“Gross,” I reply and grab the bottle of rum, pouring new shots into their now empty glasses and filling a new one for me.
“Guess there is a little Clyde in you after all,” he remarks and my hand not holding the bottle balls into a fist.
“The only way I’m like Clyde is that I also think you, like your grandpa, need a punch to the face,” I shoot back.
He grabs the first full shot glass. “So you admit Clyde hit George first.”
Caroline grabs me by the shoulders and pulls me away. “I’m over this drama. Let’s go Maggie. If I don’t get you out of here you two are either going to fight or fuck, and I don’t want to see either.”
My jaw drops. The last thing I see as she hauls me out of the kitchen onto the back porch is Tate looking equally as startled by the comment. Once out of earshot on the porch she lets me go. “How drunk do you have to be to suggest I would have sex with that reprobate?”
She laughs and flips her blonde head back dramatically. “Oh come on. You two are seriously throwing out the strongest hate vibes I’ve ever witnessed.”
“Yeah,” I agree as she jumps up to sit on the railing of the porch and reaches for the bottle of rum I’m still holding. “Hate vibes. Not sex vibes.”
“There is a fine line between love and hate and an even finer one between hate and lust,” Caroline explains. “Trust me on this. Best sex I’ve ever had was with that jerk Matt this summer.”
“Matt? You slept with Matt? The guy from your high school who told your boyfriend to break up with you right before prom your senior year?” I say because I know this sordid story all too well. Caroline will never get over going to prom alone, heartbroken.
“The one and only. I still hate him by the way, but the sex…” She started to fan herself and then takes a swig directly from the bottle of rum. I gently put a hand on it and pull it from her lips.
“Easy there slugger. We’ve just had the apartment cleaned. I don’t want you puking all over it later.”
“You two up for some beer pong?” Tate’s voice calls out and I turn and see him setting it up on the ping-pong table with cups, his eyes on Caroline and me. “I’m undefeated in this too, so you’ll lose but it’ll give you something to do other than huddle in the corner talking about me.”
“You’re an egomaniac,” I reply but find myself nodding. “I’ll play if for no other reason than to wipe that stupid smirk off your face.”
I snatch the bottle from Caroline as she’s about to drink from it again and hand it to some random guy standing nearby. “I need you to be able to see the cups, sunshine.”
Caroline pouts but lets me drag her to the table. Tate tosses me a ping-pong ball. “Good luck. You’re going to need it.”
* * *
We’re about to start our third game when Caroline announces she needs a potty break. I groan and as she disappears into the crowd, Weston, Tate’s teammate at beer pong and ice hockey apparently, announces, “Not here for the next game that’s a forfeit.”
“She’ll be back!” I argue but he’s already walking away. “She’s just peeing! If she gets back and you aren’t here we win!”
Weston either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care because he disappears out of sight into the living room. Tate is grinning at me from across the table. “Weston is right. Caroline bailed first. That’s a forfeit and we win.”
We’re tied one game each so this is a very serious matter. I shake my head. “No. I refuse to agree to that.”
“I refuse to care what you agree to,” Tate replies, still grinning.
A girl walks over and rests half a butt cheek on the corner of the table, staring up at Tate like a puppy looking at an owner who has a treat. “I’d love to play you next Tate.”
Tate smiles at her. “I’d love to play with you too, but first Firecracker needs to admit defeat.”
I roll my eyes and subtly grab the corner of the table because it makes me a little dizzy. I’m well past tipsy. “You’re delusional. I didn’t lose. We tied and even that is questionable because you cheated a little.”
Tate’s eyebrows both shoot up. “Excuse me? I never cheat.”
“You’re an Adler. It’s in your DNA,” I shoot back, and I realize instantly that drunken quip is actually a much bigger insult than I intended. George is apparently a womanizer after all. Rumor is years ago when Tate and I were kids, George cheated on his wife with a cashier from a hardware store in Montpelier. She showed up in town and caused a big scene or something. The details are sketchy for me, but I know that’s why Clyde always says he’s a womanizer and he’s said it wasn’t the first time. Now, even through the beer goggles I’m wearing, I can see the hurt that flickers across Tate’s face.
“I’m going to go find Caroline,” I announce and march off into the still overly crowded living room. Just like always with these type of nights, the games have stopped and people are dancing instead as music blares out of Bluetooth speakers. I find the downstairs bathroom and there’s a line. Caroline isn’t in it. I wait, and the girl who comes out of the bathroom isn’t her either. It’s getting really hot in here and I need some air, so I decide to weave my way to the back porch. Maybe air will help me sober up. Our first farmer’s market is tomorrow, and I’ll be struggling, I know it.
There’s a bunch of people circling the ping-pong table out there where our beer pong set up used to be, but it’s already been removed. I can’t see exactly what they’re doing instead, so I stumble closer. There’s an empty wine bottle in the middle of the table and a tall guy leans over and gives it a spin and I watch and fight the urge to roll my eyes. Are they playing spin the bottle? Am I so drunk that I stumbled back into ninth grade?
I watch as the bottle slows and points to a blonde girl who smiles brightly at the guy who spun it as he walks around the table and kisses her. It’s a crazy deep, full-on kiss, not the pecks I got in junior high when we played this in Jasmyn’s basement at her thirteenth birthday party. Finally the couple break apart and she leans over the table to spin the bottle.
