“He and all these guys are disgusting. Present company excluded, of course.” Rebecca raised her cup.
“Well, thank you.” I tipped my own and took another drink.
“Actually, you know what the problem with men is?”
“Rebecca,” Jessie said, “please don’t antagonize our new friend.”
“He can take it.”
“I can,” I said. “In fact, I want to know. It would probably be an immense help. What is the problem with men?”
“The problem with men is they hate themselves.”
“That’s it?”
“It’s everything. Deep down in those bodies they stuff with beer and porn and all those stupid supplements they think will change something. They honestly, truly hate themselves.”
“But don’t you think a lot of women hate themselves?” Jessie asked.
“Fair point,” I said, because I wanted to hear Rebecca go on.
“Some women. Sure. But I’m talking all men. Every single one. And women, what can we do about it? We just keep the hate inside, brooding and seething. But men. Because of the fucking patriarchy—”
“Fuck the patriarchy,” Jessie said.
“Men can turn that hatred on the world. It’s themselves they hate, but we all pay the fucking price.”
The door to the house burst open. A guy, face washed of color, shirt half unbuttoned, lurched across the porch in wide swinging steps. A voice shouted out—“Hey!”—he’d knocked right into someone. The guy swerved and heaved down the steps, hitting the ground and jerking forward. A stream of vomit hurled across the lawn.
“Gross,” Jessie said. “Jesus.”
“See, this is exactly what I mean. You have to hate yourself to get like that. I almost feel bad for him.” Rebecca tossed her cup, now empty. It clattered down the path, landing with a dull echo some feet from the guy. He was bent over, on his hands and knees. “Don’t hate yourself so much,” she shouted. “It’s not working!”
Back in the house, throngs of bodies pushed together. The air had thickened, sticky and warm, music pulsing. The lamp was knocked over, unplugged or the bulb broken. I shoved my way back to the kitchen.
No Tyler. Addison was talking with a girl, standing close, his hand at her waist. I started to back away—maybe Tyler was still dancing—but stopped as Addison called out, “Come here.”
He handed me a beer. What had happened to my last one? After this—water. I drew the bottle to my mouth and swallowed. Something malty, rich.
“Don’t go anywhere,” the girl said. She touched the swell of Addison’s arm. As she exited the kitchen, she turned and waved, light sparking off her rings.
“She seems nice,” I said.
Addison laughed. “How’s the party going for you?”
“Fine. Great, actually. I’m having a nice time. And you?”
“The best,” Addison said, broad face beaming. “My parents are obsessed with you, by the way.”
I laughed. “I had a really nice time with them. You’ll have to tell them I say hi. Although”—I swooped my hand in the air—“maybe don’t mention all this.”
He laughed again. “Okay, deal. And you know, Tyler thinks you’re great.”
“Oh.” Was there something in his voice—had it shifted? I glanced at him—standing beside me, smiling, perfectly happy in the moment. There was nothing going on. He was a nice guy being nice. “You’re a good friend to him.”
“That guy is crazy, but I love him.”
“It was cool you were able to bring him back from the airport today.”
