Walking Disaster

Trenton was really going to make me do this. I imagined myself sitting at the bar, the world celebrating around me, ignoring the fact that I was miserable and—according to Shepley and Trenton—being a pu**y.

Last year I danced with Megan and ended up taking home Kassie Beck, who would’ve been a good one to keep on the list had she not thrown up in the hall closet.

I wondered what plans Abby had for the night but tried not to allow my mind to wander too far into the realm of who she might be meeting. Shepley hadn’t mentioned America having plans. Unsure if that was being kept from me on purpose, pushing the issue just seemed too masochistic, even for me.

The night table drawer squeaked when I pulled it open. My fingers padded across the bottom and paused at the corners of a small box. Carefully I pulled it out, holding it in my hands against my chest. My chest rose and fell with a sigh, and then I opened the box, wincing at the sight of the sparkling diamond ring inside. There was only one finger that belonged inside that white gold circle, and with each passing day, that dream seemed less and less possible.

I knew when I bought the ring that it would be years before I gave it to Abby, but it made sense to keep it just in case the perfect moment happened to arise. Knowing it was there gave me something to look forward to, even now. Inside that box was the little bit of hope I had left.

After putting away the diamond, and giving myself a long mental pep talk, I finally trudged down the hall to the bathroom, intentionally keeping my eyes from my reflection in the mirror. The shower and shave didn’t improve my mood, and neither (I would later point out to Shepley) did brushing my teeth. I put on a buttoned-up black shirt and blue jeans, and then slipped on my black boots.

Shepley knocked on my door and walked in, dressed and ready to go as well.

“You’re going?” I asked, buckling my belt. I’m not sure why I was surprised. Without America there, he wouldn’t have plans with anyone other than us.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I just . . . I guess you and Trent worked this out before.”

“Well, yeah,” he said, skeptical and maybe a little amused that I had just figured it out.

The Intrepid’s horn honked outside, and Shepley pointed to the hallway with his thumb. “Let’s roll.”

I nodded once and followed him out. Trenton’s car smelled like cologne and cigarettes. I popped a Marlboro in my mouth and lifted up my ass so I could get into my pocket for a lighter.

“So, the Red’s packed, but Cami told the door guy to let us in. They’ve got a live band, I guess, and pretty much everyone is home. Should be a good one.”

“Hanging out with our drunken, loser high school classmates in a dead college town. Score,” I grumbled.

Trenton smiled. “I got a friend coming. You’ll see.”

My eyebrows pulled in. “Tell me you didn’t.”

A few people were huddled outside the door, waiting for people to leave so they could enter. We slipped past them, ignoring their complaints while we paid and walked straight in.

A table sat by the entrance, once full of New Year’s Eve party hats, glasses, Glow Sticks, and kazoos. The freebies had been mostly picked through, but it didn’t stop Trenton from finding a ridiculous pair of glasses that were shaped into the numbers of the new year. Glitter was all over the floor, and the band was playing “Hungry Like the Wolf.”

I glowered at Trenton, who pretended not to notice. Shepley and I followed my older brother to the bar, where Cami was de-capping bottles and shaking drinks at full speed, pausing only momentarily to type in numbers into the register or write down an addition to someone’s tab. Her tip jars were overflowing, and she had to shove down the greenbacks into the glass every time someone added a bill.

When she saw Trenton, her eyes lit up. “You made it!” Cami grabbed three bottles of beer, popped the tops, and sat them on the bar in front of him.

“I said I would.” He smiled, leaning over the counter to peck her lips.

That was the end of their conversation, as she quickly turned to slide another beer bottle down the bar and strained to hear another order.

“She’s good,” Shepley said, watching her.

Trenton smiled. “She damn sure is.”

“Are you . . . ?” I began.

“No,” Trent said, shaking his head. “Not yet. I’m working on it. She’s got some ass**le college boy in Cali. He just needs to piss her off one last time and she’s going to figure out what a pecker head he is.”

“Good luck with that,” Shepley said, taking a swig of his beer.

Trenton and I intimidated a small group enough for them to leave their table, so we nonchalantly commandeered it to start our night of drinking and people watching.

Cami took care of Trenton from afar, sending over a waitress regularly with full shot glasses of tequila and beer bottles. I was glad it was my fourth shot of Cuervo when the second 1980s ballad of the night began.

“This band sucks ass, Trent,” I yelled over the noise.

“You just don’t appreciate the legacy of hair bands!” he yelled back. “Hey. Looky there,” he said, pointing to the dance floor.

A redhead sauntered across the crowded space, a glossed smile brightening her pale face.

Trenton stood up to hug her, and her smile grew wider. “Hey, T! How’ve you been?”

“Good! Good! Working. You?”

“Great! I’m living in Dallas, now. Working at a PR firm.” Her eyes scanned our table, to Shepley and then to me. “Oh my God! Is this your baby brother? I used to babysit you!”

My eyebrows pulled together. She had double Ds and curves like a 1940s pinup model. I was sure if I had spent any time with her in my formative years, I would have remembered.

Trent smiled. “Travis, you remember Carissa, don’t you? She graduated with Tyler and Taylor.”

Carissa held out her hand, and I shook it once. I put the filter end of a cigarette between my front teeth, and flicked the lighter. “I don’t think I do,” I said, sticking the nearly empty pack in my front shirt pocket.

“You weren’t very old.” She smiled.

Trenton gestured to Carissa. “She just went through a bad divorce with Seth Jacobs. You remember Seth?”

I shook my head, already tired of the game Trenton was playing.

Carissa took the full shot glass that was in front of me and slurped it dry, and then she sidestepped until she was next to me. “I heard you’ve gone through a rough time lately, too. Maybe we could keep each other company tonight?”

By the look in her eyes, I could see she was drunk . . . and lonely. “Not looking for a babysitter,” I said, taking a drag.

“Well, maybe just a friend? It’s been a long night. I came here alone because all of my girlfriends are married now, ya know?” She giggled nervously.

“Not really.”

Carissa looked down, and I felt a small bit of guilt. I was being a dick, and she hadn’t done anything to deserve that from me.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t really wanna be here.”

Carissa shrugged. “Me, either. But I didn’t want to be alone.”

The band stopped playing, and the lead singer began counting down from ten. Carissa looked around, and then back to me, her eyes glossing over. Her line of sight fell to my lips, and then in unison the crowd screamed, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!”