“So Maura…guess who is going to be there tonight?” Darby singsongs. My stomach tightens. I have a sickening feeling I will be running into this Doyle character again tonight. She hasn’t stopped talking about him and what a ‘great couple’ we could make since the moment Owen and I…took a break. The absolute last thing I want to do right now is to be forced to associate with anyone from the male species. It’s already enough of a stretch for me to attend this social event. Just the anticipation of being crammed into a tiny bar with swarms of half-naked co-eds breathing in my airspace makes me edgy.
“Darby, I can’t deal with forcing myself to strike up a conversation with Doyle tonight,” I mumble as she darts off to the side. She’s spotted a food truck on the edge of campus, and Darby simply cannot pass a Philly food truck without indulging on a cheese steak. She slaps some money in the vendor’s hand and leans on my shoulder as she waits for it to cook.
“You know what you should do,” she slurs. “You should be the head of our charity committee. We’re organizing a Greek-wide softball game this year.” Her eyes light up at her own brilliance. “Oh my god! That would be perfect! Doyle is the head of Alpha Pi’s committee, and then the two of you would have to go to meetings together to plan the event! There’s no way the two of you WON’T fall in love!”
“Um…I think I might have to say hell no to that,” I say. She snatches her cheese steak from the poor vendor’s hands and breathes in the putrid onion smell before stuffing it in her mouth. I can’t help but laugh. This girl is utterly insane.
As we step into the long line at the Irish Pub, I bite my lip and pull my fingers through my hair. What if Owen is in there? When is Owen NOT at a large social event? I don’t know if I can handle seeing single Owen out in the open, relishing his newfound freedom. But before I have a chance to even let my imagination wander enough to come up with a last minute excuse, we’re standing next to the bouncer and Darby pushes her bulging cleavage into his face. Without even checking our IDs or taking our money for the cover fee, he makes sure his hand is low as he waves us in.
The never-ending wonders of having exceptionally large breasts. I wish I were brave enough to try and use my own disproportionate knockers to get free crap for myself. But my brain just doesn’t operate that way. To me, big boobs equal more surface area to cover with as much fabric as possible—nothing more.
The bar is way too crowded to keep my eyes on the group once we’re in the door. I get momentarily lost and I scan the room until I spot Darby, already leaning over the counter and whispering drink orders to the bartender. She smacks a wad of money in his hand and he fills four shot glasses. I get flagged over by the group and let myself take two back-to-back shots of some kind of sour pink liquid that makes my teeth ache. Hopped up on sugar and vodka, Darby decides that we need to overtake the dance floor.
We start dancing in a small, exclusive circle off to the side, and it takes mere moments before the dance floor has cleared of everyone else and we are now in control. Guys are starting to flock to us like car salesmen, desperate to make a sale and earn their commission. A few even attempt to brush their hands against my bare flesh as they slowly inch closer.
As if brushing fingers with a stranger is enough to seduce me. But I can’t deny the fact that I love this. They are enthralled with us. At this moment, as my new sisters bounce around and sing along to the blaring bubblegum pop song at the top of their lungs by my side, I feel dominant. Vindicated. Sexy. I’m finally, FINALLY starting to slip into my sorority girl skin—their infectious confidence may just be starting to wear off on me. And if allowing that to happen and embracing it allows me to always have this much fun, I’m ready and willing.
They’re always so happy. Free. Everything I want to be.
That’s the thing I admire about Darby in particular—she doesn’t get down on the same shit that I find weighing heavy on my brain. If she gets into a fight with a friend, she just laughs it off and moves on. She never has a problem with guys ignoring her, because she always seems to be the one in control of those situations. And I guarantee she never feels afraid when a guy is making a move on her, because she loves her sexuality and she embraces it. She winks at me as a guy sneaks up behind her, trying to wrap his arms around her bare stomach. My heart feels happy.
She’s my friend. And she’s so much better than a doll. Flesh and bone people are pretty amazing, if I must say so myself.
I’m so caught up in enjoying the moment that I don’t notice Darby wildly pointing to something over my right shoulder. She spins me around so that Doyle and a group of his brothers are in my plain sight. Before I have a chance to wipe the beady dance sweat off of my forehead, he’s glaring. I offer my most genuine smile and lift my arm to give a little wave. He locks eyes with me—and gives a dismissive little nod.
All right then. I really am still the same person I was in high school. Hanging out with gorgeous sorority girls and covering my body with aluminum foil isn’t enough to change me.
Darby must notice my mouth drop, because she starts dancing wildly against me and whispering ‘don’t worry about him right now’ when there’s a lull in the music.
Do what she says. She knows what she’s talking about.
While he and his group are still lurching across from us, I catch what appears to be a cute guy out of the corner of my eye and glide over next to him. I avoid looking at his face as I try to copy the dance moves I’ve been watching Darby use, and I let my body slide up and down against the roughness of his jeans. He seems to enjoy this, and wastes no time in returning the favor by dancing provocatively with me. Darby smiles from across the floor and gives me thumbs up.
Success.
As we stagger to the bar and order another round of pink shots, one of Doyle’s fraternity brothers calls out to Darby and invites us to sit with them at the large booth they have managed to find.
