10. BLOTTO

BLOTTO

A side from the silk dancers and shimmering old-timey costumes, Blotto was a warm and unassuming place with exposed wood rafters and straightforward cocktails. The amber lights were dim, and the decor was minimal, with only a few carefully hung expressionist-style paintings. In the center of the room, hung from the rafters, two cadmium-red silk drapes cascaded to the floor. A woman with iridescent copper hair in pin curls wrapped them around her thighs, two hundred feet from the floor. A drum roll thundered from the small band in the corner. The room fell silent as everyone in the bar craned their necks up towards the aerial dancer. The drumming stopped, and she let go. She writhed, twisted, turned, down, down, down, bound in red, her body extending horizontally and then vertically and then horizontally again, speeding towards the floor and certain death. The room froze. She caught herself with the flick of a wrist, belly down, her face only an inch from the ground. I exhaled, having no idea I'd been holding my breath in the first place. The crowd hooted and clapped. The dancer took a bow and sauntered to a table with the other dancers.

Sitting on my right, I turned to my ridiculously beautiful friend, Sebastian. He wore pants with suspenders like a giant paperboy to "match the theme of the bar." His shoulders bounced as the jazz started, a broad toothy smile on his handsome face,

"I seriously love this place. I will never get sick of seeing them fall."

His chestnut eyes danced with excitement.

"Same." Sam agreed, flipping her platinum hair over a shoulder and adjusting the fringe on her ruffled blouse. She crossed and uncrossed her legs at the knee, then examined something on her leather pants, scowling at it. Sam was the kind of woman who didn't look like she should exist in the real world, with her creamy pale skin and full, kissable lips.

"It's been so long since I've been here," I said.

"We know." Sam said, coldly, "Happy to have you back and appearing in person for once."

I glared at her. She smiled back sweetly.

Blotto attracted everyone from college students and middle-aged folks filled the massive room, a hodgepodge of age, race, class, and style seated at the high-tops and square tables for as far as the eye could see. When we were teenagers, we'd gotten in with fake I.D.s, and Jess and I spent an entire night trying to get a waitress to break character and give her real name or the tiniest detail of her real life. But every time we'd asked something, she'd laugh and say in a perfect nineteen-twenties Chicago accent, "Oh, now honey, I told you–name's Daphne. Born and raised in Chicago." Then she'd touch her pin-curled blonde bob and saunter off with an exaggerated swing of her hips that made her sequined dress catch the light. Years later, we saw "Daphne" in the food court at the mall in a pair of gray joggers trying to soothe her angry toddler, and it was unsettling to hear her real voice, lower with a heavy Brooklyn accent. I thought about that a lot. If any one visual contrast could represent the stark realities of parenthood, it might be a video reel of Daphne being herself without her child in tow versus Daphne playing the role of mother at a food court.

I often found myself lost in thought here. What would it be like to wear those amazing flapper dresses, smoke cigarettes with abandon, and chug booze in a dark Chicago speakeasy? I could picture myself with Sam and Sebastian hopping on and off the dance floor, laughing and carefree. We'd been through so much together. It broke my heart sometimes to think about how much space had grown between us since I'd married and had kids. They were both perpetually single and traveled, partied, and drank while I parented, painted, and sipped glasses of wine on my porch alone in the dark. Although, honestly, becoming a sort of recluse had more to do with anxiety and depression than it did with being a mom. I didn't like to be in a crowd or away from home. I needed time to work on my own projects—paintings and mixed media pieces that examined otherness and belonging and grief. Time alone in the shadows every night gave me space to think and dream and get my head on straight, to soothe my anxiety, and to process my day. I worried, almost incessantly, that something might happen while I wasn't at home that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Because in the midst of ordinary days, tragedy waited. Misery lingered between laughter and love. That was the lingering effect of trauma.

Sebastian put his large hand on my shoulder, rubbing lightly. "It's been a while. But here you are, dressed up to boot. I mean, look at you. This backless top and these trousers are fire. Couldn't bother with heels, though?" He looked down at my Oxfords and tsked.

