I smiled, glad he was trying to convince Michael now too. I squeezed his knee under the table, and he pressed his thigh against mine.
“See, Michael,” Tara said. “It’s not so bad. And four short weeks. Four!”
“Pass,” Michael said.
“Ugh,” she said. “You’re so maddening sometimes.”
“Allthe time,” I said, then realized I’d said that out loud. I was more intoxicated than I realized. “Just kidding,” I added quickly. “I’m just annoyed you’re making me sing.”
He laughed.
I continued scrolling through the song list on my phone.“How about ‘Mamma Mia’?” I said. I’d watched that movie a dozen times and loved ABBA. Maybe I could hold the tune or, at the very least, the beat. I took another swig of my drink.
And then it was happening. Michael was standing up and turning some knobs and speaking into the microphone. “Attention, restaurant-goers. My poor friend here was on the losing end of a very important bet, and her punishment is to sing for a restaurant full of people who were not expecting to hear singing tonight.”
That last bit was completely untrue. I was always under the impression we were going to an actual venue for this kind of thing. That other people would also be participating. But Michael was Michael, and it was more than obvious he was well versed in doling out humiliation. It was his specialty.
“So give it up for the songstress herself—Sutton.”
There was some light clapping and a small “woot!” from the other tables.
I stood, breathing deeply, trying to remind myself that I could have fun. These people would never see me again. This was happening. I could do this.
Elijah plugged his phone into the speaker and pushed play. The intro to the song started playing.
“Forgive me,” I said into the mic. “For ruining your dinner.”
The good news was that the actual vocals started as I did. They were light in the background, but they helped a lot. What didn’t help was how the whole restaurant just stared, blank-faced. The words were coming out of my mouth, I was stepping back and forth to the beat, my free hand moving through the air like I had done this before, but dead eyes stared back at me.
When I got to the chorus, I held the mic toward the restaurant. Nothing.
Elijah chimed in loudly with the chorus to my right. I smiled gratefully over at him. Tara was just staring at me. Her eyes narrowed a bit. Like she couldn’t believe I was doing this. It made me stutter a few lines. I averted my gaze and looked back at the restaurant patrons who, in comparison, seemed less judgmental.
“Nothing?” I said into the microphone as the prelude to the next verse played.
“Are you done yet?” someone called from across the room.
Maybe it was some sort of rebellion that kicked in with those words, but I said, “I might do two songs now!” and then launched into the verse.
“Please, no!” someone else said.
I sang louder, adding more steps to my dance.
“Yes!” Elijah called.
This time, when I got to the chorus, I walked to the next table and held the microphone out for the closest guy. To my surprise, he actually sang a line. And then the next person did as well.
“Thank you!” I said into the mic, continuing the chorus myself. “Mamma Mia, I will never make a bet with Michael again,” I sang into the microphone.
“You made this one with Elijah!” Michael called.
That’s right, I had. I lowered the mic and said to Elijah, “Same sentiment applies to you.”
He just smiled.
“Thank god for alcohol,” I said back into the mic, trying to figure out where I was in the song.
Someone across the room cheered, “Yay, alcohol!” And finally,finally, the song came to an end. I gave a dramatic bow and handed the mic back to Michael before I collapsed into my seat.
