2
Owen
I ’ve been staring at a pin drop in Google Maps for a full ten minutes, wondering if my brother actually had the balls to prank me with the wrong address.
I’m supposed to be meeting Andy and his friends at some dive bar called Marianne’s to plan his bachelor party. What I see here instead—on the corner of Comm. Ave. and Chestnut Hill, between the Dunkin and the CVS, exactly like he described—is an unmarked brick building with boarded-up windows.
Owen: Did you send me the right address
Owen: This place looks like a whitey bulger drug den
Andy: Yeah, that’s it.
Owen: You sure I’m not gonna catch a money laundering charge in there?
Owen: Conspiracy to commit something?
Owen: Surely at least racketeering
Andy: We’re in the back.
Bracing myself for a grimy and questionable experience, I pull open the dented metal door.
It’s 9:00 PM and the bar is half-full, patrons split between Boston College students in ironed polo shirts and grizzled townies who’ve presumably been drunk since noon.
My shoes stick to the floor as I walk past the chalkboard menu that reads:
Miller High Life - $2
Pbr - $2
NO FOOD
Sure enough, my brother and his three best friends are seated at a long wooden high top in the far corner, backlit by the fluorescent glare of BIG BUCK HUNTER on a nearby game machine.
“It’s hard to plan something you’ll both like,” Amelia is saying loudly, the sounds of video game buckshot flickering overhead. “Unless we want to sit inside and read, which I refuse to do for your bachelorette party.”
From her position at the table, I know she can see me approaching and is choosing to ignore me. Amelia Mercado is probably the hottest woman I’ve ever seen in my life, but also the most willful and stubborn. Not bad things inherently, until they’re directed at you.
I really fucked myself when I made an enemy of her.
I’m still not sure exactly how that happened. I mean, I know she hated when I hit on her the day we met, but this seems like more than that. She loathes me. Every word that comes out of my mouth seems to claw under her skin.
Fortunately, I’m a petty enough asshole that part of me loves it—watching her get riled up. The shocking, caustic retorts that leave her perfect lips. I’ve never been one to back down from a fight. And fighting with Amelia? That’s the Olympic Games of repartee.
“You can’t just call it a bachelorette party,” Andy’s friend Nolan says before taking a swig from his beer. “Andy’s a person too.”
“Oh, shut up and go flirt with the bartender some more,” Amelia shoots back. “There’s a slash between bachelor and ette that you just can’t see when I’m talking. It’s inclusive.”
The family resemblance between Amelia and Nolan is even more obvious than the one between me and Andy.
They’re both tall for their respective genders, with the exact same medium-brown curls and olive-tan skin.
The vast difference comes from their personalities: cold and cutting versus warm and jocular.
When I finally reach the table, Nolan is the first one to bellow, “Owen! Great to see you man.” His arms extend wide, pulling me into a bear hug, squeezing the air out of my lungs.
“H-hey Nolan,” I wheeze. “You too.”
“I got you a Pbr,” he says, gesturing to the cans on the table. “Hope that’s cool.”
“Yeah, that’s great. Thanks.”
A new song clicks onto the jukebox—something old time-y I don’t recognize. I take the only open seat at the table despite its proximity to the devil herself.
“Shocked you would deign to drink Pbr with us lowly plebeians,” Amelia sneers from my right.
I ignore her, instead looking across the table to Andy and his fiancée. “Hey, guys. Good to see you.”
“Hi!” Sophie says, jumping to her feet. “Here, I have to give you a hug.”
Andy manages a feeble, “Hey, thanks for coming,” as Sophie moves around the table to grab me around the waist. I fight to focus on Sophie’s genuine excitement so I don’t spiral about the tone of my brother’s voice.
He wanted me to be here today, right?
I mean, he made me his best man. Nobody made him do that. He could have picked Nolan instead. He definitely must want me here.
Still, even though it’s been more than a year of working to actively repair the relationship I fractured when we were younger, I can tell we’re not totally there yet. And it fucking sucks.
“You’re right on time,” Sophie says, obliviously cheerful as she retakes her seat. “We just started to brainstorm party locations. We haven’t even decided if we want to go somewhere other than Boston yet.”
It’s a small opening, but it’s something. A chance to show that I care about Andy and his happiness and this party, and I’m willing to be as involved in his life as he’ll let me.
“What about Cape Cod?” I suggest. “We used to go down there in the summer when we were kids and it was great, and I know for a fact there are tons of vacation rentals.”
