“I just started, so it’s mainly admin.” I pause to take a drink in the hopes that that was enough information, but their silence lasts longer than my sip does. “I’m an editorial assistant,” I say, and I try to make my job sound as interesting as possible by stealing bits from other skill sets. Thankfully, the mention of photo briefs takes us back to Cruella and her impossible-to-execute-on-her-budget advertisement ideas.
The margaritas Jo brought must be strong because after a glass and a half it feels like I’ve stepped out and into the sun to watch the goose bumps on my arms fade.
“It’s about time!” Jo suddenly announces. “I love this song! Come dance with me,” and she grabs my hand.
“Oh, I can’t dance,” I tell her as she drags me from out behind our table and into the middle of the room.
“What? Of course you can dance! You’re Black!”
“She’s got you there,” Jennifer says, shuffling past us with Cariad behind her.
We’re now in the middle of the dance floor （the zigzag space） encircled by strangers. Someone’s come up behind me and it might be Maybe-Daniel, but it’s quite dark; the way the lights bounce across the rooms affords only sudden glimpses of those nearby.
This must be a breeding ground for predators.
I shake my head. “It’s fine.” I know no one can hear me above the music and their own singing, so I say louder, “Maddie, it’s fine! Just go with it!”
I don’t dance in public. I think I dance well when I’m alone, but that’s maybe because I can’t see what I’m doing. However, I must be really good because two songs in and I feel eternal. Everyone sings along. I can only join in on the chorus, but I use those four or five lines to shine, and I mean, solo-concert-in-the-shower shine. I don’t know if I’m in time with the music, but I’m enjoying myself. The girls grow more animated as I do or maybe it’s the other way around. One of us is feeding from the other, and I like to think it’s me giving them energy.
When the fourth song ends, I push my way to the bar for another drink because alcohol is the secret to the fun I’m having. I order another pitcher for the table, but then ask the bartender to surprise me with something. I missed the name of it, but when my drink comes out it’s got orange and yellow layers. I take a sip and it hits the back of my throat before leaving a warming sensation behind. I’m a third in when Maybe-Daniel appears next to me.
“You’re new at this, aren’t you?”
“I’m sorry?”
“You were having such a good time—so I can tell.”
I look at him; my vision’s slightly off and I realize I’ve shut my right eye. “Is your name Daniel?” I ask. I might be shouting in his face but he doesn’t seem to mind.
He nods. “Call me Danny. Can I buy you another drink?”
“I’m actually buying one for the table.” Ask to buy him a drink. That’s a bold and memorable move, isn’t it? “Can I buy you a drink?”
Excuse me—Ben! Should you really be buying other men drinks?
I’m about to rescind my offer when Definitely-Danny blows out and smiles. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “Thank you, Equal Rights Act.”
I inwardly scoff and think Hardly but pay for his beer because what are saving accounts for if not for pitchers of margaritas and beers for strangers?
Jo comes over to the bar and waves her phone in my face. “A friend just messaged me. Let’s go.”
“Go?” I hurry to finish my drink. “We just got here!”
“I know somewhere better,” Jo says. “You guys staying?” she asks Definitely-Danny.
“Yeah,” he says. “Tom’s coming down, so text us and we might join you later.”
“Cool.” Jo makes her way to the door, grabbing Cam on the way and, reluctantly leaving the pitcher for Definitely-Danny, I follow.
Once we’re outside the cool air hits me like smelling salts. “Actually,” I say, “Maybe I should go home. I was thinking if I leave the cake decorating to the morning, I’ll have to wait for it to set in the fridge before I go and I really want to get home early in the day.”
“If you promise to stay,” Jo says with pleading eyes, “I’ll help you decorate the cake. I’ll even get up earlier than you to start it.”
I tilt my head at Jo. Wow, she really wants me to stay; she must really like having me around. Maybe my best friend count will go from two to three before the end of the night.…
I look at Cam who’s nodding emphatically. From two best friends to four then?
But something tells me to go home, that I should choose my dad over Jo and that I’m not a very good daughter if I automatically don’t. I suddenly think of myself back at university, walking past groups of friends to sit on my own, closest to the door.
It’s just a cake, Maddie. Worse comes to worst, I’ll buy one. What matters most is actually being home on Dad’s birthday, right? And I will be.
“Fine!” I say and all the girls cheer. “Where to next?”
* * *
We （Cariad in tow） walk less than half a mile to a club located in the basement of a bakery; the steps lead to a smoke-filled cave emitting an unmistakable chocolate smell. It’s dark but I can see people sat at tables, a dulcet buzz in the air as they drink and smoke shisha.
When sat in a booth, Jo comes up behind us and says, “Brownies, anyone?”
I look down at the plate she’s offering. “Are you a witch?” I ask, grabbing two before they all go. “Where did you get brownies from?”
“The bakery upstairs.” She winks and, for whatever reason, I wink back and take a bite. They taste a little off, but maybe they were made this morning and have been left out a while. Plus, I’m starving, so I get started on the second one.
Jo laughs. “Slow down, Maddie.”
I frown at her. “It’s chocolate, Jo. I know what I’m doing.”
* * *
Dear reader—I, in fact, had no idea what I was doing. Cam informs me shortly after that they’re weed brownies.
I look around the table and recognize everyone’s done this before. That’s why they come here. I slowly finish the second brownie—putting it down would scream “novice”—whilst Cariad tells us （and three more of Jo’s friends sat at the table） about a couple she’s seeing.
“Couple?” I question. “Both of them?”
“Yeah, I’m not into any of that traditional stuff,” she says, taking a drag from the table’s pipe, blowing fragrant smoke into the air. “It’s all constructed so we can neatly tick boxes on forms.”
Wow. That was deep.
“I need to pee,” I suddenly announce.
I stumble a little maneuvering out of the booth, but I’m upright in no time. In the bathroom, I start laughing as soon as I’m urinating; I try smothering it and snort instead. I go to wash my hands and see in the mirror above that I have a manic smile spread across my face. I try to straighten it out, but I can’t. I tap the mirror. “Silly, you.” My reflection laughs and makes me laugh with her. A woman comes in and I keep laughing, pointing to the mirror, trying to get her to join in, but she’s not interested. “Some people have no sense of humor,” I tell my reflection.