“Oh, wonderful, a frat party,” Jonathan said.
“Come on,” Finch said, holding glasses out to me and then Jonathan. “This is your bachelor party. You can’t have a bachelor party without at least one round of shots.”
We took the small glasses reluctantly. But tequila shots were, honestly, the least of our problems.
“Congratulations, Jonathan.” I raised my glass high. “May you and Peter have a wonderful life together.”
I swallowed the shot, my throat seizing. I really was not a drinker. With my background, drinking and drugs had always been too much of a risk. Jonathan drank his shot without flinching, but he looked troubled now, about Keith probably.
“Come on, Derrick, what are you waiting for!” Finch shouted, so loud people looked our way. “Always so slow on the uptake.”
“Fuck you, Finch.” Derrick was gripping his shot glass so tight I worried it might shatter in his palm. Finally he sucked in some air and dutifully kicked back the tequila. He set down his glass and stood. “I’m going to go get myself a beer. Anyone want anything?”
More drinks? That wasn’t like Derrick. When no one answered, he started toward the bar.
“Debutantes aren’t usually known for holding their liquor,” Finch said.
And when I looked up, he was staring at me. “Oh, no,” I said, looking past him to Keith, who was staring at the bathrooms, his forehead shiny with sweat. Suddenly, he stood. “Keith, what’s up?”
“I’ll be right back,” he said, still focused on the bathroom.
“Hey, wait. Where are you going?” Jonathan reached out to grab Keith by the arm as he stepped away.
Keith slipped through his grasp. “Christ, I’m just going to piss,” he called back, moving quickly toward the bathroom.
Jonathan looked relieved when his phone buzzed in his pocket. “Oh, it’s Peter. I’ve got to take this,” he said, looking down at his phone. “I don’t have a signal. I’m just going to go to the . . .”
He was already headed away from the table, phone to his ear. Leaving me very unfortunately alone with Finch.
“So I’ve heard things about you,” Finch said, leaning in like he was sharing a secret of his own instead of prying into one of mine. He put his phone down on the table— the phone that had been in his hand nonstop, like he was waiting for a pressing call. “Like that you’ve got a penchant for taking what doesn’t belong to you.”
“Oh yeah?” I asked in a monotone. Finch was just making crap up, baiting me.
“And a little bird also told me your dad is a real piece of work.”
Unfortunately that was probably something Finch had actually heard. From Keith, I imagined, maybe Derrick.
“You should tell that little bird to mind their own fucking business.”
“Whoa!” Finch’s eyes went wide with delight. “Look at the mouth on you, debutante! Your daddy teach you to talk dirty like that?”
“Finch!” Derrick shouted, appearing from nowhere, beer in hand, tendons in his neck straining. “Don’t talk to Maeve like that!”
“Come on, we’re all friends here.”
“No, we’re not.” Derrick looked furious. “You’re not friends with any of us.”
“Derrick, you and I are absolutely friends,” Finch said icily. “I know you better than anybody, remember?”
“Oh, I remember.” Derrick leaned toward Finch in an alarmingly threatening fashion. “I’m just not sure I care anymore.”
“Hey, guys, stop.” I snapped my fingers between them, then grabbed up the shot glasses in my fingers and shoved them toward Finch. We did not need a bar fight. “Get some more shots, Finch. You’re right. It’s a party. We could all stand to loosen up a bit.”
Finch kept his eyes on Derrick for a long moment before finally taking the glasses from me. “Sure thing.”
Derrick dropped himself down into his chair once Finch was gone. “I’m sorry about him,” he said, then stayed quiet for a minute. “What do you think Alice would say about all this ridiculousness if she was still here?”
“If Alice was still here, none of this would be happening.”
This was probably true, strictly speaking. Not that Alice was exactly a steadying influence. Keith and Alice’s relationship had always been stormy, partly because Alice was intense about everything and everyone. She’d been that way from the second we’d met as freshman-year roommates. I’d already been unpacked when she arrived, huge duffel bag slung over her intimidatingly sinewy arm.