“Dude, that sounds perfect!” Nolan’s enthusiasm is immediately maxed out. “We can go down for a weekend and just drink and swim and tan and drink and stuff. It’ll be so much fun.”
“You said drink twice,” Amelia says.
Nolan uses his middle finger to scratch his nose.
“I like that,” Sophie says, then turns to her right. “But whatever you want, Andy.”
“I want whatever you want.”
“Well, I want whatever you want.”
“Okay, yeah, yeah, we get it,” Amelia says. “You both just want to crawl up each other’s assholes for a weekend. I, for one, love the Cape. I could get a ton of summer-y swimsuit content while we’re there.”
I can’t contain my scoff, and the sound flips a switch in her.
“Oh sorry, Owen. Did you have something to say?”
“I was just wondering if you could maybe not make everything about you, but I already have my answer.”
Amelia’s full body spins towards me, more than ready for the fight. “Content creation is my job, dickwad. Get over yourself.”
I shrug. “We each contribute to society in our own way, I guess.”
“Yeah, remind me how you contribute to society again? Defending billionaires who got caught insider trading?”
“I work in mergers and acquisitions, Amelia. It’s not criminal court.”
“Okay! Stop!” Sophie leans across the table, putting herself in our line of sight as best she can. “Seriously you guys, enough.”
“Yeah, stop,” Andy echoes, stern eyes fixed on me. “You’re upsetting my future wife.”
“How is this my fault?” I object, then point at the succubus on my right. “She started it.”
I hate that I’ve regressed to this, barely more than a petulant child.
My brain wars with itself—tempted to be the worst version of myself to get under Amelia’s skin, but desperate to be the best version of myself in front of Andy.
When that woman is here, it’s like I have no choice in the matter.
Her sharp manicures claw into my skin and drag me down to hell.
“You’re my best man,” Andy says in answer to my question, “so you’re my problem.”
“And you’re my maid of honor,” Sophie adds towards Amelia, “and I love you, but I would really appreciate it if you could try to keep the peace.”
Nolan chimes in from his position at the head of the table. “As the wedding officiant, I’m officially telling you guys to cool it.” He looks proud of himself, which sends Amelia’s eyes rolling into outer space.
“You—” Amelia points at her brother “—go fuck yourself. You—” She points at Sophie and Andy next “—I love you, so okay.”
“Does that mean we’re in agreement about the Cape?” I ask, trying to move this show along.
“I think so,” Sophie says.
“Great.” Amelia reaches into her pocket. “I’ll pull up some rental options.”
“Any excuse to be on your phone,” I mutter.
“You know it’s funny,” she muses, “I could’ve sworn I just heard you say something that would upset the bride and groom, but that couldn’t be right, could it?”
“Absolutely not.” I lean a casual elbow on the table.
Her side-eye scorches over me—down, then up—before she refuses to dignify my words with a response. Instead, she turns back to her phone. “Okay how’s this one? It’s in Provincetown, literally a three-minute walk from the beach.”
She passes the phone to Sophie who starts swiping through photos right away. “This place is adorable. Four bedrooms, big living room, backyard space… I love it!”
The phone moves to Andy next, whose brow soon furrows into a sharp line.
“Lia, you know you have like ten texts from an unknown number?”
She snatches the phone back from him like lightning. “It’s fine. I’m sure it’s just spam.”
“It didn’t look like—”
“So that Airbnb looks good to both of you?” Amelia presses. Clearly, whatever those texts are, she doesn’t want to talk about them. “I can book it now.”
Nolan—who had also taken his phone out to research—says from his own little world, “Woah, did you guys know there used to be Vikings on Cape Cod?”
“Are we still thinking a few weeks before the wedding?” Sophie asks. “So maybe the weekend of July 7th? The weekend before will probably already be booked up for the 4th.”
Nods of agreement pass through the group before Amelia says, “Okay then I’m booking it. It’s three weeks away and I don’t want to lose this place.”
Nolan turns towards me. “You’re okay to take the long weekend, Owen? How does being a lawyer work with stuff like this? What if you have a case come up?”
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I glance down to it—a calendar invitation from Amelia with the details of the booking. Damn, she’s fast.
I look back up to Nolan, head wavering side-to-side. “My kind of work doesn’t usually require me to show up somewhere last minute. I can probably swing it as long as I bring my laptop with me.”
Amelia’s head snaps up to mine, daggers in her eyes. Across the table, Andy fidgets, looks down at his hands, anywhere but at me.
Shit.