“Awesome, they got a table. Let’s go over there with them for a while, I could use a break,” Darby says, pulling me by the wrist before I have a chance to protest. I want to gently remind her of the cold death nod that Doyle gave me just twenty minutes ago, but her back is already facing me as she runs open-armed to greet all the standing guys with full-breasted hugs. I slink behind her and scoot into the booth so that I can be against the wall and far away from everyone else. It feels tacky as I rest my weary body against it, but I don’t care. Luckily, a sister that I hardly know named Kelly takes the seat next to me, preventing the cumbersome situation of having to brush elbows and make small talk with Doyle, who’s too busy cocking his head and sneering as one of his brothers makes fun of a slightly oversized girl trying to dance.
After all of the welcome hugs are done, everyone takes advantage of the booth. Doyle is sitting across from me, now fully engaged in an insipid conversation about beer consumption and how the fraternity can do it more efficiently with a brother I’ve never seen before. He still has yet to acknowledge my presence. I order a beer from the scantily clad waif of a waitress who has just approached our table to keep myself from staring at him with desperation.
Why do I care if this ridiculous fraternity boy doesn’t want to talk to me?
Darby is sprawled out in one of the brother’s laps, her eyes glossed over with a drunken sheen. Her hands are gliding all over his body, and I see them disappear under the table for a moment. The smile that quickly spreads over his face leads me to believe that she wasn’t just fixing her aluminum skirt under there. I grab my beer and take a long swig, letting the cool bitterness wash over me. I pretend to be engaged with the conversation about how many calories were consumed at lunchtime going on between the two sisters sitting next to me so that I don’t feel anymore awkward.
Nod your head. Smile when people make eye contact with you. Nod again. Good.
Darby broadcasts to everyone in the bar that she feels like she’s going to vomit, and her three accomplices jump up to rush her to the restroom. Kelly has to take a moment to pull Darby’s garbage bag
shirt back up to cover her breasts and pull her skirt back down to its appropriate spot. They look down at me, expecting me to jump up and help out. I just try my best to hide my annoyance at this whole preposterous state of affairs.
“Um, I’m not that good with vomit. I’m going to stay here, if you don’t mind,” I say, slouching down in my seat and keeping my eyes focused on my straw so I don’t have to see her reaction. But I can still feel Kelly roll her eyes as she grabs Darby’s arm, draping her across her shoulders like a human boa.
I order another drink just to keep myself from thinking too much—a vodka and orange juice. When the waitress sets it down in front of me, I take my time to gently remove the paper wrapper from the straw and twist it around between my fingers, making a faux ring for myself. I take it off and let it fall in the small pool of condensation that has now developed around the bottom of my glass as I notice a figure take a seat in front of me.
“I left my wallet somewhere on the table, have you seen it?”
Doyle.
I shake my head no and take a long sip of my drink. He scans the booth for another moment, and then scoots in right next to me. I’m too nervous to peek, so I keep sipping. I feel his face getting close to my ear—his warm breath sending electrifying tingles down my back. He’s so close now that if I turned my face to the left just an inch, we would be thrown into one passionate kiss.
“You look hot tonight, Maura.”
My breath catches in my throat and a wave of adrenaline starts pumping through my veins. What’s going on here? Before I can formulate a response, Kelly bombards the table and Doyle retracts away from me like a petrified squirrel. He can’t risk being caught reaching out and trying to scoop up the stray nut.
“Maura, we’re leaving. Darby’s really sick and we need to get her in bed.”
She taps her high-heeled foot on the hardwood floor and glares at me, as if demanding me to get out of the booth and trail her out the door.
I feel Doyle’s hand clutch my knee under the table.
He wants the nut.
“I think I’m going to stay for a while…” I announce. Was that really my voice? My words? There’s a brick in my stomach, and I feel my brain swooshing around in a river of vodka. She huffs and doesn’t look back.
As soon as we’re alone, Doyle slides his hand from mine and moves it to my knee under the table, rubbing circles with his thumb and forefinger. My thoughts get muddied with dread.
What the hell am I doing?
“So Darby suggested that I be Theta Beta’s spokesperson for this softball tournament thing,” I say in a rushed voice. His lips are tickling the edge of my ear now.
What the hell…
“A charity thing. You know about it?”
No response.
“But it sounds pretty cool…and…I think I’m going to do it.”
“Let’s go dance,” he stammers in my ear, leering at my chest.
He reaches for my hand.
And I let him pull me up.
While we move, our bodies almost glued together and our faces brushing cheek to cheek, I look down into my drink, at the door, just past his shoulder, or at the couple grinding next to us. I just can’t look at him. Every time his eyes enter my field of vision I feel an adrenaline rush. I stumble, and he reaches out and supports me.
Maybe I was too quick to judge this Doyle character.
I’m at the point in my drunkenness now where my dancing feels elegant—almost as if it’s a natural thing for me to do, like I’m one of those girls that go out every weekend because she just loves to dance. I shake my hair out of its rubber band. We dance like fanatical idiots, jumping and swinging our arms above our heads until we’re too hot to keep going. He leans his body weight against me and we stagger over to the wall. My heart skips a beat, but only for a moment. I think I’m far too drunk to truly care about anything right now. I let my back fall against the wall, and he lays himself on top of me, brushing my hair out of my eyes with swift, gentle motions.
