Blogger Girl (10 page)

She was right. If I didn’t reach out tonight, who knew when or if I’d have another opportunity and I’d probably kick myself later wondering what might have happened. “Okay, I will. But no more talk about Nicholas in front of you-know-who,” I said, pointing at her front door.

“My lips are sealed.” She opened her door and said, “Hi, Jonathan.”

As he leaned his tall frame down to give Bridget a kiss on the cheek, I stood up to greet him and refill my drink. Decked out in dark gray slacks and a button down light blue shirt, it was the first time I’d seen Jonathan wearing something besides ripped jeans, sweat pants, boxer shorts or nothing in a very long time. The curls in his black hair were still too unruly and needed to be cut in a bad way but all in all, he’d put himself together. “You clean up well,” I said.

Jonathan, who I spotted checking out Bridget’s ass while she hung up his coat, turned to face me and gave me a quick once over. “Looking pretty nice yourself, Long.” He leaned down to kiss my cheek. Motioning to the paper bag in his arms, he said, “So, I brought over some beers and a bottle of Jameson whiskey.” He walked into Bridget’s kitchen and put the bag on the counter.

“Awesome! Let’s do a shot now,” Bridget suggested.

I crinkled my nose. “No shots for me. I’ll be dead before we leave the apartment.”

Removing two shot glasses from her cabinet, Bridget said, “More for us then,” and smiled at Jonathan.

Jonathan smiled back. “I like your style, Bridge.”

Her face radiating glee, Bridget exclaimed, “This is going to F.U.N. Fun!”

Twenty minutes later, we were sitting in Bridget’s living room, Bridget and Jonathan next to each other on the couch and me on one of the matching chairs, reminiscing about our high school years over hot appetizers and port wine cheese. Bridget and Jonathan had already downed two shots of whiskey while I drank my Prosecco quickly enough to calm my nerves but slowly enough not to get me sloppy drunk. I also ate some cheese and crackers to coat my stomach.

Popping a spinach puff in his mouth, Jonathan asked, “Remember Mr. Swiggins?”

“The science teacher, right?” Bridget said.

Shaking his head furiously, Jonathan said, “No. The industrial arts guy. Always reeked of alcohol?”

“Oh yeah.” Bridget said. “What about him?”

“I heard he got caught drinking with some kids after school in the parking lot and was fired.”

“False,” I said.

They both turned to look at me. “Why do you say that?” Jonathan said, taking a drag of his cigarette and flicking ashes in the ceramic ash tray in front of him.

Leaning over Jonathan, Bridget flicked her cigarette in the tray as well. “Yeah. Why do you say that?” I could tell she was already drunk and I hadn’t seen her take a single bite of food.

“Sounds like a suburban high school teacher myth. What teacher would be dumb enough to drink with students in the school parking lot?”

At the same time, Bridget and Jonathan yelled, “Mr. Swiggins!” Then they looked at each other, high-fived and started laughing.

Nauseated from the smoke, I stood up. “Need some air. Be right back.”

“You okay, Kim?”

I turned around to tell Bridget I was fine, but she was laughing hysterically at something Jonathan said and so I kept walking. After making sure the front door was unlocked, I let it close behind me and headed towards the fire escape. I only knew where it was because when Bridget first bought her apartment, she treated it with kid gloves. She only ate in the kitchen, kept all of her toiletries neatly tucked away in her mirrored bathroom cabinets and went outside to smoke. When we hung out in her apartment, she’d drag me with her to the fire escape when she wanted a cigarette. That phase didn’t last very long and now she almost always ate in the living room in front of the television, left her makeup items and toothpaste on the bathroom countertop and smoked within the confines of her apartment. She still draped a blanket over her couch when she ate something particularly messy, though.

Shocked by the gust of wind that whipped across my body the second I stepped outside, I went back to get my jacket. As I grabbed it, I heard the sounds of Jonathan’s deep voice and Bridget’s alcohol-induced giggling. Before I had a chance to ask what was so funny, I saw that my phone was flashing, picked it up and checked my messages. Caroline had texted to tell me to have a great night. I responded, and when I saw that the other message was from Nicholas, I sucked in my breath.

“Knock‘em dead tonight, Kimmie!”

I quickly typed back, “Thanks! Getting my pre-reunion drink-on now.”

