by Sara H Ney
2. The confused glances their poor parent’s keep giving each other because they clearly have no clue what the hell the three of us have going on.
In a way, it’s almost like some fucked up love triangle. Minus the love. Minus the triangle.
And I’m most definitely in the center of it.
I zone out for a second, but then I hear Mrs. Wakefield saying, “Well, it’s his loss. Anyone would be a fool to let you get away.”
I shoot another covert look at Matthew, who is downing a glass of water and probably pretending it’s something stronger - like Vodka or a Jaeger Bomb - and get another small poke in the ribs from my roommate. Clearly, she is enjoying all of this.
The playful banter among Molly, Matthew and their parent’s progress as the night goes on, until we’re all helping clear the table and bringing everything into the kitchen. Dishes get loaded into the dishwasher, the table cloth comes off, glasses get washed by hand in the sink, and leftovers get distributed among us kids in plastic containers.
Molly and I are standing at the kitchen sink - her washing drinking glasses, me drying them - when Matthew walks in, letting out a loud sigh.
Without even looking over at him, Molly emits a loud sigh of her own. “What,” she deadpans. It’s not a question, and it’s not a statement.
“Why haven’t I been invited to this Halloween party you’re going to?”
Molly removes her hands from the soapy sink water and places them on the edge of the sink, turning her body towards me, a disgusted look on her face. “Seriously?”
I shrug. “What? He asked what I was doing for Halloween... then one thing led to another...”
“Can’t I have one night free from this Neanderthal? You had to bring up the party? Ugh, I could smack you right now.”
Like she hadn’t been doing that all night already? “Jeez, chill. I didn’t know it was a secret. I thought everyone was going. Besides, I invited you so you have no room to complain.”
Molly slaps a frustrated hand against the counter, causing a small spray of soapy water to cascade and hit the window above the sink. “Ugh. Ever since the two of you started emailing each other or whatever it is you’re doing, he’s been nothing but a pain in my ass, I swear.”
As I contemplate strangling her, she goes on. “Cece, you have got to quit inviting people. I mean. Stop. You keep inviting literally everyone under the sun and Amber is going to be pissed.” She shoots me a pointed look that says ‘don’t argue with me.’
I give Molly a deranged look because clearly she’s lost her damn mind, and Matthew clears his throat. “Hi. I’m still standing right here.”
We both ignore him. “I didn’t invite him, Molly - I just mentioned it. Calm down.”
“Yeah, so this isn’t awkward...” Matthew mutters.
“Shut it, Matt.” This from Molly.
“You know what your problem is Cece? You’re wayyy too nice. A freaking bleeding heart.”
Matthew snorts (the hypocrite) as Molly grabs a towel to dry her hands, turning to face her brother with a saccharine sweet smile planted on her face. “Ok. Fine. Matty, would you like to come to a grown-up Halloween party? It’s probably much classier than what you’re used to. Not really your usual scene.”
Matthew palms his chin. “Hmm. As tempting as that invitation sounds, I’ll have to think about it. Can you text me the details?”
Molly’s mouth falls open. “Oh my gawd, I’m going to kill you...”
In response, he grabs an orange off the counter and saunters out of the room chuckling.
Molly turns to me, a shit eating grin plastered on her face, whispering, “There. Happy now? I just did all your dirty work for you - your little man-crush is coming to the party. Please, hold the applause.”
Now it’s my mouth that falls open. “What the hell!? Were you trying to give me a damn heart attack? I seriously thought you were pissed!”
“Would you keep your voice down? He’s probably listening through the heating vent for crying out loud.”
“Sorry,” I apologize in a staged whisper. “It felt like you were throwing me under the bus.”
“Au Contraire! I was doing you a favor. Cece - you need to make him start working for it a little. Sheesh, my brother always gets whatever he wants - it’s so annoying.” Then, as she opens a cabinet and grabs a clean wash cloth, she lets out a soft giggle. “Oh my god, did you see the look on his face while we were arguing? Like a sad, confused puppy dog. He sooo wants to come to that party.”
