“We don’t even know each other and we’re in my room, hoping one of us isn’t a serial killer because all of them movies start like that.”
“Then let’s get to know each other over whiskey.” She starts to pour the content down her throat, “I tell you my secrets you tell me who revs the loudest.”
“Is that a sex reference?” I pull my eyebrows together.
“Was it?” She arches her brow in return, “You and Meadow…”
I take one gulp, “You know Meadow?”
“A little, he’s not here much like he used to. So…? Is there anything going on between you two?”
“If you mean I want to throw my soiled shoe at his face by the end of every conversation, then yes!”
“Ooh, girl, you should be flattered! He’s like everyone’s wet dream around here. He’s always been the mysterious type, doesn’t reveal much about himself but knows everyone and helps his parents run things.”
“Figured as much.” I stare at my black and green fingernails clinking the rim of the cup.
“He seems to like you.”
“Does he…? If our ‘good morning’ is talking back to each other or me being clumsy and almost running him over every chance I get.”
“Girl, he lets you ride with him. He never let anyone ride with him.”
I felt so safe and free during that ride.
She pouts her lips excessively, “I wish I had someone to interact with.”
“I don’t count?” I give her an expectant look.
She sighs loudly, “You’re hot don’t get me wrong, but… I don’t have the urge to fuck you.”
“Good to know you won’t wake me after we fall asleep because you’re horny.”
She flashes me a wicked smirk and lifts her eyebrow, “Who said I’m not desperate.”
After approximately three hours of drinking nonstop and talking about GOD KNOWS WHAT, Lorelai makes a funny chuckle and flips the whiskey bottle to show me it’s empty.
“You know,” she says, wagging her index finger in front of my face and it looks a little blurry, then I focus on her and it is still blurry. Her fingers are weird. “I knew you gonna be my friend the moment you stepped inside the bar, looking like her.”
I stare in confusion because I have no idea what she is talking about. “Who?”
“Her,” she points to the empty wall behind me. “The one from my mother’s photo, I mean… old photo.” Her wordsslowly filter in.
“What photo, Lorelai?” my mind is so foggy from the booze but I’m trying so hard to concentrate. “Tell me.”
She grunts in frustration, seeming half asleep. “That my mom captured with all of her friends back in the nineties.”
“You have to show me!” I stare at her motionless form and subtly shake her a bit. “Lai,” I repeat her name one more time before a yawn cages me and sends me into dreamland along with her.
I browse through my sketchbook until a photo slips out of it of me and Mom when I was less than a year old.
Her beautiful dark hair frames her delicate face and her gorgeous blue eyes. She looks happy as she holds me closer to her chest and kisses me on the forehead.
I wonder what it would feel like to have her do the same now. I would’ve wanted her to harbor me in her embrace, shower me with kisses and love, and envelope me with her smart mouth because I know she had one. Dad says I inherited my sharp comebacks from her.
That is just a dream.
She passed away from birth complications about a year after I was born and I would never get the chance to get to know her. I ask a lot of questions about her and force Dad totell me as many stories as he can spill out before we both cry and then laugh again.
