Most of the audience wasn’t paying any attention as they were focused more on drinking and networking with each other, taking breaks only to clap at the appropriate points.
Tiff rhythmically tapped her nails on the table while impatiently watching for a waitress. Her shrewd eyes passed over me. “You seem awfully chipper. I’m assuming the wedding went well. Or else you got laid. Either way, spill. I need details.”
“Um, yes?”
“Yes to what?”
“Both,” I answered smugly.
“And how was it meeting the Ward clan?”
“Surprisingly fun. His mom is hilarious.” It had been easy to see where Sarah and Jackson got their liveliness from, and the clear devotion of his parents made me ache. In one evening, Deb had made me feel more welcomed than my parents ever had.
My smile slipped, and I shook off the melancholy. This was Tiff’s night. “Now, tell me again why this major awards night is being held on a Wednesday?”
“It’s to stop everyone from getting shitfaced,” Tiff said, matter-of-factly.
I snorted. “Does it ever work?”
“Hell, no. Everyone here works in, manages, or owns a bar or restaurant. We like our liquor.”
“Well, I’m not about to go wild. I have work in the morning.”
“Like you haven’t gone to work hungover before.”
“That was one time. Also, it was your fault.”
“I wasn’t the one who opened the second bottle of wine.”
“Yes, you were!”
“Fine, maybe I was.” She flagged down one of the waitresses who was handing out drinks and took two glasses of bubbly off the tray. Then two more. “Now, let’s get shitfaced.”
We were another two drinks in when Tiff spotted someone over my shoulder and grimaced. “Ugh, this is always such a sausage fest.”
The someone she spotted walked over to the table; it was a man in a badly fitted black suit. “Tiffany Young, what a surprise. It’s a pity that Graham Stonier isn’t the chair of the awards committee anymore. You probably could have slept your way to a fourth win.”
“Eat a dick, Steve.”
He sneered. “So glad we have such a charming diversity nominee.” Thankfully, he walked away before I could get any ideas about hurting him.
Tiff rolled her eyes. “I want to call him a dick, but that would be an insult to dicks. That guy ruins all genitalia.” She pondered. “Hey, what’s a body part that’s non-binary but equally hateful?”
I came up empty. “Bellybuttons? I don’t know that they’re hated, but they can be pretty weird looking.”
Her face contorted. “Oh, God, have you ever seen one when it was pushed out on a pregnant lady? So gross.”
I was incredulous. “Seriously? You just told me you googled rosebud the other day.”
“Don’t kink shame. I didn’t say I liked it, just that I was curious.”
“And?”
She shrugged. “Each to their own. But I mean … some stuff is just meant to stay inside your body.”
The sound I made was half-groan, half-laugh. “Oh, God, that’s too much information.”
“Another drink?” She was already flagging the waitress again.
