First to Fall

by Lane, Stacy

  Fiddling with my glasses by pinching the outside frames, I reply, “Yes. It’s smart and entertaining and I like that I can see the outcomes as I watch them play.”

  “You’re such a nerd,” Taytum scoffs with a small laugh. “But I’m too happy to care.”

  “I can sweeten the deal,” Earl says, leaning in like he has a secret. “Wanna meet some players? I have connections.”

  “Are you trying to charm me, Earl?” I grin.

  “What she means is yes,” Taytum answers with an elbow nudge in my arm.

  He replies with a hearty belly laugh that reminds me of something my grandpa used to do. Except Earl is younger and, on the whole, in shape. “I’ve been working on that all night, Sourpuss.”

  “Not sure your wife would approve,” I tease.

  “She knows better than to let a handsome devil like me out of the house alone. I’m a catch.”

  “Well, as generous as that offer may be, I decline.” The nudge in my arm returns as a vicious pinch. “Ow!”

  “Are you insane?” Taytum scolds me. “He’s offering to meet the players. Those guys down there on the ice. The ones you already love, statistically speaking.”

  I roll my eyes at her nerd-nudge. She likes throwing those around often.

  “Did you forget who your best friend is? I can barely carry a conversation with regular people, and you want me to meet a celebrity. No, thanks.”

  “You’re impossible,” she groans.

  “She says that a lot,” Earl whispers in my ear.

  “Thank you for the offer, Earl, but I’ll stick with going home tonight with my newfound interest in hockey.”

  “Then my job here is done.” He sighs, sounding as if the ending to his job was not quite how he planned it.

  Taytum, however, is not done.

  “Half of those players are single and very hot,” she says, trying to convince me to change my mind.

  I gaze at my friend, decked out in her team gear. An avid fan, though, a more recent transition when Nick got her into the sport when they started dating a year ago.

  “You have a man. Why do you care about how hot they are?”

  “Oh my God,” she says with exasperation. “Not for me, Jo. For you. You need to meet someone, and what if you hit it off with one of them?”

  “That seems highly unlikely.” My reply is drier than sand.

  “I beg to differ, but what do I know,” Earl chimes in. “I’ve been happily married for thirty-five years and haven’t been on the dating scene in ages.”

  “I may be out of practice as well,” I say pointedly to Taytum. “But a hockey player is definitely not my type.”

  “Why’s that?” Earl sits straighter, a sparkle of genuine interest in his eyes, but his next words are a tad defensive. “I think you’d be perfect for the few that I know personally.”

  “So you are trying to fix me up with someone,” I say in a slow perusal.

  “It’s a gift. I’m a good matchmaker. Just ask my wife,” he smiles with mischief.

  The back of my neck begins to tingle with awareness. Tiny hairs stand from an invisible force.

  “How exactly do you have connections to the team?” I ask, squinting my eyes as his lips twitch.

  Earl grins, remarkable gray eyes dazzling as he peers down at the rink. Taytum and I follow his line of sight leading straight to a player talking with a referee after the play was halted.

  The player’s features are indistinguishable from our place in the stands. He’s tall, not that that says much with these kinds of guys. Dark hair pokes out beneath the helmet at his neck, stringy and coated in sweat. The name on the back of his jersey is not entirely visible to me from this distance, but I can make out that it starts with an L.

  He is number twenty-five, though. That I can see.

  “That one,” Earl says, pointing to the guy we’re all looking at. “He’s my son.”

  The coincidence means a whole lot of nothing to me.

  Taytum, on the other hand, gasps so hard anyone within five feet of her is sucked right up.

  TWO

  Jo

  My substandard night was not over. In the midst of a packed parking lot, inside the safety of Nick’s car, I determine I’ve met my quota on connecting with nightlife for the next six months.

  After the game, Taytum, Nick, and their friends weren’t ready to go home. Since I rode out here with them, I had the Uber app opened on my phone before we even made it out of the arena. Taytum confiscated my cell phone as payback for not taking Earl up on his offer and meeting his son.