My heart racing, I dropped my coat on the floor and ran towards the living room to tell Bridget. I stopped in my tracks. Bridget and Jonathan were sitting obscenely close to each other on the couch. So close that Bridget was in danger of falling into his lap. Bridget’s body was angled towards Jonathan while he appeared to be telling her a story. I couldn’t understand the gist of it, probably walked in too late, but it must have been during a pivotal moment because Bridget’s eyes were wide open with anticipation. She looked mesmerized. And I had never seen Jonathan gesticulate quite so much when engaging in conversation.

Interesting. Veeeerrry interesting.

Still clutching my phone, I said, “Ahem. Am I interrupting something?”

Bridget’s head whipped around fast enough to get whiplash and, red-faced, she said, “Uh, no. Jonathan was in the midst of telling me a story about one of his particularly quirky clients.” She quickly looked away from me as if I’d caught her looking through my underwear drawer.

Jonathan shrugged. “You probably wouldn’t appreciate it, Long. Working at a big firm, I bet your clients aren’t such cheapos.”

“You’d be surprised.” Rob had asked me to recalculate his billing many times because his billionaire clients had complained about the firm’s high hourly rates. “But, yes, you and Bridget have more in common than I ever realized,” I said, raising an eyebrow toward Bridget and trying not to laugh when she looked at me with a guilty look on her face. “Bridget, I have to tell you something. Can you come here a second?” I wanted to mock her obvious, if not surprising, connection with my ex-boyfriend and promise that I would never shag him again. I also wanted to tell her about Nicholas’ text. He had called me Kimmie again!

And then my phone sounded another message from Nicholas. “Hooray for pre-reunion drinks! Don’t forget me come time for post-reunion alcohol.”

Bridget grabbed me by the elbow and dragged me to the kitchen. “Time for a refill.”

I tried unsuccessfully to wipe the grin off of my face as Bridget refilled both of our glasses with the last of the Prosecco. “Down the hatch,” she said swallowing the entire thing in one gulp. She removed her mouth from the glass and said, “Why are you smiling like that?”

I put my phone up to her face so she could see for herself.

Her face breaking out in a huge smile, she belted out a rowdy, “Woo hoo!”

“I know, right?” I jumped up and down until I decided Louboutins were meant to be seen in; not jumped in. “I
so
have to text him later.”

Bridget nodded in agreement. “You
have
to!”

“And I think I’m done having sex with…” I looked behind me to make sure the coast was clear. “Jonathan.”

Bridget casually said, “Might not want to put all your eggs in one bastard, K. You might change your mind later.”

I grabbed her hand and squeezed. “This has nothing to do with what does or does not happen with Nicholas. I think it’s time to move on, you know? Leave the past behind. I’m sure there is someone he’s more compatible with anyway.”

Bridget released my hand and looked into her now empty glass. “What shall I drink now?”

I glanced at my phone. “We should think about heading out soon. We have to go all the way downtown.”

“I’d prefer to be fashionably late,” Bridget said.

“I agree,” Jonathan said, popping his head into the kitchen. “Is it safe to enter or are you chicks having a private conversation?”

“It’s safe to enter,” I said. Bridget was clearly not ready to admit she was digging Jonathan and after fifteen years of friendship I knew better than to push.

“So, I brought something else with me,” Jonathan said. He opened his hand to reveal a nicely rolled joint. “Interested?”

“Yes!” Bridget answered eagerly.

I looked questionably at her. “Are you sure you want to mix Prosecco, whiskey and marijuana?”

With a curt nod, Bridget insisted, “I’m fine. I’ll only take one or two hits.”

I cocked my head to the side and raised my eyebrows. “Okay, but if you need your hair held back later while I’m having drinks with Nicholas, you’re shit out of luck.” I turned to Jonathan. “I’ll pass.”

“I’m not even gonna pretend to care who Nicholas is. Let’s light this sucker up.” Jonathan walked out of the kitchen motioning for us to join him.

“You act like smoking up is reserved for special occasions and not a daily ritual!” I said as we followed him into the living room.

Jonathan sat back on the couch and patted the cushion next to him for Bridget to join him. “Don’t usually have company,” he said with a wink. “Much more fun.”

“Okay, smoke up and then let’s get out of here.” I checked my phone. It had been over ten minutes since Nicholas’ last text—long enough for me to text him back. I typed, “I will definitely reach out later!” put down my phone and observed Bridget and Jonathan as they passed the joint between them. I knew Bridget was full of shit when she said she was only going to take one or two hits.