Cocking my head, I glared up at him through my lashes, then held my foot to the light, "I'm wearing pretty lace socks, though."

Sebastian examined the delicate sheer black socks and nodded in approval, "I do love the socks."

I felt a light tap on my spine and turned and wished that I hadn't. There stood Kim, a petite redhead, waiting, her gray eyes darting from me to my friends like she could not wait to be introduced. She wore jeans, brown boots, and a wool sweater. Her fingers fretted with the hem. Kim's daughter went to school with Ria, and she was on the PTA and probably one of the people who would not stop sending me sock emails.

"Danny!" she gushed, opening her arms wide and pulling me into a hug like we were the very best of friends. I stiffened, then slowly relaxed and wrapped my arms around her to briefly squeeze back.

"Oh my God!" She exclaimed, letting go and backing up a step to take us all in. "It's so crazy to see you here! I never see you anywhere outside of the drop-off lane or coffee shop near the school."

"You and me both," Sam muttered.

I shot her a disapproving glare.

Then something strange happened. I became possessed with what could only be the PTA spirit and, without meaning to, sat up a little taller. The corners of my mouth lifted into a wide smile that felt really unnatural for my face as if my muscles were being strained.

"Kim! Hi! Kim, this is Sebastian and Samantha." I introduced them. Kim beamed at Sebastian and Sam, who both offered a tight smile and echoed, "So nice to meet you," like they were, in fact, not happy to meet her at all. Assholes .

Kim nodded to each of them, then whipped her head back to me.

"How are the girls? We need to have a playdate! Genevieve just got a brand new tea set! Oh my God, and did you see that email from Bethany about the gift cards? Is it just me or are we slowly being nickel and dimed to death?" Kim threw back her head and cackled at her own joke. Her coppery red hair swayed behind her.

"I thought the exact same thing when I saw that email," I said, but my voice sounded odd, fake, higher in pitch and the tone gentler than usual, like I was talking to a young child. "Ria would love a tea party. Liv, not so much, but she can play in the yard, right?"

"Definitely. Perfect! Okay, I'll text. So good seeing you! Oh, and let me know if you sign up for any of the upcoming PTA events! Have a good night." Kim patted my shoulder and waved to Sam and Sebastian before heading off to a booth of women who all looked exactly like her. Some I recognized vaguely, others I didn't.

Sebastian stared at me judgmentally, his eyes narrow and brows knit together. "Okay, who are you? Seriously. That was so eerie seeing you like that; it's like you morphed into an infomercial for magic mops or something."

"Fuck off," I said, rolling my neck. "I know…"

Sebastian laughed out loud and smacked the table with his tattooed hand covered in delicate lines depicting planets, moons, and stars.

"Okay, so back to what I was saying earlier." I started, "Did you know that the majestic Orca speaks a familial dialect?" I said, enthusiasm tinging my words.

"Honey, why are we talking about whale languages again? I want to talk about the weird peppy person you just morphed into when that woman Kim came over just now." Sebastian said.

Why were we talking about sea life? Other than the fact that it was fascinating? (Which it totally was). To avoid talking about the end of my marriage. Obviously. I knew that and they knew that.

Sam sighed dramatically.

"Why are you surprised by the weird whale facts?" she said to Sebastian. "How long have we all been friends? Since high school? You know this is what happens when you let Danny spend too much time by herself, she gets obsessed with things. Sparkly vampire movies, that K-Pop group homeless men, or–"

"Stray Kids," Sebastian interjected, "And honestly, I'm kinda obsessed, too. Have you listened to them?"

"Anyway," Sam continued, "I want to talk about your weird reaction to that woman, too. You normally have a raspy deep voice thing going on that sounds hot and bitchy. That other voice is, well, just bad. Who did you just morph into?."

Sam rested her hand on my arm.

Glancing back and forth, I took a sip of my wine.

"Dolphin," I added.

"Pardon?" Sebastian asked.