“How do you know?”
In typical Molly fashion, she snorts. “Puh-lease. He couldn’t have been more obvious. I mean, hellooo. He literally came right out and asked to be invited.”
“Yeah, I guess...”
“No, not ‘I guess.’ Cece, the guy was trying to play footsies with you under the damn table and ended up rubbing my leg instead.”
“Can we please not talk about that?”
“He looked like he was going to crap his pants when I called him out on it.”
We resume washing glasses and silverware. Molly glances at me sideways, and quietly says, “He needs to just freaking ask you out already. This cat and mouse game is getting ridiculous.”
“Yeah but I don’t think he really li-”
She shushes me with a loud, obnoxious ‘SShhh!’ “Don’t you dare start in with that ‘I don’t think he likes me’ self-deprecating crap. It’s nauseating.”
“Um... You seem angry. I think you’ve been hanging around Weston a bit too much. You look like you want to body check me.”
She ignores me and barrels on. “So now we have our work cut out for us: deciding what costume you’re going to wear to this party - and we only have a few weeks to do it...”
Oh. Crap.
***
Matthew: Do you know how much self-control I exercised tonight by not claiming my prize and using the code word? Just sayin
Me: I was wondering if you would. but then again, it wouldn’t have been much of a surprise.
Matthew: True. I am kind of going for shock value.
Me: Great. Just great...
Matthew: The look on my mom’s face would have been priceless, tho.
Me: Yeah. Even more so if I hauled off and slapped you when you tried to kiss me. LOLz
Matthew: You wouldn’t dare. That wasn’t part of the deal
Me: The deal was that you got to ‘plant one’ on me, not that I would LET you... Compliance was NOT part of the discussion.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Cecelia
“We’re all gonna have so much fucking fun we’re going to need plastic surgery to remove our goddamn smiles.” - Clark Griswold
There are really no words to describe the parties my friend Amber, and her husband Lincoln, throw each year - but I’m going to give it my best shot anyways.
Because you really must see it to believe it.
At the tender ages of twenty-four and twenty-eight respectively, Amber and Lincoln (a trust fund baby of epic proportions) live on a little slice of heaven called Lake Geneva - in a house that has been in his family for generations (see: Trust fund baby), and which Lincoln inherited from his grandfather on his twenty-fifth birthday.
(And really quickly, before I go any further... with a name like Lincoln, was it really necessary for me to tell you he comes from money? Yeah. Didn’t think so...)
Nestled back from the main road and only accessible down a long windy driveway, the estate sits on several acres of premium lake frontage - which just happens to be a prime location for their Third Annual Halloween bash.
Invite only, and under a black rented reception tent (a tent normally intended for wedding receptions) - Amber really knows how to throw one hell of a party - and this spectacle is like nothing I have personally ever seen (and I’ve seen some crazy shit).
Under the canopy, in the center of the dance floor, a large, manmade constructed tree stands, seemingly holding up the entire tent. Its lifeless, leafless branc
hes are wrapped in low glowing L.E.D lights, just emitting enough light to be functional.
On both sides of this giant tree, two monstrous black chandeliers hang, their prisms and crystals adding a sophistication to the event, while a large Dracula ice sculpture at the head bar lends an air of fun.
The dance floor is, of course, hard wood - and not one, but two DJ’s are set up on a makeshift stage, their up-tempo music already has the crowd dancing.
A total of four fully stocked bars flank each corner of the tent.
No one is leaving here sober.
Not on purpose, anyway.
Nervously, I run my hand down the smooth corset of my costume, careful not to snag the delicate satin fabric.
For weeks I asked myself: what does someone as modest as me wear to a Halloween party? Actually. Let me be more specific: what does someone as modest as me wear to a Halloween party when they’re trying to impress a guy... but not wanting to look like they’re trying too hard?
Or like a hooker.
Because if I had let my friends have input, I would be one of the following for Amber’s party:
1. Slutty Goalie. Slutty Hockey Player
2. Naughty Nurse or a Naughty Accountant
3. Trampy Waitress. Trampy Barista
4. Slutty, Naughty, Trampy (insert word here)
Are you sensing a pattern?
