For a second I’m self-conscious about showing up at a get-together late, with people I’ve never met, dressed in the same old oversized t-shirt and leggings I’ve been wearing since my stolen shower. But then I remember that this gathering is sans-camera and will have zero social media presence, and I feelfree. Tonight I can just be Indie. I spring up the three steps to Mercer’s door and knock. There is so much laughter and cross-talk spilling through the open windows that I don’t wait long before ringing the doorbell.
“Indie!” Mercer swoops down and pulls me into her townhouse and into the epicenter of the noise. Her friends sit on every surface around her living room—every couch and end table is taken, and half of the carpet. They are playing a card game and fighting about the rules while crunching on chips and salsa. I observe a suspicious number of men at their girl’s night.
Mercer shouts over the din and suddenly all eyes are on me. She goes around the circle, telling me everyone’s names and I try my hardest to commit them to memory.
She points at Sunny, who looks cozy on the loveseat with a dark-haired guy who would be attractive if I wasn’t still coming down from a Joe high. “You know Sunny, and that’s Trevor and his brother Troy, whose alarm clock doesn't work.” Troy is Trevor’s twin in every way—both tan and athletic—only Troy is making a decidedly unattractive face at Mercer. “Then there’s Jamie, Sam, Eric, and Tara. Guys, this isIndie.” She wags her eyebrows up and down and the group erupts at once.
“Soyou’rethe one Joe has a thing for!”
“Indiiiiiie!” Someone calls out in that sing-song voice a sibling uses when they find your notebook scribbled full of your crush’s last name attached to yours.
Someone catcalls.
A few of the guys roll their eyes to each other.
“We’ve heard so much about you!” This is from Jamie, who seems genuinely sweet.
Tara looks me up and down, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched. “I didn’t know Joe was dating.” Her steady smile is like a Halloween mask. Yep, I’ll be steering clear of Tara.
I look to Mercer for help, but she’s every bit as invested in my response as the group. She may have been the source of the catcall.
I don’t know where to start, but I jump right in. “I only met Joe yesterday, We’re not dating.” Half of the group looks disappointed, the other half relieved. Sam is fully focused on the chips and salsa. “I got hurt while I was out hiking and he helped me. That’s it.”
I sit cross legged on the carpet between Eric and Tara. Mercer makes me tell the story from the beginning, which I do, minus the singing of Billy Joel and kicking of bushes. By the end, everyone is exchanging hiking horror stories and just like that I’m in their group. I discover that they all work at Nizhóní—as hiking guides, at the front desk, tennis coaches, grounds maintenance, or some combination of the above. Halfway through the night over Oreos, Sunny tells me their weekly girls’ night became co-ed when the boys started crashing it uninvited. She says they still call it “girls’ night” hoping the guys will get the hint, but I can tell by her tone (and how close she is squeezed next to Trevor) no one wants them to stop showing up.
They bicker and debate as they teach me the rules of their game, which involves a lot of bluffing and trading of cards.
“So it’s like grown-up Go Fish?” I observe, crunching into a guacamole-laden tortilla chip. Eating carbs in public is a new thrill for me.
Troy jumps in, “No! It’s not like Go Fish, are you even listening?” He’s not angry, but I learned right away that Troy takes this game seriously and is quick to remind everyone of his version of the rules. He is always anxious for his next turn, in which he annihilates everyone with whatever cards he has in his hand.
“Calm down, Troy, or you’ll lose your girls’ night privileges,” Sunny says from behind her cards, in a monotone that suggests she’s made this threat many times before.
“Seriously, dude. Chill,” comes from Eric, who has been helping me with my hand and defending my bluffs all night. His look to me says,“Am I right?”with his big, round eyes. “Troy can’t handle that you’re replacing him as a hiking guide,” he whispers for my ears only.
“I’m not, though. I’m just his sub,” I whisper back while Jamie takes her turn. She’s obviously bluffing, but I let it slide.
“Oh. I thought you were permanent. That’s too bad, I was looking forward to hiking with you.”
“You don’t want to hike with me.” I laugh and point to my ankle. “I’m bad luck.”
“Actually, I’d love to. I can take you to my favorite spot, maybe help you get past your bad luck.” He’s smiling and I picture a bushy tail wagging to go along with his puppy eyes.
“Sure, sounds like fun.” My skin flushes and I don’t know if Eric is asking me on a hiking date, or asking me to hang out with him like a buddy. It doesn’t matter. We exchange phone numbers and plan to get together on Saturday morning.
The game goes on for a few hours and ultimately Troy is the winner. “My trophy?” He holds a hand out to Eric, who was last week’s champion, and has kept the trophy on proud display throughout the evening. It's banged up, topped with a female bowler, and the brass plate reads “Donna Gubler, Dixie Women’s Bowling League Champion, 1987.”
Eric hesitates before passing the trophy to Troy, who hoists it over his head like it’s the Stanley Cup. He stands and begins a speech. There is a collective groan, and everyone starts gathering plates and cups and putting things away during the acknowledgments portion of Troy’s acceptance speech.
I load my arms with half-empty chip bowls and plates and follow the group to the kitchen. I’m pushing the trash down into the overloaded can and pulling out the bag when Tara sidles up next to me. “Hey, Indie.”
I feel the need for caution, even though I’ve seen firsthand how poorly she bluffs. “Hey, Tara.” I try to walk away, but she puts her small hand on my arm.
“As a new friend, I think I should warn you about Joe.”
Here we go. The look on her face closely resembles genuine concern, but the hairs on my neck stand up.
“Yeah?”
