“Oh yeah, what’s that?” she asks, almost unimpressed.
I smile widely. “An espresso martini.”
“Oh.” Her eyes twinkle. “Now, I think this is starting to become very dangerous indeed.”
We blare “Red” by Taylor Swift as we dance around, trying on different outfits and making an absolute mess of my room. We ultimately decide on Savannah’s outfit. She chooses a drop-waist mini dress, and I prefer a spaghetti-strapped romper.
Savannah loves wearing flip-flops, and I prefer sneakers for comfort. I tame some of my waves in a pull-through messy ponytail with some pieces crowning my face because my longer bangs don’t fit into the whole pulled-back style unless it is in a higher bun. My chestnut brown, slightly tousled strands are thick and long, running a little past my mid-back. I place a little styling paste to tame the wispy strands that threaten to stand out from my forehead. My mom used to call them my baby hairs. It makes me happy to remember her telling me things as I stood beside her in this spot, doing the same routine with my hair. It makes me sad simultaneously, knowing that I’ll never hear her say those words to me again.
I walk to the mirror, where Savannah lets her long blonde hair hang loose in large S-shaped curls, courtesy of purchasing a hair wand from her favorite social media app shop. That device is magical, and she sweeps her long locks into the heated roller with a button. After a few seconds of holding it in place, she releases it to give a beautiful wave that won’t frizz on this cool summer night. She rotates her body side to side to appreciate the swish of her tresses. She moves her head downward and then flips her hair back as she abruptly stands upright. Those once tame curls become wild and voluminous. She smirks at the result in the mirror. “That’s exactly how I like my men, too. Wild, but held in submission.” She cackles, sipping her martini. I roll my eyes.
“Oh, please,” I retort. “Don’t even talk to me about that. Remember David?” She shudders.
“Do not speak his name again in my presence.” She hisses the last word. “That was the worst vanilla sex I’ve ever had. The guy couldn’t find my clit with the help of Siri and Apple Maps.” My toasted coconut water goes flying out of my mouth at a poor attempt to stifle my laugh. “What the hell, Nadia?” She sniffs her arm. “Ew. I smell like summer and coconut, like bad-for-your-skin tanning lotion.”
“Sorry. Sorry.” I wipe the remaining spittle from my mouth. “That was hysterically accurate. I am so glad that he wasyourboyfriend.” She shakes her finger in my face.
“Nope. Not my boyfriend, just a bad lapse in judgment,” she counters.
“Sure, if you say so,” I placate and laugh, realizing I am actually smiling and meaning it. I feel light and carefree. I feel like my age. I feel like nothing bad happened just a month ago.
It’s time to do makeup, and I do it lightly with a bit of bronzer to highlight my naturally olive skin and a little gold sparkle for Savannah. A scant amount of lip gloss, and I think we are done. I close my all-in-one compact as I head to my closet to search for a wristlet to take with me on tonight’s escapades. I yell out to Savannah across the hall. “You about ready, girlie?” She meets me out in the hallway.
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” She winks and saunters ahead of me. I lock the door behind us as we enter my car and head to the Big Lake Tavern.
We pull up to the tavern and walk to the sound of live music playing from the outside patio along the docks. The patio is dressed out in string lights, illuminating the space. The moon is full and reflects off the water. We thought about going to happy hour, but we needed some food after the time it took to get ready and a martini later. I approach the bar and decide to order some nachos. The bartender takes our order and cards us when we order some drinks. I proudly take mine out, as does Savannah, and show it to the guy who doesn’t look much older than us. “Okay, ladies. What will it be?” he asks, smirking as we search the specials. Savannah takes her time; I don’t have to think about it.
“I’ll have a watermelon margarita with sugar on the rim, please.”
He smiles. “Any preference for tequila?” he asks, and I shake my head.
“Nope, not at all,” I state, my arms resting on the bar counter. Savannah oohs.
“I’ll have the same, and no, just surprise us with the tequila,” she says. The bartender nods and walks off. “I’m going to get his number,” Savannah announces, but I can’t stop the laugh that erupts.
“You don’t waste any time, do you?” The nachos arrive and save her from having to answer. I’m about elbow deep in our large order with all the toppings possible when the margaritas arrive. I lick my thumb before the salsa drips off, landing on my outfit. I pick up my margarita and take a big sip through the straw. “Wow, that’s good.” I nudge Savannah, and she turns to her drink and takes an equally big sip.
“Wow. Good choice,” she squeals. “You’re not kidding. That is so good and strong, too.” She fake coughs. I roll my eyes.
“He’s not going to come over here and give you mouth-to-mouth, girl.” But sure enough, Gage, the bartender noted by the name displayed on his tag, comes over with a glass of water for Savannah.
“My hero,” she says, twirling a luscious lock of blonde hair around her finger. Gage blushes as she licks the sugar off the rim of the glass. I see his cheeks flush red, and then he averts his gaze. He coughs into his fist.
“Call if you need anything else,” he says.
Savannah, the temptress, responds with a “Sure will, Gage,” as the poor guy who doesn’t stand a chance of making it out of here tonight unscathed walks away to wait on another customer at the end of the bar.
Savannah does,in fact, get Gage’s number and spends some time chatting with him. “Hey, Gage?” He stops flirting with my bestie to look at me. “Are you guys hiring?”
“Yeah. You want to apply?” I nod my head.
“Yes, I’m looking for a job. I’ll be here all summer, and I need some work.”
“Okay, but do you have any experience?” he asks, and I think about it.
“Does nannying count?”
He chuckles. “If you can do that, you can wait tables. I’ll tell Ryan you’re looking. He’s our manager and owner,” he says hushedly, “but he doesn’t want anyone to know that. Stop by or fill out the application online, and I’ll let him know when I see him tomorrow that you are applying and to look out for it.”
