I was set on making that beautiful woman mine, but fate has other plans, I guess.
So here I am, in a dusty, stale-smelling, sticky-hot barn in late July trying to catch a numbing buzz while old high school and college friends who came to visit for my twenty-second birthday drink beer, play drinking games, and dance—well, grind—on one another. I didn’t ask for the party, but they gathered for one anyway. To them, my birthday is just another occasion to get drunk. But hey, I can’t complain. It’s what I need right now.
I’m sure Karoline hears the noise across the fence. I’m surprised she hasn’t texted me about it yet, but we did hang out earlier this morning at the lake, and I told her some old friends and college friends would be popping in. She didn’t seem like herself, now that I think about it. Her usual bubbly, sarcastic persona was gone, in her place, a woman with a timid and quiet spirit.
The Bible says something about how a woman like that is a woman of value, but honestly, I like Karoline with a little feisty energy. It doesn’t make her loud or obnoxious or overbearing, no. It makes her radiate, fun to be around, and my favorite person to tease. I don’t know if society interprets that passage of scripture correctly, but what do I know? I was born and raised a Christian, but I don’t go to church every Sunday, and I don’tpray or read my Bible daily. But I can tell you one thing—I like Karoline Wright just the way she is.
And dang it. I wish she was at this party…
Suddenly, there’s a shot of amber liquid in my face. “What the…?” Nick stands in front of me wearing athletic shorts and a dirt-stained t-shirt. His curly hair is unruly, sticking up in various ways from running his hands through the damp strands. “Trust me, Mason. You need to lighten up. You look like a stump on a log sitting on that hay bale.”
“I don’t want to mix,” I tell him, but I take the shot from his hands anyway. “This is the only one I’ll do.”
I throw it back, letting the burn wash down my throat. I’m not much of a whiskey drinker, but it is my birthday, so what the heck…
“Yeah, brother!” Nick shouts. “Now, let’s go chat up those pretty blonde friends of Dana.” I follow his pointed finger to see two tanned girls dressed in Daisy Duke shorts and crop tops, tossing their hair and sipping on beers as they sway to the music in the barn.
“Maybe one of them will want to date me.” I laugh without mirth, then follow Nick’s lead, all the while battling a sinking feeling settling in my stomach, the sting of rejection, Karoline’s name floating through my thoughts, and the memory of her smile imprinted on my brain.
Two hours later, mostof my friends have passed out in various places inside the house. Dad is in Fort Worthon Guard duty and my step-mom went to visit her family in Colorado, so I have the place to myself tonight and the rest of the weekend. He left a cake for me in the fridge, which was sweet of him. Kinda makes me feel guilty about this party since I know he doesn’t approve of my drinking habits.
It’s not an addiction, just a young man trying to live his life while he can. It won’t hurt me, and I can stop anytime I want to.
Right now, the numbness I feel is a celebration of life… nothing else. Even if I was rejected by Cassidy, those other two girls didn’t seem to have a problem with me tonight. See? I’ve still got it. It’s Cassidy’s loss.
Thinking about Cassidy, for some reason, makes me think about Karoline again and how she told me back at the beach a couple weeks ago that any girl would be “hashtag blessed” to have me. Chuckling at the thought, I grab a plastic cup from the cabinet and stick it under the spout on the fridge. Once the water teeters on the edge of the rim, I carefully move the cup and bring it to my lips for a sip. The cool liquid is refreshing, and I end up guzzling the whole thing down. While refilling my cup again, my phone buzzes in my back pocket.
Vroom:Seems like things finally quieted down? Are you good?
I set my water down on the kitchen table and turn all my focus on typing, making sure I’m saying what I mean to say instead of texting gibberish since I feel like I’m spinning and spiraling while standing in the darkened kitchen.
Me:Yep. Most of my friends are asleep. The ones who aren’t will be soon enough.
I sip my water slower this time, sitting down at the table.
Vroom:That’s good. I’m glad you could see your friends. Happy Birthday again, Peppermint.
I don’t know if it’s the alcohol talking or not, but I ask Karoline if she wants to meet for fries and shakes at Dallas JunctionDiner. It’s a local diner within walking distance, so it’s safe for me to go.
Vroom:Sure. Why not stuff our faces at midnight?
Chugging the rest of my water, I zigzag around bodies laying down on the living room floor, most definitely stepping on hands and legs, until I reach my bedroom where Nick has sprawled out on the bed. I click on the standing lamp and make quick work of changing my clothes. After that, I dart across the hall to the bathroom and brush my teeth, comb my hair, and spritz cologne on my neck and shirt. Before I exit the bathroom, I double check my appearance amidst the occasional spinning of my vision. Nothing inside out, everything matches, and I look put together.
Good.
It’s not that Karoline doesn’t know I like to have a good time; she chides me over it every opportunity she gets saying that I don’t need to do those things just because I’m legally allowed to do so. But something inside me doesn’t want her to know the extent to which I have a good time. She’s never seen me drunk, and I don’t want it to start now. I’m sober enough to hide it well. I’ve had a lot of practice in college.
The sticky, humid nighttime air clings to my skin as I walk down the sidewalk through the subdivision. The streetlights provide the path through the exit gate, then I cross the street into the parking lot of Dallas Junction Diner. A yellow classic diner sign sits above the small, square building. A few cars are in the lot, and when I look through the glass window front, I see a handful of people spread throughout the diner. I spot Karoline in the back corner booth, and my world tilts as nausea pulls in my stomach.
Oh, that’s not good.
Swallowing the feeling down, I open the swing door and enter, the immediate smell of fried food oddly enough settling my stomach. I wave to Gertrude, a woman in her late fifties wholikes to work the night shift here, and then slide into the mustard yellow booth opposite Karoline.
I’m careful to keep my distance just in case the smell of alcohol is too strong regardless of my change of clothes.
Karoline flashes a grin at me, and then it disappears as she tucks her chin to her chest. Her wrists rest on the table and she picks at her fingernails, the baby blue paint chipping at the top of her middle finger. Her caramel hair is flowing in big waves over her shoulders, and I appreciate the way it cups her sweet face. She rarely wears it down, and when she does, she starts to look a lot older than eighteen. Especially with the way her cheeks have lost some of their youthfulness over the summer, a slow, subtle change that I unintentionally tracked.
She’s beautiful, no doubt. And the alcohol still coursing through my blood is tempting me to do something about my attraction to her.