"Orcas are dolphins," I corrected him. "Not whales."

"Oh my God, kill me now!" Sam threw her hands up and rolled her eyes. "You avoidant bitch. Fine. We'll pretend like we didn't just witness you birthing a whole separate personality. Fine. But can we please talk about something other than the social-emotional world of ocean creatures? Like sex? Or honestly, anything else?"

I leaned back, folding my arms across my chest. "Alright, fine. I'll stop. Begrudgingly . And I don't know why my voice did that thing with Kim, okay? I want those moms to like me, I guess so that my kids aren't exiled like we were when we were growing up."

Sebastian put his hand on his cheek, sighing. He shook his head disapprovingly. Sam frowned, then tipped her drink up to finish it.

"That's sad." Sebastian finally said. "Danny, they're not you and Jess. Their mother isn't being investigated for murder. At least, not that I know of. Where is Steven, by the way?" Sebastian smirked.

I shot him a dirty look, then grabbed my purse off of the chair and swung it over my shoulder. I wanted to say that he was at home, hopefully packing up his shit and moving into the small guest space above our garage, but I wasn't ready to tell everyone yet. Soon, but not yet. Not before I had time to sit with it.

"I'm gonna grab us one more round so I can poison you." I flashed them both a nightmarish grin, "I can't stay too late though, the girls are at my mom's again, two weekends in a row, and tomorrow morning I have to pick them up. I don't want to look hungover." I turned my nose up and arched my back, forcing my shoulder blades together. In a deep and monotone voice, I mocked my mother, "You're a disgrace."

"Well that's eerie, you sound just like your terrifying mom. Anyway, whiskey on the rocks for me." Sebastian sang.

"Same!" Samantha chimed in, lifting her right hand lazily and then letting it fall back onto her lap.

At the bar, a handsome bartender in a nineteen-twenties outfit greeted me with a nod while dramatically flinging a towel over his shoulder, performing "the mysterious bartender" character. A heartbeat went by before he finally asked, "What can I get ya?"

"Two whiskies on the rocks and a glass of pinot grigio."

"Comin' right up, ma'am!"

Ma'am? When the fuck did I become a ma'am? Something that felt a lot like my youth dried up and died inside of me.

My eyes drifted up to the rows of liquor bottles that lined the back wall. So many bottles, each one occupying its own cubed shelf, and the shelves went as far as the ceiling beams. It must have taken a carpenter hours, days, and weeks to finish each little square. It was beautiful. Why didn't I come here more? I used to have so much fun back when I saw Samantha and Sebastian every week. Life was busy, sure–running errands, packing lunches, going to school events–but was I really too busy to have a life outside of those things? Was I really too busy to enjoy myself?

I was still focused on the bottles when I felt someone step into the empty space to my right.

"Hello, again." A sensual male voice drawled.

My spine went rigid. Turning slowly towards the voice, my heart kicked hard in my chest, boom, boom, boom, until my eyes landed on a man's pecs and had to travel up a few miles to his perfect face. Andras. Right there in the flesh, leaning against the bar, smirking down at me with those hypnotic sapphire bedroom eyes. He had the face of a God, or a demon, a face that could convince just about anyone to commit just about any sin. Even slouching, he was so much taller than me. We locked eyes until I remembered the grocery store encounter and suddenly found my nails to be very interesting . At least I didn't look feral for once, that was a plus. But then I also remembered the dream where he'd pressed his full mauve lips into my cheek and the lust-filled fantasies that had crept into my head while I did the dishes, washed my face, or cleaned the bathtub, and my cheeks grew warm.

Andras's body tightened, and his eyes narrowed on me, a slow, wicked smile on his lips.

"Danny. What are you thinking about?" He crooned.

I went still. He sounded like he knew exactly what I was thinking about and worse, he seemed to be gloating about it.

