Frozen, I stutter. This is my one and only chance, I have her attention. My eyes roam the room, searching for the answer, and land on my sister’s frumpy cable knit sweater. It hangs loosely around her tooth-pick frame, a too-big option leftover from her pre-weight-loss days.
“Remember when you had boobs?” Inspiration has struck and I am truly a genius.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s what we’ll do. The loser buys the winner a boob job.”
She stares at me for a moment, swirling her Cosmo around for dramatic effect. “Fine. I’ll do it.” We clink our glasses together, then I gesture for refills to the bartender. “And by the way, Cecile?”
“Yeah?”
“Happy birthday, you old fart.”
****
“That is sooooo tacky.” Brent sits in the chair he pulled up to our high-top table, judging us over a shaken martini. As he considers my sister’s grimace, he sucks the olive from his toothpick.
“And ditching your friends on their birthday isn’t tacky?” she responds, long since immune to Brent’s bitchy streak.
“Well, excuse me if I think this little vehicle we have here needs a forth wheel, my pet,” he grins, swallows his olive, and sighs. “And anyway, I came back, didn’t I?”
“Like a bad hemorrhoid.”
“He’s not that bad, Soph,” I cut in, not looking forward to another battle of wills this evening.
“But he can hear you.”
“Yes, Brent,” I sigh. “Not the point. Will you help us with this thing or not? I only told you about it to get you onboard, not to listen to your personal feelings on the matter.” Talking to Brent is an art form, but sometimes you just have to give it to him straight.
He pauses, sweeps the bar one more time with his eyes, then lands them on me. “Fine. I’ll help. Nothing else exciting going on here tonight anyhow.”
“You’re a great friend, Brent,” says Sophie with a generous serving of sarcasm.
“Yes, I know I am. After all, I am about to get us another round of drinks.” He springs up from the chair and bounces toward the bar, leaving Sophie and I to wonder how we’ve managed to let him live this long.
Eternally on the same mental page as me, Sophie exhales slowly and says, “You should’ve let me smother him in your Popple sleeping bag when I had the chance.”
Socially Awkward Page 21