by J. Saman
What the bloody hell was that?
It’s the alcohol. It’s making me dizzy and not myself.
He must not realize how close he is to me, so I shift to the other side, abutting Claire’s small frame.
As I look around, squinting my eyes against the black, I realize that this isn’t just a house party—it’s an intimate gathering of friends, and I met the only person I know here twenty minutes ago.
I’ve never done anything like this, and I have no excuse for my behavior now except that it was a real bastard of a day and I needed the mental diversion.
“Luke,” Claire whispers, leaning across me.
She must have bloody night vision goggles or cat eyes or something because she seems to have no difficulty seeing in the dark.
“This is Ivy. I picked her up at Cello’s, even though she’s straight. Ironic, huh? I meet the only other non-lesbian there and talk her into leaving with me.”
“That’s fucking hilarious,” Luke deadpans. “Now can you shut up so we don’t blow the lame ass surprise? They just pulled in the driveway.”
I’m about to ask how he even knows that when I hear car doors slamming shut and a man and a woman talking and laughing.
Keys jiggle in the lock, and I can feel Claire—at least I hope it’s her—grab my hand in excited anticipation. The door flies open and someone flips the switch on the lights and suddenly everyone jumps up, including me, and yells surprise.
I’m temporarily blinded by the sudden transition in lighting, and as my pupils constrict and accommodate, I’m being pulled into the rushing crowd of well-wishers.
Somehow I manage to pry myself away from Claire’s ninja grip and maneuver myself to the back of the heap.
The group of about thirty people are laughing and talking animatedly with a woman I cannot see, but her fiancé is towering over the rest with dark, nearly black hair, a thick beard and glasses.
Not a bad-looking bloke.
My eyes scan the room, debating if I should make a run for it out the back when a small blonde woman with an angelic face and light blue eyes approaches me. She looks familiar, but for the life of me I can’t place her.
“Ivy Green?”
“Um . . . Yes?” Why does that sound like a question?
“Welcome,” she says warmly and I smile, feeling horrible for not knowing her name when she clearly knows mine. “I’m Kate Taylor. I work at the hospital with you. I’m a nurse in the ICU, but float to the ED sometimes.”
And then it all clicks into place.
“Yes, of course,” I beam, relieved that I know a second person here, again, sort of. “I apologize for not realizing who you were straight off.”
She waves me away like its nothing. “Claire said you were her date for the night. She’s my maid-of-honor.”
That relief from moments ago crashes to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. I’m mortified, because this is clearly her engagement party that I’m crashing and I didn’t even know her name.
“Yes, sorry. I hope that’s all right?” I look around helplessly. “I realize I’m intruding.”
“Not at all. I’m glad you’re here. The more people I know at the hospital, the better.”
I can relate to that.
Though I’ve been working there since the start of my residency, I haven’t really clicked with many people. But that’s all on me. I’ve been consumed with work and thought of little else.
Scanning around, I see a slew of other familiar faces, including Craig Stanton, who mercifully has yet to notice me.
“It’s a bit unexpected that I’m crashing the surprise party of a work colleague.”
“I know, right?” Kate laughs out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Claire hops over to us. Literally, she’s hopping across the room. “You macking my date?”
“No, but I definitely knew her before you did.”
“No way,” Claire half yells, pouting with a disappointed jut of her lip.
“It’s true, mate,” I say, patting her shoulder like she’s a small child. “I work at the hospital with her.”
“Figity fuck, Kate. How is it you’ve met everyone I know before me?”
“Not Luke. You definitely knew him first.”
“True, but that dickwad doesn’t count.”
“Get over it,” Kate laughs, before giving a pouting Claire a kiss on the cheek. “I have to mingle, but I’m glad you came, Ivy. I hope we can talk more later.”
“Thanks. Me too.” I mean that as well. Kate is as sweet as her face.
“Come on, Ivy, let’s go hit up the bar and look for unattached men. Something tells me it’s slim pickings in that department.”
Claire leads me toward the back of the house and into a gorgeous gigantic kitchen where there is a bar set up on the center island and a few people I don’t recognize milling about.
“What’s your poison? Another Manhattan?” Claire asks, pulling two red plastic cups off the stack.
“Uh, sure. Why not? I don’t have to be on shift until ten tomorrow.”
“Atta girl.” She pours a lot of whiskey and a splash of sweet vermouth into the cup and hands it to me. No ice. Not even slightly chilled. Just straight up alcohol.
“You’re joking, right?” I ask, eyeing the warm, no doubt overly strong, beverage.
“Not at all. This party is lame. We need to get our drink on if we’re going to last.”
“I can’t drink like this. You’ll be holding my hair above the toilet in no time.”
“Don’t tell me I picked up a pussy of a drinker?” she snorts. “Get it? Pussy of a drinker? I picked you up at gay bar.”
I really have no words for that one.
I shrug, “Sorry mate, but yeah.”
“At least have a few sips.” She drops a couple of ice cubes from the bucket into my cup with a splash. “There, better now?”
“Fine, but if I get sick and make a total mess of myself, you better not think less of me.”
“Never. Cross my wicked, black heart.” She makes an X over her heart with her finger.
“I’m not sure if that lends itself to trust, but I’ll go with it for now.”
“Good.” She smiles brightly, holding up her own cup filled with some crazy concoction. “To new friends.”
“To new friends,” I repeat as we crash our plastic cups against each other with a crinkling sound before I take far too large a sip. The liquid burns as it slides down my throat, but for the first time in days, I’m relaxed and happy.