Forcing my face into neutrality, or at least trying to appear aloof, I looked up from my nails. But then I caught the faintest scent of him–woodsy and warm–the kind of scents that brought to mind a man covered in car grease wrestling a tiger shirtless or an impeccably dressed man sitting in a smoke-filled bar in Prague drinking amber-colored booze on the rocks. Damnit . My entire body heated like a traitorous bastard.

"Are you feeling alright?" Andras asked, with mischief and mayhem written all over his expression. "A little better than the other night?"

I exhaled loudly and angled my head.

"Yes, definitely better than the other night," I shook my head like I was waking up. Then I looked around the bar, making a show of it, "And where the fuck did you appear from again? I swear, you just pop out of nowhere every time I run into you. And if you keep doing it, I'm going to have a heart attack. I'm old , you know?"

His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened as he feigned shock.

"I literally just walked over and stood here but you were staring–quite mesmerized, I might add–at the bottles. You were a little distracted." He glanced up at the glass and the cubes, then leaned forward as if to tell me a secret, "And I fear I'm probably older than you."

"I doubt that," I countered.

He looked about the same age as me but without the typical wear. His golden skin seemed to glow, not a sign of stress anywhere.

"I'll place a wager on it." He murmured. Then, glancing up again to the bottles above us, "So what's so interesting about that wall?"

I winced. "I don't know, they're pretty? And I just do that, I guess. I get lost in my thoughts a lot and it's almost like I leave my body entirely. I have an overactive imagination or something. I was thinking about life, things, and what it would have been like to be at a real speakeasy decades ago and trying to picture the room back then. I am one hundred percent sure that disappearing in thought is some kind of coping mechanism of mine"

I nodded to the bartender to thank him as he set down my drinks in front of me. Then I slid a twenty dollar bill to him. He thanked me by placing it over his heart, fluttering his eyelashes, and smiling playfully.

"Anything for you?" The bartender asked, gesturing to Andras as he slid the twenty into his pocket.

As Andras surveyed the bartender's face, his muscles tensed, and his midnight blue eyes narrowed and fixated on him, and I could have sworn there was a flash of something menacing, something that promised pain.

"Yes, I'll have another of these," he said coldly, shaking the ice in his glass, "and another round for the lady and her friends. Also, when you get off of work, I want you to punch yourself in the fucking face repeatedly, you piece of shit."

I flinched. His words were sharp but delivered with a calm cool that made my skin crawl. I looked back and forth from the bartender to Andras.

The bartender blinked sleepily, "Okay," he said as if he hadn't just been aggressively insulted and threatened. Then he went back to making drinks.

My chest tightened as my head whipped to Andras, who was watching the bartender make our drinks smugly amused.

"Do you know him? Or are you just completely fucking insane?" I demanded.

"Let's say I do know him in a way," Andras's eyes slid to me, "and he's not a particularly good person. He did something unforgivable to a woman very recently," Andras said, his expression settling into something cool and calm. No sight of those fury-filled eyes. "He deserved it. And worse, honestly."

He had such a lovely face but what kind of monster lingered behind it? Or maybe the bartender had done something terrible, maybe to someone Andras knew? I considered telling him to fuck off, and thought about storming away.

Andras quietly surveyed my face, and then his eyes flicked to his empty glass and lingered there for a few heartbeats. The silence would have been awkward if the look on his face wasn't so pensive and almost sad. Almost like he'd been swept into a memory and held there by heartbreak or grief.

He cleared his throat.

"I'm sorry for saying that in front of you."

I glared at him. My throat tightened and I felt my pulse quicken.

"Maybe you shouldn't have said it at all?"

"No, no, I definitely don't regret saying it." He said sternly but not unkindly, "Just saying it in front of you. I'm sorry if I scared you or made you uncomfortable."

I slowly nodded while I tried to wrap my head around what was happening.

He studied my face again for a moment, then focused on the far wall and the crowd, then back to me.

"The real speakeasies, back in the day," he began, "were much like this in some ways. Smaller spaces, though, were usually dark and underground." The bartender set a new glass in front of Andras, who didn't bother to acknowledge him even when he took a drink from his glass, and continued, " They had this sort of dangerous, unsettling feeling about them that was really…exciting."