  It’s why I’m sitting in the back of the car like a petulant child.

  This bar they wanted to go to was across the street from the arena. The dirt lot we parked in before the game is a ways down the road, so Nick thought it would be better to drive over here. But the popular new hangout after the games had a full lot too. Right as Nick decided to find a metered parking spot, someone pulled out.

  Following them from the car, across the graveled lot, and inside the double doors, I glance around the chaotic building filled with people, booze, and loud music. Despite the number of bodies filling the place, the air conditioning was on full blast and competing with the coolness of the arena.

  As I step further inside the doorway, calmness sheaths my shoulders like a cozy winter coat. Tension releases from my bunched muscles as I look beyond all the people and take in the inviting aura.

  With dark wood and exposed red brick, the tones are warm and rustic. Barn pendant light fixtures hang above high top tables dispersed around the open and spacious floor. The bar running along the back wall straight ahead has tall, floor to ceiling shelves lined with bottles upon bottles of vodka, whiskey, scotch, and other liquors I can’t name. Hanging from the ceiling above the bar are two barn beam chandeliers. The crafty design is wrapped in cords with Edison bulbs drooping at different lengths below. There are dart boards and a karaoke stage to the left, and pool tables to the right. A section of empty booths is roped off in the back right corner as if it’s a VIP section.

  “See. It’s not so bad.” Taytum flares with a broad smile and outstretched arms. “This is gonna be fun.”

  Eyes turn our way where we’ve paused to stand inside the front doors. Some are leering, some are judging.

  “C’mon. Let’s find a table,” I say, moving.

  “We’ll get the drinks.” Nick kisses Taytum’s cheek before walking off.

  “Are you going to finally loosen up?” Taytum sweeps an arm through mine, shaking my limb and making me feel anything but loose.

  “I know how to have fun.”

  “Yes, but pulling the fun out you is like pulling teeth.”

  “You make me sound uptight.”

  “Hmph,” Kelly huffs.

  Tatytum and I twist our heads at the same time, glaring straight at her.

  Kelly hasn’t once attempted to engage in conversation with me. I’d let it bother me, but I don’t believe I’m missing much.

  We find a high top table near the perimeter of the sectioned off area. Straight ahead, and across the room, is a small stage with a single microphone set up.

  “Did we come on karaoke night?” I ask.

  “I don’t know.” Taytum glances over at the stage. “We’ve never been here before. Pass it all the time now, but it just opened at the end of last season and became pretty popular.”

  Kelly’s glued to her phone, fingers swiping over the screen. “It’s only popular because the Labelles own it.”

  “Seriously? How did I not know that? How did Nick not know that?” Taytum spurts with shock and excitement. Sitting straighter, she tries peering over everyone, looking for something specific.

  I shift on my stool. These chairs are the worst. The cushion is nice and soft, but I hate resting my feet on the skinny peg. It leaves me feeling unbalanced and without circulation in my legs.

  Kelly lifts her head, gracing us with a dull look. “Any real Fury fan would have known this is
a Labelle establishment.”

  Taytum squints her eyes in an evil glare. I stay out of it. After all, I’m not a “real” Fury fan and have no clue who the Labelles are.

  I sip leisurely at the drink Nick bought me, enjoying the taste despite my reluctance to most alcohol. The appeal never hooked me the way it does with most people. I never craved it when underage, nor did I overindulge once I became legal to buy it. Alcohol to me is like avocados. You either love it, or you hate it. There’s no in-between.

  The duo of couples I am stuck with gets cuddly and handsy the more they drank. I was having fun, but being the fifth wheel still sucked.

  When I mentioned going out one night with Taytum, I meant for a girls night. Tagging along with these four, I might as well have stayed home. Then again, I needed the changeup, to be around people even if I didn’t know half of them.

