Chapter 28 #2
“Bzzt yourself,” James snarled, then turned back to Bowen.
“Seriously, steer clear. Love is nothing more than a weapon for the universe to use to rip your heart out and leave you sad, cynical, and alone. Maggie will just die and leave you.” He waved his hand toward Cash, “Or disappear for four years and show up still married to a loser.”
Cash chuckled under his breath, unbothered by James’s bitterness.
James gestured at me, continuing his rant. “Or marry you, steal your virginity, and then tell you she never loved you in the first place.”
Ouch.
Then he waved a hand at Theo. “Or continually choose whoever the hottest celebrity is over you, leaving you crying into your pillow on repeat.”
Theo scoffed. “I don’t cry into my pillow.”
“You do,” James said. “I’ve heard you. BJ across the street can hear you. He told me one night he almost called the police because he thought I must be secretly abusive. Even Grandma Lisa’s dog can hear you. Why do you think he starts howling every time you sob?”
Theo’s jaw dropped. “You’re a terrible best friend.” He shook his head, lips pursed. “And you just broke the bro code, you know that, right? You never out your friend if he cries. And your little tantrum slash monologue earned you a spot on the karaoke stage, mister.”
The second he finished, Bowen, Cash, and I yelled. “Bzzzzzzzt!”
Theo’s nose twitched in anger, but he clamped his mouth shut.
“I don’t care,” James declared. “Make me sing all the karaoke. Throw me in Lake A, buck naked, with chains around my ankles and drown me!” His voice rose to a shout. “Do your worst, universe! Oh, wait!” He slapped his chest with both hands, then threw his arms out wide. “You already did!”
I guffawed.
Cash flopped over, wheezing against me.
Bowen’s shoulders shook.
Theo didn’t find it funny at all. “Up, Jim-bo!” he ordered. “To the stage!”
“I’ll go,” James hunkered down in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “When I’m done getting my feelings out. But—”
“At least hold the new talking stick.” Theo thrust Bowen’s spoon at James.
James grabbed it and tossed that one over his shoulder too.
“You need to follow the rules!” Theo bellowed.
“The rules?” James bellowed right back. “Let me tell you how I feel about the rules!” He shoved a fist into the air.
“I’ve followed ‘the rules’ my whole life, and all it got me was widowed!
” He took a large gulp of his soda like it was actual liquid courage, no straw, cola spilling sloppily down the front of his shirt.
Then he slammed it back on the table, his drink splashing onto his hand.
“Screw the rules!” He jumped up and stood on his chair, pounded his chest again, and threw his arms back out.
“Screw you, Sage!” he screamed at the ceiling.
“Screw you for leaving Willow and me! I’m so angry at you!
” His voice broke, but he didn’t falter.
“But you know who I’m even angrier at? God!
That’s right. Hey, Mr. Big Guy up in the sky!
You think you’re so cool up there, just letting tragedy happen left and right down here.
Breaking everyone’s hearts and then trying to make us believe you do it out of love.
I have a thing or two to say about that! ”
The restaurant went silent—every face turned toward us.
Our waitress, who’d made no move to take our order in the last ten minutes, came jogging up.
“I’m cutting y’all off. No more drinks at this table.
” But then she took in our Dr Peppers, Cokes, and Bowen’s water with lemon.
James was still standing on his chair, shouting at God, with at least seven people filming on their phones. “He’s not drunk?” she asked, baffled.
“No, ma’am,” I said. “Duprees don’t need liquor to make rip-roaring idiots of themselves. We do that just fine on our own.”
“Well, get him down from there,” she commanded.
Bowen held up his hand and made his expression severe. “Ma’am,” he said in a deep police officer tone. “We’ve got the matter handled.”
He and Cash were up, each grabbing one of James’s arms, and lifted him up and over his chair, knocking it to the ground. They steered him toward the exit.
But James wasn’t having it. He wrenched this way and that, fighting to break free. “No! I’m not leaving here until I keep my promise and sing terrible karaoke! Unlike some people! I keep my promises!” he yelled, accidentally elbowing Cash in the face.
“Sheesh.” Cash let go, wincing. “I’d better not have a black eye.”