Andras flashed a grin that lit up his face and was bright enough to cast evil from the shadows of Hades. How do people like him just walk around looking that perfect like it's the most natural thing in the world? I felt like a honey-badger on a good day, on a bad day, I felt like one of those cocaine addicted sharks off the coast of Mexico. The chandelier danced in the deep blue of his eyes and I let myself get lost in them. I was simping for him like a teenage girl. What the hell was wrong with me? I stared and stared, and stared, and couldn't stop. Heartbeats later, my brain came back online.

"Like what you see?" He asked, smirking.

"Your description," I cleared my throat, "is oddly specific." I took a drink from my glass, "Did you used to work in a theme bar? Or wait! A bachelor's degree in history?"

Andras chuckled, "No, no. I'm just kind of a history nerd, I guess."

He took another sip of his drink. Then glanced up at the ceiling as if trying to remember something that might be written there.

"I think I saw it in a book somewhere. It had lots of pictures. Felt almost like being there." An eyebrow rose playfully, and his lips kicked up at the corners. I had to remember to breathe. Every hair on my neck stood up and tingled. My mouth–my evil, backstabbing mouth–seemed to fall open for him as if beckoning him there. Jesus, I had just barely decided to get divorced and it was like I had no control over my response to his pheromones, as if the universe wanted me to bed him. I took a step back.

"I get that." I said, clearing my throat, "I love to read, too. And research things. I spend a lot of time falling down rabbit holes about honestly anything. I don't know why but I'm really into Orcas right now. It was angler fish for a while because the female is made of testicles, and tomorrow, it will be something else. Who knows. I just really like to learn, I guess, then I use it to torture everyone around me. I'm a real hit at cocktail parties."

Andras huffed a laugh.

"But honestly?" I went on, "It's how I distract myself from...things."

"Interesting." He said, angling his head, "I like that."

"That I distract myself?"

"That you recognize why you do it and are willing to talk about it so openly."

I looked away, embarrassed. My cheeks flushed hot. I licked my lips, a nervous habit. Andras stared at my mouth with blown-out pupils. The world seemed to close in around me, shadows enveloping us, shutting out the entire world then they receded. It took actual effort not to lean towards him. What is going on with me? I'm an adult woman swooning–yes, swooning–over a man in a bar.

In a panic, I blurted out, "I'm married." Instant regret. Oh, fuck. Why did you say that? But I had to say something, my blood pulsed everywhere . It felt electric and delicious and utterly wrong and I could feel myself standing on the precipice of a shame spiral. I was not single yet, not legally, and wouldn't be for at least ninety-one days, according to Colorado law. But at that moment, I didn't want to be tied to Steven anymore in any way, and that felt bad and confusing and so scary . Then a sharp grief overtook me and I felt my body sag.

Andras's voice was gentle,

"I remember. When we were talking at your gate, you mentioned that your husband traveled a lot, right before you raked me over the coals for my idiotic comments about motherhood. And then vaguely accused me of being a serial killer."

The corner of his mouth tilted up.

He reached toward my face, then paused, "May I?" He asked.

I had no idea what he planned to do but I dipped my chin anyway.

Long, soft fingers gently brushed against my cheek and then curved over my ear, sending a shiver down my spine, as he tucked a loose tendril back in place, where it must have escaped the small gold comb I'd used to pin my hair back on either side. My mouth went completely dry.

"There." He said, resting his forearm back on the bar's edge.

"Thank you." I whispered.

"Are you alright?" He asked, looking me over.