  I spent too much time indoors. I was becoming a recluse. Watching my friends, their friends, and the tons of couples in this room forced me to remember how much I liked being a part of a twosome. It forced me to recognize I was shutting off the rest of the world. And I wanted to turn it back on.

  I missed the fun. I would love to say I missed the carefree days before I started worrying about every little thing, but I’ve always been an overthinker.

  Working from home most days, no one to push me outside when I turned down an invite, and no adult interaction besides work emails and daily texting between Taytum and I, I got comfortable. Too comfortable. Pajamas all day, kind of comfortable.

  A line started forming at a small table beside the DJ booth. My fingers beat a meticulous rhythm on the wooden table. Battling between do it or don’t do it, I had an uncharacteristic idea. A way to find the elusive fun I used to have.

  These people didn’t know me, right? Well, other than the ones at this table, but I’d probably only see two of them again since Kelly made up her mind about me whether I had a say or not. What was the big deal if I’m guaranteed to never meet these people again? It’s karaoke, everyone is bad at it. If you boo a person during karaoke then you’re just an ass.

  I decide to go for it.

  “Want to do a duet?” The words slip free. My breath is held hostage.

  “Seriously?” Taytum watches me with a bland look, waiting for the punch line. But when I give her an expectant look back, she gasps “Oh my God, hell yeah!”

  “I’m thinking…” Trailing off on purpose, I let my hand gestures do the talking. Shaking my shoulders out, I lift my hands to fake popping my collar. Then one hand at a time, I slick back my hair at each side of my head.

  “Ahhh!” Taytum jumps down from her seat and starts running and then bouncing in place.

  “What’s happening?” Kelly asks with scrutiny.

  Nick chuckles, watching his girlfriend with adoration. “They’re obsessed with Grease.”

  “Ready to do this Sandy my darling?” I drawl in a John Travolta impression.

  “Tell me about, Stud.” She can’t contain her laughter long enough to say it quite as well as Olivia Newton-John.

  Kelly rolls her eyes. Some people are just hateful.

  Taytum and I walk away arm in arm, laughing and then making a scene by prancing across the room as Danny and Sandy might do in the twenty-first century.

  We come to a stop in the short line with four people ahead of us.

  “What made you want to do this? I’m so stunned that you even asked.”

  I shrug my shoulders. “I don’t know. I was just thinking about how I never take chances or get out enough, and I kinda felt a little spontaneous. Which, you know is something I never do.”

  “Never,” she nods with an agreement.

  “Ever since I started working from home, and then with Kason passing away, I didn’t have the desire to do anything, nor cared that I could be missing out on much either. It’s not like I wanted to go places and had no one to go with me. I literally have not wanted to do anything.”

  I don’t want to blame my lack of a social life entirely on my job, mainly because I love my job, but not having to breach the outdoors every weekday morning did hinder me.

  With a degree in mathematics and business, I’m not sure I was ever meant to be a social butterfly. Most everyone I knew growing up couldn’t fathom why I endeavored a career in math theory, other than the excellent pay.

  My professor in college found me the job I have now. As an actuary for an insurance company, the position would likely be mine until retirement. That’s the way of this career. As long as I gave promising results on their future policies and saved them money, at least.

  “I’ve been worried about you,” Taytum confesses. “I almost called your mom a few times.”

  “Oh God please tell me you didn’t.” Legitimate concern creases in every line on my face.

  “No,” she waves off. “But I was close.”

  “Tay, my mom is the last person to try and help matters. Any matter. You know that.”

  “Yeah, but what else was I supposed to do? Watch my friend wither away?”

  “That’s a bit dramatic.”

  “Except, it’s not, Jo. You can’t see the full picture because you’re in your own head so deep. You were turning down going to the movies with me. Every time I popped in, I found you in your PJ’s.”

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that last one.” She doesn’t need to know I was just contemplating that exact thing.

  “Okay, but wearing the same pajamas for how many days in a row makes it unacceptable?”

  “I guess it is getting out of control,” I say sheepishly. “I’m gonna work on it, but leave my mom out of it please.”

