“Genuflecting means, like, showing deference,” Bailey explains. “Bowing or some such.”
“Got it.”
The other rules are less embarrassing. Whoever plays a seven gets to switch hands with a player of their choice—Kit’s rule. On a four, the player has to sing the opening lines of “Hooked on a Feeling” by Blue Swede with the rest of us doing the backup—Tuan’s rule. There’s a kerfuffle when Bailey spills her drink and everyone makes a mad rush to grab a penalty card while shouting “Party foul!” There’s penalties for not enforcing rules, there are penalties for playing out of turn, and there are penalties for taking too long—when no one wants to admit they can’t remember whose turn it is and everyone casts glances around until someone finally doles out the penalty.
Leo gets a penalty for forgetting his own rule—a jack reverses game play—and everyone nods approvingly when they discover my rule—you have to pick a random card from the person to your left and play it.
Jared goes on a bender because he has neither a four nor a diamond and has to draw until he can play. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuckity, goddamn fuck, I hate you all,” he seethes over their laughter, until his hand is at least twenty cards.
Tuan’s the first to get down to one card but then Hunter, in a strategic move, plays a seven, so he and Tuan switch hands. But then the suit shifts to hearts and then-Tuan’s-now-Hunter’s card can’t be played.
Several other people get to a single card and then have to draw.
But Grandma and I played Uno a lot growing up. And I have a very good memory.
And today I also have good luck.
I’m down to two cards and no one has seemed to notice, until Jared speaks up. “Fucking newbie over here, with two cards left.”
The suit doesn’t change all the way around the table, so I’m able to play my queen of diamonds.
There’s a chorus of boos.
I put the card facedown on the table, keeping my own face as neutral as possible. Across from me, Morgan narrows his eyes.
If anyone has a two, they get to enact Hunter’s rule: a player of their choice has to draw a card. Or a seven, then someone else would get my hand. Briefly, I wonder if Morgan has either, and if he does, would he play it? Or let me win?
We get most of the way around the table when Jared plays a jack—reverse—and it goes around the other way. My heart thuds louder with every play.
Finally it’s back to me. Bailey has played an eight of diamonds after drawing four cards—she didn’t have another card she could play—so it’s my turn.
“Drum roll,” Morgan shouts.
Everyone puts their cards down and pounds their hands on the table. The whole thing vibrates with their enthusiasm as I slowly reach for the card to flip it over.
A joker—wild.
“Fuck yes!” Morgan rockets up from his seat and sprints around the table. I’m laughing, giddy, so damn pleased with myself. Morgan reaches me and grabs me, tilting me backward in my seat, over his arms, and plants a deep kiss on my lips.
When he sets me back upright, his friends are laughing and sorting the cards. Jared plunks the trophy and the bag of beers on the table in front of me. “Gonna have a drink now?” he asks, a dark eyebrow curling up.
I glance up at Morgan, who’s standing behind me, his hands on my shoulder. He raises an eyebrow and shrugs, leaving it up to me.
“I think I’ll hold off.”
At six o’clock, hours after the end of Sunday Funday, I swing open the door for On the Rocks. The cowbells clang above me and Grandma glances up at them as we cross the threshold.
“This is it?” she asks, looking around with interest. After lunch and helping her with chores in her apartment, I bundled Grandma up into my Civic and brought her to the bar. The usual crowd is here, including the older ladies in the back booth.
After I won the game and was declared Ruler of the Sirens, we stayed at the top for a while. One by one, the people that had to go to work filtered out, including Morgan. We’d ridden there together knowing he’d have to stay for work and we’d have to find someone to give me a ride. Bailey offered, so Morgan left me at the top of the mountain with a kiss so long and slow someone (probably Jared) threw a strawberry at us. Bailey asked how living together was going and inquired after my grandmother. “You should bring her into town more, so we can meet her,” she suggested, and the idea stuck with me.
Today I’d expanded my circle and now I could call some of Morgan’s friends my own. Maybe Grandma needed to get outside of her bubble at the retirement community.
Morgan’s at the bar, a rag over one shoulder and both his hands on the counter. He’s grinning at me, and I get a warm feeling all over.
“What kind of chardonnay do you have?” Grandma asks, without even saying hello.
Morgan rattles off a few names and Grandma complains about a few of them—too oaky, too cheap, too dry—before settling on one.
