“All right. We’re here,” Charlie said, reluctantly snatching the mic with a little less enthusiasm than Wren had hoped for. “What are we singing?”
“Oh, like you don’t already know.”
They told the bartender to cue up Ford the River’s first big single, “17th Summer,” and the regular at the end of the bar clapped politely at their enthusiastic off-key performance. The bar was still empty when they were done, so they followed it up with hits from Yellowcard, State Champs, Stand Atlantic, and Baltimore’s own All Time Low.
OK, so Wren realized she wasn’t exactly taking it easy. But she performed the last handful of songs while sitting on a stool, at least. She’d even switched from seltzer to regular water after the first drink. She was not only sitting, but hydrating. That was progress.
When they were finally breathless and parched, their throats shot and raw, they downed another round of seltzer waters and traded burps in a fit of giggles.
“So?” Wren said expectantly, when the laughter had finally died down.
“What?”
“You know what.”
Charlie grabbed a handful of peanuts from a bowl on the bar that hadn’t been cleaned since the nineties, a petri dish of disease, and began cracking open one of the nuts.
“If you’re asking if I forgive you, the answer is yes.”
Wren sighed a loud exhale of relief. “Good. So everything’s back to the way it should be.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said, scratching her head now. “I guess it is. And that’s kind of the problem.”
“Problem?”
“Never mind.” Charlie ate a peanut and set out on shelling the next one.
“Don’t do that.” Wren gave her a playful little shove. She hadn’t come this far to not get everything out on the table.
“Don’t you think our friendship has to evolve, Wren?” Charlie said, exasperated, as if she’d been holding this thought in for a long time and simply couldn’t manage it anymore. “Nobody loves drunk karaoke, and watching trashy reality shows, and ribbing each other endlessly more than me.”
“OK? So what’s the problem?”
“I want there to be more to our friendship.”
“There is more to our friendship.” Wren couldn’t believe what she was hearing. They were best friends. They told each other everything. When had that ever been in question? “And we’re not even drunk! We’re being extremely mature.”
She held up her water, her plain water, as if it was proof.
Charlie could only sigh.You don’t get it.
“And speaking of old times, I decided something,” Wren said, improvising and determined to up the ante. “I am coming to the wedding, come hell or high water or newborn baby infant.”
“Wren, you can’t promise that.”
“Yes, I can. I might go into labor at the reception, or if the baby comes sooner than that, I might show up in a wheelchair with my body beaten and battered to hell. But I will throw on a dress and show up for you. No matter what.”
To Wren, this was an evolution. She was legendary for flaking on RSVPs, commitments, and pretty much anything planned in advance. A promise to show up was uncharted territory for her, especially with so many unknowns in the equation. It showed depth of character. It showed maturity.
“I don’t know…” Charlie trailed off.
“Are you saying you won’t have me?”
“Of course I’ll have you, idiot,” Charlie said. “I just need to call the caterer and save you a plate.”
“Just one?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” Wren hugged her friend. Charlie was still a little stiff, but it felt so good to be reunited. “But there is one thing,” Charlie said, pulling away suddenly. “There’s been a slight change in plans. I literally just found out yesterday but, you know, I wasn’t speaking to you.”
