroom wasn’t the only reason why I didn’t get enough sleep.
I couldn’t get Aiden out of my head and for hours, I just stared at the ceiling and replayed every word I could rememb
er from our conversation.
If that guy’s really my Aiden . . .
He looks different, but of course he would. It’s been ten years. His voice has deepened. His facial hair obscures some of his features, while giving him this rugged quality. He’s even taller, and more solidly built. I could see hints of muscle definition under his shirt.
Have I changed so much that he doesn’t remember me, too?
“Hannah, does Marcus have a helmet? You know, for skateboarding?” I ask randomly.
“Of course he does. It’s dangerous to ride without one,” Hannah says. “Why?”
What do you know? Aiden’s right.
I consider not telling Hannah about what happened in the parking lot, but I can’t hide something like that from her. This is about her son’s safety.
“He didn’t bring one with him when I took him to the mall. He fell in the parking lot, but luckily he just had some scratches on his hands—they’re probably healed by now. But he didn’t have a helmet, and I thought I should ask you about that.”
“Ugh, I’m going to kill him. I told him not to ride if he doesn’t have his helmet with him,” Hannah says.
“Well, that boy doesn’t always listen,” Mom says. “Remember last night when he just announced that he’d seen Aubrey and he just ran away? I had to follow him to check that he was really with Aubrey and not just some strange woman.”
“Wait, Mom, did you see the guy I was drinking with last night?” I ask.
“I just caught a quick glimpse of him from outside the restaurant. I was more concerned about finding Marcus and identifying you.”
“Did he look familiar to you?” I ask.
“Not really,” Mom says. “Who is he? Someone from your old school?”
“No, I met him at the casino,” I say. “His name’s Aiden.”
Mom’s eyes widen in shock, and for the first time, she twists around to look at me directly. “That Aiden?”
“I don’t know,” I shrug.
Mom frowns. “You didn’t ask him?”
“I did, but . . . Ugh, I don’t know. Just forget it. I probably won’t ever see the guy again.”