“We don’thaveto do anything,” Ellis says, taking a sip of water. “We can just eat and be normal people at a wedding!”
“Boring,” says Sonya.
Avery nudges him with her elbow. “Come on! It’ll be fun!”
Our main courses arrive—mine is a beef bourguignon—and everyone digs in for a moment before Sonya says, “I’ll start. Never have I ever hooked up with someone at a wedding.”
“Wait,” Avery says. “Like, even with your date?”
“No, no, with a stranger you meet at the wedding,” Sonya clarifies.
No one under the age of thirty drinks, the rest of us do. Including me.
“Respect,” says Avery. “Okay, I have one. Never have I ever been engaged.”
All the married couples take sips of their drinks, predictably. And then Ellis does, too. Everyone stares at him.
“Wait, what?” Avery asks, her jaw on the floor. Daniel looks equally confused.
“You guys didn’t know Ellis was married?” Parker asks, already drunk as well.
“Married?”Daniel asks.
Ellis shoots me a little knowing look and I feel the intimacy of it sear across my skin for a brief moment. “Yeah. Married my high school girlfriend, got divorced soon after. It’s not a big deal.”
There are so many questions. So many from everyone. But the game goes on and then it’s time to dance and everyone storms the dance floor, incredibly drunk. Well, everyone but Daniel. He shakes his head and says, “I want you to still fancy me. If I dance, the jig is up, as you Americans say.”
I hate when people pressure others to dance so I give him a little kiss on the forehead and say, “Just sit here and continue to look handsome, then.”
Whitney Houston tells us she wants to dance with somebody and all of us dance with each other. I’m in a dance circle with some of the singles from the firm, vaguely aware of where Ellis is on the dance floor at all times. He’s a good dancer in that effortless way, not in the “I can be in a boy band” way, which always intimidates me as a woman who can dance justokay. He’s comfortable in his body, which reminds me of what it was like to have him put all his focus onmybody.
I decide the logical thing to do when having this train of thought is to drink more. Somewhere in the back of my mind a tiny red flag is being raised but I ignore it. Drunk dancing is the best dancing, and I don’t often get opportunities to do that anymore. I am vaguely aware at some point that the song I am dancing to is a slow one—meant for couples. But I just stand with a couple randos from the wedding and sway with them, our arms draped around each other. Suddenly I realize one of them is Ellis.
“Oh,”I say, my voice sounding far away. “Hello there.”
“Hi,” he says in that way that he used to say to me. Is he drunk, too?
Then I see the silver glimmer under the collar of his unbuttoned white shirt. Without thinking, I reach out and loop the chain around my finger. “This thing kind of drives me crazy.”
He laughs. “Why, too tacky?”
“Not that kind of crazy.”
His eyes get dark and suddenly it’s so intimate around us that I let go of the necklace and look anywhere else but at him. Then I ask, to completely break the spell, “Where’s your date?”
A flicker of annoyance passes by his features. “Um, Avery went to the room. Too much to drink.”
Theroom. Careful use of words there, Ellis. Also, he didn’t go back with her. He does not strike me as someone who would let his girlfriend go back to her room alone. They are clearly just friends and even though Avery said as much, this confirms it for me.
“Where’syourdate?” he asks. And there’s something challenging there.
I glance over at a table where Daniel and a few others are drinking and chatting. He’s animated and having a good time. “He’s fine. He’s enjoying himself.”
The other people in our little dance circle break off and suddenly it’s just us two. We don’t touch, but we stay close, our bodies swaying near each other. I ask him, “Areyoufine?”
His limbs are loose, his eyelids heavy. He’s drunk, too. “I’m not fine, Cassia.” His voice is low, gravelly.
I swallow, suddenly feeling like this is not a good idea. But I say it anyway. “Why?”