"I-I think I'm just tired," I lied. I was tired. But also anxious and heartbroken because things were complicated. I chewed on my thumb nail for a beat to think. "I'm having a great night, honestly. I haven't been out with my friends in a long time, and I love them so much..." I trailed off, and turned to glance behind us at Sam and Sebastian, who were unapologetically gawking in our direction. Andras followed my line of sight, smiling and nodding to them. They smiled back but did not look away. Weirdos . I shook my head at them and turned back to Andras, to our conversation. "And, it's been nice talking to you, I mean not when you're being insane to the bartender, but the rest of the time. When you showed up I was staring at the bottles, and thinking. Sometimes I feel like adulthood has dragged me into the dregs until the highlight of my week became shopping for a new duvet or finding a new anxiety med that worked, and I just can't help wondering if this is it? Is this my whole life?"

Cradling my drink to give my hands something to do, to act as a sort of buffer between us, as if having an object there would stop me from grinding on him like a cat in heat. After a long pause, Andras asked,

"Are you not happy?"

Instead of answering, I took a giant gulp from my wine glass.

"You know, Danny," He dipped his chin, "you make life sound absolutely abysmal. Are you aware of that?"

I rubbed my temple and winced. "Oh, Gods," I groaned, "I do make life sound awful, don't I?" I shook my head, trying to gather my thoughts, "I don't feel like my life is awful. It's not. It's just that with every new responsibility, I feel like I have to give away tiny pieces of myself, over and over until I'm no longer whole." Andras only tilted his head slightly in silent question. I sucked in a breath, "Or maybe," I went on, still fumbling to organize my chaotic brain, "I just haven't figured out how to be all the things at once, how to let all of my parts co-exist peacefully in a way that feels…balanced."

Andras's expression was kind as he searched for something in my face, although what, I had no idea.

"You're sad. And scared," he said quietly, without breaking eye contact. It was not a question or a judgment. My body leaned forward as if I were being gently swept toward him by some invisible force.

"I don't know if this is true for you," Andras went on, "but it certainly has been for me. I know that when I'm feeling caged, it's because I've unknowingly built the bars myself."

That was sobering. My spine straightened and as if a floodgate had been cracked, a cascade of truths crashed against my skull. The floor seemed to be the least distracting place to focus my attention while I imagined the myriad ways my playing into cultural expectations, traditions, and gender norms–all of it–had created or contributed to my unhappiness.

"Yes," I said quietly but not weakly. Not shamefully. "I think you're probably right. At least, this once." I smiled up at him and he laughed.

"If I'm being honest," the corner of his lip curled up, "You're really odd."

"Hey, buddy," I glared.

"Not in a bad way. You might be one of the most interesting people I've met in a really long time. You're so," a pause, "easy to talk to, so openly vulnerable and honest. It's not common, you know? Has anyone ever told you that you have a way of making people feel at ease? Even when you're being completely morose."

I stifled a laugh, "It's because I'm non-threatening."

"I wouldn't say that." He said, shooting an incredulous look at me.

Silence.

Then I realized, to my embarrassment, that my lips had parted, and I found myself practically panting at him like an enthusiastic Labrador. I rocked back on my heels to once again compose myself. Gently clearing my ash-dry throat, I said,

"Thank you. And…I don't know. I think maybe I'm just too lazy to be dishonest. What's the point of anything else? If we become friends, you'd figure me out anyway, and if we don't, it wouldn't be worth the performance, right? I'm too tired to knit a different narrative. Plus, I grew up with parents who could've won awards for their acting; everything–and I mean everything–was about appearances and doublespeak, and it got even worse after…" I trailed off. No need to go into detail about your father. "Anyway, my sister and I were never very good at any of it to begin with."

Andras smiled wide, his eyes creasing at the corners, "Ah," he purred, "so we are going to be friends?"

I shrugged and looked up into his face, "We'll see."

"Ah, yes, of course."

He leaned down close to me, his face directly above mine, and I could almost feel his breath on my forehead as he playfully whispered,

"Am I no longer creepy?"

I stared up into his face, my neck aching from the angle.

"Oh no, you definitely are."

Andras stood tall again, towering over me, and laughed a deep, warm laugh. I grinned. A faint buzz came from his pocket, and he reached in to pull out his phone. He read something quickly on the screen, then slid it back into his pocket.