***

A half hour later, I’d finally convinced Jonathan and Bridget to leave and we hailed a cab on the corner of 85
^th
and 2
^nd
. Jonathan got in first and Bridget looked at me to see if I was going to slide in after him. I reached down, pretending to adjust the strap on my shoe and said, “You go. I hate the middle.” I didn’t really hate the middle and Bridget knew it, but she crawled into the cab after Jonathan without a word. “We’re going to West Broadway and Grand,” I said to the cab driver. If he hadn’t nodded, I wouldn’t have known he heard me since he continued talking into his mouth piece in a language that was clearly not English.

“You guys ready?” I asked.

“Ready for what?” Jonathan answered. “I’m only going cuz you begged me.”

Reaching across Bridget to swat his leg, I said, “I didn’t beg.”

Jonathan said, “Whatever,” and turned to look out his window.

“I’m ready,” Bridget said.

Now that we were moments away from seeing people for the first time in ten years, I felt my stomach tighten with nerves and wished it wasn’t too late to do a shot of whiskey. I had been so focused on having drinks with Nicholas that I forgot I first had to make it through the reunion. I whispered to Bridget, “You’ll still have my back with Hannah, right?”

Turning to look at me, Bridget asked, “When have I ever not had your back with Hannah or anyone else for that matter?”

I smiled. “Never. Thanks.”

“It’s cash bar, right?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, yes. The reunion committee decided it wouldn’t be fair to include alcohol in the cost of admission since not everyone drinks,” I said.

“Bunch of losers on the reunion committee!” Bridget complained, causing Jonathan to laugh.

“Agreed.” I said.

We drove in silence for the next few minutes, apparently lost in our own thoughts. My head was spinning between who I was excited to see, who I dreaded seeing (Hannah and her sheep) and what was going to happen later that night if I got together with Nicholas. I wondered if we’d hook up and if so, how it would happen. Before I got too far into my fantasy, the cab driver pulled over, stopped the car and turned around. “You wanted Soho Grand?”

“We’re here folks!” I said. Handing him a twenty and a five, I said, “Keep the change.” I carefully stepped out of the cab and onto the street. When the others joined me, I looked up at the hotel and said, “Here goes nothing.”

JONATHAN ENTERED THE HOTEL FIRST
while Bridget and I, arms linked, trailed slightly behind.

Pointing to a display that was set off to the side, Jonathan said, “We’re in the Club Room.” According to the sign, the Mitchell Berman Bar Mitzvah was in the Harbor Room while our reunion was in the Club Room. Although at that moment I would have preferred joining Mitchell and his 13-year-old friends dancing to the Hora, we followed the signs to the Club Room, stopping outside of the banquet room to retrieve our name tags from the long table set off to the side. It seemed everyone else was already inside or hadn’t arrived yet since no one else was looking for a name tag.

“Seriously? They spelled my name wrong,” Bridget said, holding up her name tag.

I stopped searching for my own ID to laugh at the misspelling of “Bridget” as “Bridged.”

“Bridged! Ha!” Jonathan laughed. “If it’s any consolation, they got my name wrong too,” he said, holding up his tag where his name was also spelled incorrectly as “Jonothan. “Let’s see if they at least got Kim’s name right.”

“How difficult is it to spell Long?” I said. Spotting mine, I held it up proudly. “No mistakes!”

“Is that you, Kimberly?”

I turned around to face Plum Sheridan, one of Hannah’s dim-witted cronies. We had shared the same study hall period senior year and temporarily bonded over prom dress talk. She looked the same, tall and slender with thin straight blonde hair and eyes so bright they seemed to defy the emptiness that lay beneath. So far I was zero for one with girls in my graduating class getting fat.

“Kim Short, right? You look adorable as ever!” She put a hand to her mouth and looked at me apologetically. “I meant Long!” Reaching down to hug me, she said, “I don’t know why I can never get that right.”

While I half-heartily hugged her back, knowing the reason she never got it right was because Hannah had “accidentally” called me Kim Short all through high school, I reached out my hand to punch a laughing Jonathan in the arm. When we separated, I said, “Hi, Plum. How’ve you been?” Gesturing toward my dates for the evening, I said, “You remember Bridget and Jonathan right?”