Trust me. I searched high and low for a costume - tried coming up with one of my own creation without the help of my Halloween hooker-wannabe friends. You know - the friends that are determined to truss me up like a thanksgiving turkey and parade me around in front of Matthew like a lamb to slaughter.
I mean... what is it about this particular holiday that turns perfectly respectable (and smart) girls into pseudo sleaze balls?
I sooo did not want my boobs hanging out all night.
But.
When in Rome...
**Matthew**
My friends and I stand at the entrance of the black reception tent, gawking at the sight before us. At least one hundred and fifty people in costume are mingling around, drinks in hand, many of them swaying or dancing in place to the music pumping from the speakers placed strategically throughout the canopy.
“Holy. Shit.” Neve says beside me, bumping our friend Kevin in the ribs and pointing to some chick dressed like a Black Widow spider with her tits spilling out of her top - although I know he’s not just in awe of the woman in her costume, but from the sight before us.
It’s definitely sensory overload.
“Dude. There are so many fucking people here - How were you planning on finding McGrath and your sister?”
I hold up my cell and wave it in the air. “Molly texted me, dipshit. Says they’re standing by one of the bars.” I hold the phone at eye level and read the screen out loud. “Walk in tent, turn left. Bar on the far side by wall.”
“How come we nevah been to this pahty before?” Our friend Bernie, who’s dressed like a gynecologist, asks from behind me. “It’s wicked awesome.”
Bernie is from Boston and says shit like wicked and awesome and bubbla (instead of drinking fountain).
“Because this is a friend of Molly’s roommate.”
“Right, right... The chick you’ve got a hahd on for.”
“Shut up Bernard and put your goddamn mask back on.”
“Whoops, sorry. I forgot.”
Together there are five of us - friends of mine both from college or the coaching staff with the Badgers - all of whom are dressed like some kind of surgeon or doctor (mostly because they’re idiots). Bernie for example, as I mentioned, is dressed like a gynecologist; Neve, a fertility specialist. Then there’s Kevin, wearing scrubs and a hanging sign around his neck advertising free mammograms.
And Erik, whose name tag proclaims him Dr. Long Dong, M.D.
As we walk through the throng of people - zombies, fairies, villains, virgins - and every costume of every possible variety: slutty, gory, demonic and sweet. Some faux Hooters waitresses stand in a cluster near the dance floor not far from us, twerking and flirting with a collection of football players - while nearby, some dude dressed like Dog the Bounty Hunter does body shots off the stomach of a chick decked out in an I Dream of Genie costume.
Wading through the crowd is not fun, but relatively easy enough - there are a lot of people - but it’s not packed like it would be if we’d gone downtown to State Street to the bars. Maybe a hundred fifty or so guests in this giant tent (which looks awesome, by the way)... and thank god, too, because if we were at the bars, I’d be smashing and jostling into people every two feet - or worse, getting drinks spilled on me.
In a way, this party feels like I imagine a Halloween Party at the Playboy Mansion would; part classy, part skanky.
In other words: the perfect combination.
One Less Problem, by Ariana Grande, comes blasting through the speakers above, and as we shoulder our way through the crowd, the low saxophone backbeat of the music, and whispery ‘I got one less, one less prob-lem’ chorus suddenly has random girls dancing up on us, grinding their asses on my leg like dogs in heat.
Normally I might be down with that, but not tonight. Tonight I am on a mission - not only to find my sister, but to find her roommate.
I have plans for her.
Twenty minutes later, after aimlessly wandering through the increasingly dense crowd, we still have not caught sight of Molly, Weston, or their friends. As Snow White awkwardly humps my thigh to the beat of Iggy Azalea, Bernie is behind me shouting “This is the best party ever!” But, with his Boston accent it sounds like he’s actually yelling “This is the best pahhtee evahhhh.” Yeah. He pretty much resembles a teenager who recently got let out of the house for the first time.
