“We’re gonna be a while, Rainy,” Braithe said, looking embarrassed. She had no makeup on yet, and she was wearing one of the hotel gowns. A hair dryer roared to life in one of the rooms, and Ursa began wandering around in a towel, looking for her curling iron. It was female chaos.
She should have taken a longer shower, washed her hair, put on a more complicated outfit…but the trouble was, Rainy didn’t know how to take a long time to do things; she rushed through everything, which made her feel like she was failing at being a woman. These women were part of a ritual that she didn’t understand: bonding through talk and preparation.
It’s just not how you grew up, she thought, and then flinched. Sara always seeped into her memory when she was in a group of women, even when she tried to keep her out. The normalcy of these women, talking and laughing together, made her long for something she hadn’t allowed herself since then…since Sara.
“The shops and bars downstairs are great if you want to get started without us.” Braithe’s voice pulled her out of her feelings, dropping her into less complicated ones. They were trying to get rid of her. Did she care?
“I’ll go walk around for a bit,” she offered, standing up. If they wanted to talk about her, let them. They needed to dissect her answers to the game, right? Well, she needed space.
“I’ll text you when we’re heading down,” Braithe called to her.
Grabbing her bag, Rainy chewed the inside of her cheek as she made her way to the door. The sounds she left behind were familiar, the sounds female friends made when they were together. Happy sounds. And more importantly, their sounds; she was not included.
When she saw how crowded the lobby was, she decided to wait downstairs in the hotel bar instead of fighting her way through the bodies that clogged the hallways. Soon, she was sipping a beer and watching the TV as an excited meteorologist updated them on the storm. She hadn’t liked the vibe in the group since they’d arrived at the hotel, but that was probably just her. God, if she had to be here, she wished it were with Grant. She stared at her phone, willing him to text, but knowing it wouldn’t happen for another few hours. She’d marry him if she could. It was that simple. But these women didn’t get to weigh in on that.
Things are weird, she texted Viola.
Stop it. Try to have fun.
She nodded, as if Viola could see her. She put her phone away and drained her beer.
“You need another?”
She jumped, then relaxed when she saw it was just the bartender. He was middle-aged with a receding hairline that was charming on his angular face.
“Another beer?” He pointed to her empty glass. He had a New England accent and he looked like a talker.
“Nah, switch me to your cocktail of the night, if that’s okay.”
He nodded. “I made this one up myself. It’s on the sweeter side if that’s okay…？” He was mimicking her, but in a friendly way.
She gave him a thumbs-up and he came back two minutes later with brown sludge in a martini glass.
“Coffee-flavored,” she said, taking a sip. “It’s good.”
“You know where I get that? Rhode Island, baby. It’s coffee syrup. Grew up on that stuff. I call that a New England Russian. I tried this out on another guy who came in here, and he loved it. Makes sense—he was from New England, too.”
“Coffee syrup?” She said it out loud, though she hadn’t meant to. She’d heard that before…
He showed her the bottle and Rainy had a sudden, dizzying sense of déjà vu.
“I drank white Russians in college,” she said. “It’s my kind of drink.” He looked pleased enough that he wandered away to offer his New England Russian to some fresh new faces on the other side of the bar.
“You waiting on someone?” he asked, coming back around fifteen minutes later.
“Four female someones,” she answered.
He nodded. “Bachelorette party?”
Rainy played along. “Sure.”
He scooped up her empty glass. “Another?”
She shook her head. “I’ll close out.” His concoction was curdling in her belly as she signed the receipt.
“Hey, I know you girls like to party hard when you come here, and I like you. So, listen up—whatever you do, do not buy drugs from Barry. He works at the Bellum, but he comes around to all the hotels within a few blocks.” He was pouring someone else’s beer but looking at her. “Last week, that little bastard sold roofies to four girls here. He told them it was cocaine, and they all ended up in the ER. I served them before they left—just like you. I told them to stay away from Barry, too, but do you think they listened?”