"And it looks like my date is here, so I'll let you get back to your mates, and I'll see you around?"

He grabbed his glass, brows raised as if to say, "You know how it is," and I nodded in return: yes, I did know. I knew that more than once per week, he took someone home with him, and I guess he met them here or at one of the other bars or restaurants nearby. Andras sketched a bow in jest and turned to prowl towards the front of the club, straight up to a gorgeous brunette with long, sleek hair that reached the middle of her back and full breasts that peaked and swelled out of her skin-tight black dress. The woman looked Andras up and down in approval, delighted by what she saw, as if she'd just opened a gift and it was exactly what she'd wanted. They were clearly meeting for the first time, but how? A dating app? I couldn't picture Andras swiping left or right in search of a one-night stand. What would his bio even say? "Absolutely stunning mystery man from somewhere in England will show you one wonderful night then never see you again." Ugh, is he the kind of guy who sends dick pics to women to "entice" them into meeting? Gross. I shook the image out of my head.

I gathered up the drinks I'd ordered and the ones Andras had ordered for me—minus the one I practically guzzled at the bar while chatting with him. Five glasses balanced among long, thin fingers spread wide and hooked in strange directions around them. Sam and Sebastian, the bastards, watched me precariously balance the drinks and navigate the crowd with morbid delight. It was as if they'd made a bet on whether or not I'd make it back without dumping the whole lot down the front of my shirt. I narrowed my eyes into tiny slits at them, which made Sam's smile widen. I stole a glance or two of Andras and his beautiful date, already cozied up at a booth near the stage. Damn, he moved fast. He was leaning into her, smiling lazily as he whispered something into her ear that she seemed to be eating up. Good for her.

When I reached my table, Sebastian and Sam quickly relieved me of the drinks that were cramping up my hands, offering teasing bits of praise while I jokingly scowled at them. They each pulled a drink towards themselves and—as if they'd choreographed it—leaned forward eagerly like two co-conspirators waiting for crucial intel.

"Who's the hot guy?" Sebastian demanded, turning to look behind him, towards Andras and his date.

"Stop staring!" I ordered, sliding onto my chair. "And that? That's Andras. He just moved into my neighborhood. We met the other night and—".

"Danny, he's fucking gorgeous!" Samantha interrupted, tracking Andras like a cheetah stalking prey as he made his way back to the bar again, no doubt to order a drink for his date, who was now sitting solo, scrolling on her cell phone in the booth.

"Yeah, he is," I mumbled. "But he's almost too hot, right? He definitely knows it. Just look at how he's prowling over to the bar like some kind of dark God." Sebastian, Sam, and I all studied him. "It's annoying."

Andras's head whipped towards us, and I went still. His eyes immediately shot to mine and held for a moment. He smirked. And winked. As though he'd heard us talking about him over the music and the murmuring crowd. I shook my head at him then turned my attention back to my friends.

Samantha's eyes were wide, full of delight and intrigue, "Did he just look at you and wink?"

"Yeah. Almost like he heard me, but that would be impossible. I think it was just really obvious that we were gaping at him."

"Well, there's no way he heard us. What is he, a bat? But he definitely turned to look at you," Sebastian waggled his eyebrows playfully.

Samantha tilted her head, "You can't just be friends with someone who looks like that and remain faithfully married, Danny. It's scientifically impossible. Your vagina is going to detach from your body and seek him out like a…what's that ugly fish that you wouldn't stop talking about a few months ago? A male," she chewed her nail for a beat, then slapped the table, "Angler fish! The one that attaches to the other one and–"

I interrupted, "I get it."

She waved a hand dismissively.

"So if you're not going to fuck him, I will. Introduce me."

I huffed a laugh and briefly considered telling them that I was filing for divorce. But I didn't want to talk about it or think about it. I wanted to have fun, to feel joyful, to find release, not grieve or mourn or explain my heartache and fear. Tonight was about letting go.