I continue scanning the crowd so intently I don’t notice anyone step directly in front of me, until I find myself colliding into a warm body - a warm body solid enough to cause my beer to freaking spill down the front of my pant leg with a splash, dripping to collect into a small puddle under my combat boots.
Just as I’m about to bark out a curse, I glance up from my soaking pant leg with a sneer on my face and almost shit myself - because I’m standing in front of Cecelia, and she looks fucking incredible.
It takes me a few seconds to recognize her - she’s wearing more makeup than usual, and of course, she’s in a costume.
A fucking mermaid costume.
As I wonder where the hell the outfit came from, I slowly take her in from head to toe. She isn’t wearing a wig, but rather... Cecelia’s dark brunette hair is curled in lose spirals down her back and around her face. A coronet of pearls circle the crown of her head (don’t ask me how I know it’s called a coronet), and she has some smaller seed pearls snaking up her lean arms.
Then, being male, my eyes immediately go to her chest.
Her breasts are being pushed together by the nude corset she’s wearing, practically spilling over the top; tiny sea shells and rhinestones are attached to the trim of the corset, a small starfish in the center.
Instead of a mermaid tail, Cecelia is wearing metallic aqua hot pants. You know the kind of capri legging things Sandra Dee wears at the end of Grease? Those are hot pants - and they look fucking awesome on Cecelia.
Stacked aqua blue stiletto heels on her feet... its one hell of a mermaid costume. The sexiest goddamn one I have ever seen...
Judging by the shocked look on her face, it’s obvious she hadn’t seen me coming - or expected me - either. Her eyes, rimmed with dark green eyeliner, are wide and expressive. Nude colored glitter shimmers, highlighting her cheekbones, her collarbone, and her deep cleavage.
Swear to God - it’s the most gorgeous cleavage I’ve seen in my twenty-three years.
“Matthew,” she breathes as if she’s out of breath. “Hi.”
“Hey sexy lady,” Kevin interrupts from behind me, before I can respond. “You look like quite a tasty catch.” He chuckles at his own joke, while Neve shoulders his way through. “Get it? Mer
maid, fish? Catch.”
“Wow Cecelia, you look.... Amazing. But what else is new.” He leans over and greets her with a quick hug.
She looks at me, then glances at my friends, taking in their costumes one-by-one - then looks at me again. “So, lady doctors, hey?” She crosses her arms and props her leg out as she studies us curiously.
I seriously wish she wouldn’t, because her boobs look ready to pop out of her top.
I scowl.
“Yup - and my office is open if you need an exam,” Bernie laughs and gives his rubber glove a snap.
Kevin (never one to be left out in a group setting) steps forward to display his sign. “It looks like you could use a hand with those pretty plump mammories of yours. Free of charge,” He says with lecherous a wink.
The level of their perversion is actually pretty embarrassing, and before I can stop myself, I practically shout, “What the fuck, you guys?”
“Dude, what’s your damn problem? We’re trying to have fun,” Erik complains, scanning the crowd.
Bernie nods in agreement. “If she didn’t want us gawking at her tits, maybe she shouldn’t have them hanging out.”
Cecelia’s mouth falls open; her look of horror says it all.
I seriously want to punch Bernie in the face.
Neve clears his throat with a forced laugh. “Um, guys - maybe I should introduce you to Cecelia. You know. Cecelia.” He stresses her name, dragging it out, his dark brows pushed together as he bores holes into our friends. “Molly’s friend.”
He coughs loudly.
Realization spreads onto everyone’s face. Well, everyone’s except Kevin’s - mostly because he’s such a fucking tool box.
Erik lets out a loud “Ahhhhh, Ceceeeliaaa....” His hands go up - and as he says “Molly’s friend” he punctuates Molly’s name with air quotes.
Nice.
Real subtle, asshole.
“Holy shit you’re hot,” Erik mutters, not really to anyone in particular.
Finally, Kevin makes the connection. “Oh yeah - Molly’s roommate. Also known as: the chick Matthew has a raging hard on for?”