“Oh, of course.” I pinch my tiny black cocktail straw and stab the wilted lime wedge floating in the bottom of my plastic cup. I pretend it’s Daniel’s head, then Kathryn’s head, then settle on my own head, jabbing ferociously until I kebab the thing.
“So. Uh. Drinks?” Kat hoists herself up on the stool next to Daniel, who looks like he might turn and run any second. She unzips her puffer coat to reveal a black top with silver details that makes my oversize Cubs shirt look like pajamas by comparison. No one mentioned a dress code. Daniel hands Kat the drink list, and her big brown eyes flit over her options. “Do you think we could convince them to make me a blue guy?”
“What’s a blue guy?” I ask, but I’m drowned out by Daniel’s laugh.
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.” He kisses Kat on the cheek, peels off his pea coat, and cozies up to her to review the menu together.
“What the hell is a blue guy?” I ask again.
“It’s a U of I thing,” Kat says coolly, and I close my eyes to block my eye roll. I expected a heavy dose of University of Illinois–themed conversation tonight, but that doesn’t stop me from being a little annoyed. And maybe a touch jealous. I’d never shut up about my college either if I went to a Big Ten school. Like I was supposed to this year.
Kathryn lowers the menu, her lips scrunching into a smirk. “Remember Sam’s blue guy story from sylly week? After the darty?” She and Daniel exchange a quick look, just long enough to ignite an uproar of laughter between them. Blue guys. Syllyweek. Darty. I should drop out of accounting and start studying state school slang on Duolingo.
“So you guys drink Blue Man Group jizz down in Champaign or what?” My delivery comes out snarkier than I anticipated, and Kathryn shoots me a dead-eyed “knock it off” look that I probably deserve.
“It’s this bright-blue, supersweet drink one of the bars in Champaign has,” Daniel explains, seemingly unfazed by my jizz joke. “They’re Kate’s favorite.”
“Who’s Kate?”
“Oh, I go by Kate at school,” Kat says offhandedly, sliding the menu across the laminate table. “Do you know what you want?”
I lob my empty plastic cup into the nearest trash can, a solid ten feet away. You can’t say all those years of softball never did me any good. “Another vodka soda is fine,Kate.”
Kat’s brown eyes narrow to two suspicious little hamburger patties. “Our first time legally drinking together and you’re drinkingvodka sodas? I thought we were celebrating.”
“And I want to celebrate with a vodka soda,” I say flatly, more to my peeling cuticles than to her.I will not blow up at Kat in front of her boyfriend. I will not blow up at Kat in front of her boyfriend. I will not blow up at Kat in front of her boyfriend.
“All right, then I’ll do the same,” she says, either calling my bluff or honestly trying to adjust the downhill trajectory of this evening. “Would you mind grabbing those, babe?”
Daniel pushes back from the table, and his barstool stutters against the sticky floor. “Two vodka sodas. Gotcha.” As he saunters off toward the bar, I make a silent wish on a blinkingChristmas light that he won’t come back. It’s not that I have anything against the guy. From what Kat’s told me, we’d probably even get along. He’s a music ed major, so I’m sure the three of us could swap high school band stories, and Kat swears that he’s funny once he’s comfortable enough to make jokes. I’d love to get to know him. Just not tonight.
The moment Daniel is out of earshot, Kat plants her elbows on the table, which wobbles a little as she rests her chin in the cradle of her palms. “Hi,” she says. “Are you okay?”
I barely suppress a laugh. “No?”
“What’s wrong?”
“What do you mean what’s wrong?” The laugh sneaks out this time as I tip my head toward the bar, where Daniel has one hand half raised, trying to flag down the bartender without being rude.
“Oh, come on,” Kat whines, and her lower lip slides out just enough to qualify as a pout, but not enough to suggest she’s doing it on purpose. “Give him a chance, Murph.”
“I am! He seems great! You guys are so cute together!” I’m really laying on the compliments thick, hoping it’ll pad the back half of this statement, but Kat interrupts before I can get to the “but.”
“I told you he’s cuter in person,” she says, sitting up a little straighter as her pout stretches into a smug little smile. “Don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” I lie. Daniel is a far cry from ugly, but apart from his height, he’s as ordinary looking as any other guy in this bar. One by one, I pop each of the knuckles in my left hand, watching as Kat’s shoulders creep closer and closer to her ears.As well as I know her, I cannot for the life of me figure out if she’s playing dumb or if she actually thought I understood that Daniel coming to Thanksgiving meant he was coming tonight too. But I don’t want to fight. I want to drink and laugh and catch up with my best friend who I haven’t seen since the end of August. So I bite my tongue and pivot this conversation back toward the only thing—the onlyperson—she wants to talk about. “What do your parents think of him?”
Kat’s shoulders release back to a normal position as she stares off toward the bar, then back toward me, a hint of worry hanging on to the creases between her eyebrows. “They met super briefly, but they haven’tmet himmet him yet. Do you think they’ll like him?”
“You kidding me? A nice piano player from the suburbs? They’ll be thrilled.”
“He’s not Jewish,” she says, as if that’s breaking news.
“It’ll be great.”
She crosses her fingers, twisting her wrist for emphasis. “Hope you’re right.”
“I’m always right,” I remind her. “Can’t remember a time I’ve been wrong.” I pause for a laugh, but instead, Kat just stares off toward the bar again, a dreamy look clouding her eyes.
