Prologue #2
I sigh deeply. “Not enough.” I don’t bother telling them the parts I do remember, bits and pieces that have dropped into my conscious like little drops of hell.
His smile, mischievous and tender all at the same time.
The way I felt with my hand in his, safe and taken care of as we bobbled against each other in the pedicab.
The overwhelming sense of rightness that somehow clings to the spotty memories of last night, all of which are just out of reach.
I need my headache to clear. I need fresh air. I need to remember what the hell happened.
“Do you know if you got a license?”
I consider this. “Maybe?”
Kari nods. “Then go there. It’s called the Clark County Marriage License Bureau. They’re open. See what you can figure out.”
“If you want to,” Elodie offers.
Allyson cuts her a look. “Elodie.”
“Hear me out,” she responds. “If the man just up and left without leaving a note and there’s no marriage certificate around, maybe all this didn’t really happen. Maybe the ring is from one of those claw machines and it just looks real.”
“It’s not from a claw machine. Or at least, it’s not plastic. That much I can tell.” Something about the ring makes me feel…oddly peaceful? Which doesn’t make sense. I pull it off, out of the view of the camera. Then I put it back on.
Kari lowers her voice. “Do you at least remember if you two did the deed?”
I narrow my eyes at the screen and retort, “I have a picture of his dick, Kari. What do you think?”
“But do you remember?” Kari presses.
My nostrils flare. “Shut up.” We didn’t do anything. I already know it. But why, why do I have a picture of his dick?
We all go quiet for a moment, each of us thinking.
This entire thing is so out of character for me. I’m so responsible that the phrase “eldest daughter” could have been created by studying me. Except for the drinking – hence, my rule.
I twist the ring back off and study it. I broke my cardinal rule, and for what?
He left. How can I trust myself if this is the way I’m going to behave?
Maybe staying in the States isn’t the way to go, after all.
If I can’t be trusted to take a trip to Las Vegas by myself, then how can I even consider making a career for myself in this country?
Finally, I break the silence, my throat thick with emotion.
“I’ll go to the marriage license bureau. ”
Elodie’s cherubic face is the picture of concern. “Are you sure?”
I’m not sure. For the first time in a long time, I’m not sure of anything. Who wakes up in Las Vegas married and alone?
“Uh-uh,” Allyson declares, her voice strong and insistent. “None of that. We don’t walk around with a curved spine.”
Without thinking, I clear my throat, nod, and straighten. “Okay.”
“Tits up,” Kari says.
“Shoulders back,” Elodie chimes in.
I almost, almost smile as I obey them. The movements really do make me feel better, and there’s a lot to say for that.
“Now go figure your shit out,” Allyson commands.
“But wash your face first,” Kari adds.
“Make-up makes me feel better,” Elodie offers.
Moisture pricks at my eyes as I give a teary laugh. “Okay. I’ll be in touch.”
“And if you remember whether that thick dick made you come, let us know,” Kari leers.
A real laugh bursts out of me, and I couldn’t be more grateful for my best friend. “Yes, ma’am.” I toss them a silly salute, then disconnect the call. Time to figure my shit out.
Hours later, I trudge onto the plane, defeated and wanting nothing more than to go home to my crappy one-bedroom apartment in Atlanta, curl onto the couch, and ignore the world for a good seventy-two hours.
The clerk’s office was a bust, because it turns out there was a pop-up license event going on all day yesterday on the Strip, and they haven’t reconciled all the systems yet.
When I asked the woman at the desk if she could simply see if I existed in their system, she gave me a look of such pity that I wanted to yank the monitor off the desk and throw it across the room.
“Sweetie, if you don’t remember it, chances are good that it didn’t happen.” The condescension in her voice was slight, but it was there.
How many people like me does she talk to in a day? Horrified, maybe a little humiliated but trying to keep it together, willing ourselves to paste on a smile in hopes it’ll get her to press some magic button that undoes the past twenty-four hours?
I couldn’t move. Because if I moved, then I was giving up. But what else was there to do? As I stood there, pushing my thumbnail beneath my other nails in succession, the woman’s eyes flicked to the line behind me. It wasn’t subtle.
So I thanked her and left, the ring burning a hole in my jeans pocket.
I lean back and stare out the window at the desert below as the plane takes off, literally disconnecting me from the city that chewed me up and spit me out.
It’s not long before the plane flies over the Grand Canyon, and I lean back, letting myself fall into that drowsy area between sleep and wakefulness, hoping for the memories of last night to lock into place.