“We should probably head upstairs. It’s getting cold.” Dahlia stood up. And sat back down. “Oh.” She looked over at London. “I am very drunk.”
London smiled. “Yes, I know.”
She pressed her palms to her eyes. “I might need your help.”
London stood and offered her their hand. Once Dahlia accomplished a standing position, she released London’s hand so she could clutch their entire arm instead. All ten fingers wrapped around London’s bicep and they felt drunk, too, and it was hard to say whether it was from the mediocre wine or the heat of Dahlia’s body, so close to them now. Intimately close.
“Oh my god,” Dahlia groaned, leaning her forehead on their shoulder. Fuck, her hair smelled good. “I didn’t even realize how messed up I was until I stood up. I felt totally fine before. God. Bodies are so weird.”
“This is what I’ve been saying for years,” London said ruefully.
“Our rooms are so far away. Can you even believe this fountain? Oh my god.”
London patted one of her hands as together, they hobbled their way back toward the door.
“Remember when Tanner Tavish yelled at me last week?” Dahlia asked as they walked inside. The bar mitzvah felt like so long ago—years, it must have been—that London felt their own bout of hysteria bubbling under their skin. “He was so mean. Do you think he’s that mean in real life, or just for the cameras?”
“That mean in real life.” London nodded decisively, dragging Dahlia through the empty ballroom. “For sure.”
“No.” She shook her head, and then moaned with regret at the motion. “I bet he lives with a bunch of cats. And they’re named like, Sugar Biscuits. I bet you he writes fan fiction! What kind of fan fiction, though, is the question. Supernatural? Downton Abbey? Yes, yes, that’s it.” Dahlia smacked London’s arm. “He writes super-dirty Downton Abbey fan fiction. By candlelight. While wearing bunny slippers and a silk nightgown. And can I tell you, London?” London really wanted Dahlia to shut up. So they could kiss her. “He really loves his grandma. Aw, jeez. I think I love Tanner Tavish.”
“Okay.” London patted her hand again. It was soft and made them think delirious things.
“Oh my god. London. The cows.” Dahlia stopped in the middle of the hallway, doubling over in laughter. “I can’t believe I got drunk with you and I didn’t even get you to tell me your deal with cows.”
“Dahlia.” London struggled to get her upright again, to keep her moving. Awareness was filtering back into their system, and they feared she might need access to a bathroom soon.
Dahlia gasped as they entered the lobby.
“Barbara!”
Tearing herself away from London’s arm, Dahlia scuffled across the floor to the small couch where Barbara sat, knitting a scarf.
“London!” she shouted over her shoulder. “It’s Barbara !”
“Right.” London stuffed their hands in their pockets as they made their way across the lobby. “I can see that.”
“Barbara, what are you doing here? It’s like one a.m.”
Barbara’s calm blue eyes glanced between Dahlia and London and back again. Dahlia’s dress shifted as she leaned toward Barbara, and London could see the soft underbelly of one of her breasts.
That bright ball of light was back in London’s chest again, migrating dangerously to other places.
“I could ask the same of you two,” Barbara answered.
“Oh, we crashed a wedding in the ballroom,” Dahlia said casually. “Are you making a scarf ?”
“Yes. I have unfortunately developed a bit of insomnia in my old age, to answer your question.”
“Oh, Barbara, you are not that old.”
Barbara glanced down at Dahlia’s dress, and then reached over to pat her arm. “Yes, sweetheart, I am. Anyway, I find myself getting lonely up in my room, so I’ve been coming down here, watching people come and go. It’s been quite interesting, actually.”
“Barbara!” Dahlia yelled. “You could totally hang out with us if you get lonely!”
Barbara looked up at London then. They blushed.
“No,” she told Dahlia. “Thank you for the offer, but that’s quite all right.”
“Are you making the scarf for one of your grandkids?” Dahlia leaned even closer still to Barbara, examining the handiwork in her lap. “Aileen maybe?”
Barbara smiled widely at Dahlia then. “Bishop, actually.”