  My mother is eccentric. She’s loud and flashy and spirited and opposite from me in every way besides genetics and giving birth to me. I love her, but I have to take her in small doses. And even those measures leave me feeling loopy afterward.

  My parents lived in Oregon, where I was born and raised. When I applied for college, all of my applications consisted of a minimum of a thousand mile parameter. I saw them every major holiday and other random times when my mom complained nonstop about how little I visit. She always threatens to come here to Florida first, but then I have no control over how long she stays, and I wind up flying to Oregon.

  Where I was reserved and hated the spotlight, my parents were liberals whose goal in life was to be heard by everyone, on every matter. Even my brother and I had nothing in common. He wasn’t as bad as them, but I questioned my legitimacy more times than I could count.

  And I’m a math geek.

  The line moved up and the girl in front of us turned around with a big, friendly smile on her face.

  “Hi,” she chirped. “What are you ladies thinking about singing?”

  “A duet of sorts,” Taytum responded in kind.

  “Ooh, fun. I tried getting my husband to do a duet with me, but he shied away from it. And all of his friends with wives or girlfriends didn’t come out tonight so I’m on my own.”

  “I’m barely gonna make it through with a partner,” I say. “I’d never be brave enough to go up there alone.”

  “Do you think the crowd will be mean?” Her face falls. “We just moved here. I know nothing about Tampa.”

  “No. It’s late and practically everyone is drunk so you’ll sound great no matter what,” Taytum reassures her.

  “Want to join us?” I ask, feeling the need to make up for unsettling her. Turning to look at Taytum, she shrugs a why-not. “We’re doing something from Grease.”

  “Really?” Her face lights up again. “You don’t mind? That is so, so nice of you!”

  One would think we were strangers offering a kidney with the pure elation on her pretty face.

  “I’m Jo. This is my friend Taytum.”

  “Chelsea.”

  We chat while we wait. Chelsea is bubbly and hard not to like. She tells us she and her husband moved to Tampa over the summer for his job. She hasn’t found one yet, other than joining some loc
al charities, and knows absolutely nobody here.

  The DJ hands us a binder of the songs to choose from. We’re a little disappointed that he only has the most popular songs from Grease. We pick You’re the One That I Want and return to our tables. Chelsea agrees to meet us back at the stage when they call us up.

  Nick, the savior that he is, has two fresh drinks waiting for us at the table when we return. I drink this one faster, gagging at the taste a little less than the first one I had. Maybe I’ll get the hang of this drinking thing every person my age seems to enjoy.

  As luck would have it, the bar becomes even heavier with patrons as we wait for our turn at the mic. Taytum eyes me relentlessly like she’s expecting me to bail. It’s not not a possibility, but I hold out. I meant what I said to her. I want to be more daring. Do the things I would initially cut down without a second thought.

  Suddenly the place becomes abuzz. It’s already loud enough you can’t hear the person beside you without leaning in or yelling to talk, so it’s not the pitch of voices that heighten per se. The crowd changes. Their movements are jumpy and their eyes are on constant alert.

  I’m about to ask Taytum and Nick if they know what’s going on, but at that moment the DJ calls out our three names.

  We head back to the short stage. Chelsea sashays over. As she approaches I notice how well she’s dressed. Wearing skinny jeans, ankle boots, and a silky blouse, the high-end materials scream couture. Taytum is still in her Fury t-shirt, and my gray v-neck is so simple everyone in here will think we’re Chelsea’s charity cases.

  The only thing all three of us have in common is that we’re blondes. Chelsea’s is short and curly, Taytum’s is a short-angled bob, and mine is long, straight, and pulled back in a ponytail.

  We stand on the side of the stage as the current performer finishes off a song by Queen. I don’t know whether I’m grateful they picked an eight minute song or if I want to thrash them because as each minute passes I’m losing my nerve.

  Adjusting my glasses, and readjusting for good measure, Taytum smacks my hand away when I reach for the black frames on the fifth attempt.