"I am friends with Bash," I said, angling my head toward Sebastian, who chuckled at my compliment, "and despite his terrible personality, he's pretty easy on the eyes." He absolutely was. Sebastian was classically stunning, tall, muscular, with an angular face. "And yeah, I'll introduce you next time."

Sebastian held his glass in the air, "To a beautiful night with beautiful people and their terrible personalities."

Samantha and I raised our glasses to meet Sebastian's. We exchanged loving glances and sang "CHEERS!" in unison, the glasses clinking together.

A stage light beamed onto the silks. A man in a tweed three-piece suit stepped up to the microphone in the center of the room, "Ladies and Gents, Scarlett!" He gestured to the center of the floor. Applause erupted in the room as a woman in a silver, sequined bodysuit appeared behind him, bowed, and began her ascent up the lustrous fabric. I casually scanned the room for Andras, but he must have left because the booth was empty and no sight of the gorgeous woman he'd been with either. I bet they were at his house by now, and the woman was slowly peeling off his perfectly tailored trousers and springing free his giant cock—it had to be huge, given his swagger—and I could almost feel what it would be like to be her, to straddle him, my thighs hugging his hips. I raised my arms in the air and stretched my back to clear my head and the images there. Well, good for her. Good for him. At least somebody is getting it tonight because I certainly wasn't. Steven was somewhere in Asia, and even if he were home...we were too distant, too…broken. For that. Loneliness seeped into my bones, and my heart hurt. Dread and icy uncertainty crashed like a seaside storm in my chest, anxiety flooded every inch of my body, and I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. I focused hard on the table and tapped my fingers against my thighs: five, four, three, two, one.

Sebastian slid out of his chair to stand next to me, gently slipping his arm around my shoulders and resting his chin on top of my head.

He whispered, "You look like you've gone somewhere else, honey, like you're in pain. I love you. What do you need?"

I sunk back into him, reaching up with my right arm and hooking it around his thick, tattooed neck.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Sam leaned forward from where she sat and mouthed, "Love you," her aqua eyes glistening a little. Then she sat back in her chair, still searching my face, looking into my eyes. Her chest rose and fell for a heartbeat before she reached for her drink.

My phone vibrated against the table. I lazily unwound myself from Sebastian to check the screen, just in case it was something about my little ones. Instead, it was a message from Kim, the PTA mom from earlier in the night, that read, "Okay, dish. Who was the hottie at the bar that you looked so cozy with?"

"Uuugh," I groaned.

By morning, every parent I'd ever met within a fifty-mile radius of The Forest Excelsior School would be gossiping about me talking with Andras at the bar, just like the game of telephone we all played as kids. Every person would add their own flair and embellishments. It would start with, "Danny talked with this gorgeous man at the bar, I wonder who he is," then turn into "Danny is having a full-fledged affair with a South American Drug Lord and has run off to Jamaica to marry him." Of course, I could tell Kim the truth–that Andras was just my neighbor and I didn't even know him. But I was attracted to him, and we'd been talking for at least fifteen minutes, something that would be noticeable to anyone, especially someone like Kim, who lived for scandal. At one point, he'd been inches from my face, and I'd stared up into those luminous blue eyes, inhaling his scent as if it were cocaine. Trying to defend myself or minimize it would make it worse. Once Bethany found out—and she would find out—that bitch was going to have a heyday.

Sebastian gently removed the phone from my hand, a low laugh escaping him as he read the message. I shot him a look.

"This will be fun," he shrugged.

I exhaled loudly. He showed Sam, who groaned and said,

"Oh, God. I hate them,"

While Sebastian and Sam didn't have children, they knew the game. We'd all gone to the same private school together; we all had similarly performative, dysfunctional families. We all knew what the gossip train looked and felt like. I slid my phone back into my purse.

"I'll deal with it tomorrow. Maybe let's just have one more drink? Or ten?"

Sebastian winced, "Don't go all Moms Gone Wild on us, honey. You can not show up hungover at your mother's tomorrow. She will eat you alive."

"She won't kill me. I don't think."