He leans in so close that I can’t do anything but breathe him in.
“Maura, you are so much fun,” he purrs. I close my eyes and let his words slowly sink into my brain and shock my organs. Owen’s voice never did this to me.
A techno beat that sounds no different from the last two songs picks up, and Doyle pulls me as close to him as possible. Luckily he’s moved behind me now, so the grin that I now have spread from ear to ear is visible to no one but the drunken rave dancers in front of me.
I slowly let my self-consciousness slip away with every sip of beer and let my hips move a little bit more to each song that plays. I close my eyes and for a moment I feel like I’m flying. I’m pretty sure that I hear Doyle whisper in my ear that he’s going to the bar to get two more drinks, but I’m not really paying attention to my surroundings. It feels too good to finally be letting go of it all. I don’t give a damn anymore. It’s so fucking exhausting to live in my head sometimes. I just need a vacation from my brain.
And I’m happy that Owen’s gone. He never let me get away from my own thoughts.
Good fucking riddance to you, Owen Kittelsen.
A moment later a cold glass is pushed into my hand, and I’m spun around, face to face with Doyle. He pulls a few strands of my hair out of my face and leans in for what I think is a kiss. But instead he goes for my ear.
“God, you are beautiful, Maura. How is it that you are single?”
There’s that electricity again. It’s raging through my bones right now. All of my senses are heightened.
Before I know what’s happening, I’m grabbing the side of Doyle’s face and kissing him. Long, deep, passionate kisses meant to be shared between two lovers in private—not out here on this muggy dance floor. But the moment came out of nowhere, and I chose to seize it.
I chose.
I pull away and see him beaming.
“Wow.”
“Yeah, wow.”
Oh shit, I’ve fucked everything up now…
“So, random question. Do you think I could have the pleasure of taking you to my fraternity formal next weekend, dear Maura?”
****
“Have I told you lately how much I fucking love you?”
I do my best to adjust my eyes and look over to Darby, who has wrapped her arm securely around my shoulders as she tries as hard as possible to stand upright. The strap to her aquamarine dress broke two hours ago during a makeshift mosh pit that she partook in, but she’s still stunning.
“I love you too, Darby,” I say.
It feels so good to tell people that I love them.
The DJ has started to play some song about family and everyone in the room is forming one colossal circle. Nearly all of my sisters managed to snag an invitation to the event, and we all beam at each other from each edge of the room, raising our glasses and waving as we mouth the words.
‘We are a family,’
‘Together through it all, we are sisters,’
All of the girls shriek and latch on to each other as they shout ‘sisters.’ I feel two sets of arms wrap around me, and I’m enveloped in pure happiness.
‘I never thought that I could find,’
‘Sisters as true as this,’
I’m finally here. I’ve finally found this elusive, magical place that I’ve been so desperately searching for my entire life. It’s something I never found at home with my parents.
I’ve found a family. My family.
And they really do love me.
The song ends and the DJ starts a slow song, but no one in the room is in the mood to slow dance. One of the Alpha Pi brothers starts to pass around a tray of bright purple shots, and Darby grabs four.
“Here ya go—enjoy your night, Maura. You’ve earned it.”
I take a shot from each of my hands and giggle with anticipation as I feel them smolder my stomach. I can’t wait to be completely inebriated and lost in the wonderful world that is drunkenness.
“I’m so pro
ud of you, little sister,” she slurs. “I was worried at first that you would be too shy to really enjoy anything, but you proved me wrong!” She grabs my face and turns it into hers. “And you even took complete control of our softball tournament! Have I told you lately what an awesome job you did at collecting all of those sponsors and picking out our uniforms?”
I trip over my feet and cackle as she helps me back up. “You have, dear Darby. Like, a million times!” And, truthfully, I have loved the experience. Taking control of a group of my sisters and generating ideas with them was so much fun. I feel the need to pinch myself to make sure all of this is real.
It doesn’t take long before I feel a sharp pain behind my eyes. I feel like an electrical jolt is bouncing all over my organs. My stomach starts doing flip-flops and everyone is dancing around me, sucking up all of the air. I’m too drunk. Dammit. I just need a minute to catch my breath. I scamper over to a table and set my glass down for the first time this evening and start to massage my temples, hoping to rub the migraine away. It feels as though my body is finally recoiling from the poor treatment I’ve been giving it these past few months.
“You doing alright, little sister?”
“I don’t know, Darby. I feel sick. And I have no clue where Doyle is.” I lurch over to a different empty table and let my body fall into a chair. It feels weird to hear his name come out of my mouth. It’s so alien. Even after all of those late-night meetings we had for the charity planning—and a few late-night make out sessions—I’m still not used to the idea of including his name in my regular vocabulary. “I should just wait here for him.”
I let my head fall into the crumpled-up pillow I’ve made for myself out of the crusted gold tablecloth. It smells like cigarettes and cotton candy, but I don’t mind. I bury my face even deeper.
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