James sprinted for the stage, like he hadn’t nearly died three months ago, and cleared the lip with one giant leap. We followed, probably mostly to make sure we were there to put out the flames when God struck him down. Or catch him when his injuries caught up to him and he fainted.
He squatted, frantically swiping through the list of songs on the karaoke machine touchscreen. “Where is it?” His hands were shaking with anger, hurt, and all the bottled-up crap he’d been holding back all these months. “It’s gotta be here.”
Bowen bent down to help. “What’re you looking for?”
“Get back,” James snapped. “I’ll find it myself.”
I paced, hands tugging at my hair, wondering if we needed to have him committed.
“Victory!” he shouted, sounding deranged. Then he punched play on…
“Lil Boo Thang” by Paul Russell.
As the dramatic bum-ba da-da… da-da da… echoed through the room, a laugh escaped.
Sage—may she rest in peace, right after this song—had the patience of a saint.
But this little ditty? Was her villain origin story.
I think it was the term boo thang itself that made her want to “slap somebody.” But James used to amplify her discomfort every time it came on anyway.
He’d crank the volume and break out into his car dance, a routine reserved exclusively for antagonizing his wife.
The second those opening notes hit, his shoulders started shimmying, followed by a ridiculous doggie-paddle with his hands up by his head, like he was fighting for his life in invisible water.
So stupid.
But not as stupid as what he was doing now. This was no car dance. If Sage were here to see it, she would crawl under one of the tables and hide. As soon as Paul Russell started to sing, James belted the lyrics loud and proud, absolutely massacring the tune while simultaneously …
Twerking.
Emphatically.
The only thing Sage despised more than this song was somebody having “the audacity” to twerk.
Oh man, I hoped lightning did not come straight through the ceiling and strike James dead.
But I was wise enough to recognize this for what it was. Albeit insane and painfully embarrassing, this was James giving his wife and the man upstairs the middle finger for breaking his heart. And I loved my brother too much to let him go viral alone.
My brother and cousins must’ve felt the same because we traded looks, and then, at the same time, we each broke out into our own obnoxious dance.
Theo started doing the Griddy, knees bent as he bounced from foot to foot, arms taking turns tipping side to side like a bird who couldn’t decide which direction he was going.
Cash went with some kind of seductive full-body ripple, running his hands down his chest, stomach, and thighs, complete with biting his bottom lip.
Bowen and I turned, grinding butt to butt.
All of us sang as loudly and terribly as we could. Except for Cash. I don’t think that man could sing badly if he put every ounce of effort into it.
Of course, the restaurant goers hooted, catcalled, and cheered us on. And filmed. But the rhythm of the song and the laughter were contagious, and a quarter of the way through, whoever ran karaoke night cranked the volume, and most of the room made their way to the dance floor.
Halfway through, out of nowhere, my sister Sophie screamed, “Oh, heck yes!” I glanced down to see her jogging toward us.
Where had she come from? “James has finally lost his mind, and I am here for it!” She jumped onto the stage wearing a pastel plaid shirt, tight jeans, and her favorite cowgirl boots, red hair in two long braids, like she was going line dancing.
“James!” she yelled. “NKOTB!” Short for New Kids on the Block.
Immediately—because Sophie had drilled it into us like a deranged dance captain—she and James launched into what we called “The Right Stuff” dance, kicking one leg out, snapping it back in, then switching sides in perfect sync. “Bowen, Finny!” she hollered, ordering us to join.
We laughed and did as our baby sister commanded. Cash and Theo, too.
Suddenly, Charlie ran up the stage stairs, grinning. Maddie and Maggie were right behind her. Bowen caught his girlfriend around the waist, pressed a kiss to her cheek, and went right back to it. The eight of them danced in perfect synchrony.
But I just stood there scanning the crowd, hoping. Praying…
There she was. Twenty feet back. My stunning wife.
She wore a flowy, floral mini dress, light blue suede cowgirl boots, and her hair in a messy bun. At least five men watched her, mesmerized. But she didn’t even notice. She was too busy watching me. Her fingers were pressed against her lips, her mouth barely turned up into a smile.
Eyes soft and warm, just like the first night we met.