2 #2
“I—I mean,” I stumble, “I’ll bring it just in case, but I’m sure I won’t have to use it.
It’s just that I’m the lead on a really important matter at the firm right now so I can’t exactly be unreachable.
But the party is my priority.” I look straight at Andy, who’s still not meeting my gaze. “This is my priority. I swear.”
This time, Sophie picks up on the tension and leaps into action. She’s sweet as pie, but her conversational skills are a bit like a gas—expanding to fill all the available space.
“Lia, do you need any help picking up supplies?” she asks.
“I’m more than happy to grab alcohol and snacks and stuff.
Or we could brainstorm the list together and then divide and conquer, if you want.
Or honestly maybe it would be fun to do a shopping trip together, even though it would take more time.
I could do next weekend if that works for you? I also might have—”
Amelia cuts her off. “You’re not getting supplies for your own bachelorette party.”
“Yeah, Sophie,” I say. “We have more than enough hands between the two of us, plus Nolan if we need backup. You’re good.”
Amelia’s head swivels towards me. “And who said you’re invited on this shopping trip?”
“Andy did,” I say. “When he asked me to be his best man.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but for once seems to realize I’m right. Or maybe it’s just her allegiance to my brother’s wishes that has her mouth snapping shut.
And you know what’s fucked up? I’m a little disappointed. I feel robbed of her latest piece of scathing vitriol.
But then my eyes flash over to Andy, hand running through his hair, still visibly uncomfortable, and I know she was right to drop it.
“Okay. Here,” Amelia says, reaching a hand out. “Give me your phone and I’ll add myself. I’ll text you with my shopping schedule and if you’re free you can come.”
“You’ll text me with your shopping schedule? We’re planning this together, Amelia. It’s great that you have a vision but—”
She cuts me off. “Give me the phone now, argue with me later.”
“Yeah, and enough logistics!” Sophie says as I hand over my phone. “Let’s just have fun tonight. Do you guys want to play a drinking game? Owen, have you ever played Shuttle Launch?”
My “I don’t think so?” is buried by Amelia’s “Oh my God.” and Andy’s “When would he have played Shuttle Launch?” and Nolan’s “Great idea, Soph! I’ll get the first round.”
“Of course you will,” Andy says to Nolan. “And it’s definitely not because you want to talk to the bartender again.”
Nolan blushes but doesn’t refute it as he walks off.
“What’s Shuttle Launch?” I ask, unsure if their unanimous excitement is a good or bad sign.
“It’s a game,” Amelia says unhelpfully as she hands back my phone with her contact information input. “You’ll catch on.”
“Everyone still good on beer?” Nolan bellows from the bar. We reply with nods and thumbs up. There’s a pink-haired woman across the countertop from him looking unimpressed by this entire affair.
“I mean, I got that it’s a game,” I say. “But what are the rules?”
“You’ll see,” Sophie says, and the fact that even sweet Sophie is in on whatever this is makes it feel increasingly like an ambush.
The bar is getting more packed by the minute, and I would bet my bottom dollar not all of these kids are twenty-one. The light from the BIG BUCK HUNTER machine starts strobing aggressively, punctuated by the war cry, “Got ‘em all!”
“Starter shots,” Nolan says as he places small glasses in front of us. They smell like syrup and cinnamon. Fireball. Jesus Christ… I may only be two years older than Andy, but that difference feels like a generational gap when I’m staring down this bottom-shelf liquor.
I try to brush off the shots with an “Oh, I’m okay—” but the rest of them are already chanting.
“Three… Two… One… Liftoff!”
They throw back their shots, then slam the glasses onto the table, Sophie on the leading edge, me a beat behind as I give in to the peer pressure.
A fresh horde of frat boys files into the table next to us, the sounds of buckshot still echoing off the walls.
The air is already sticky and only getting worse.
“Penalty three to Owen,” Nolan declares.
Andy explains, “That means take three drinks from your beer.”
“What?” My eyes race between them, desperate to find an ally and coming up empty. “Why?”
“You were the last to finish the shot,” Sophie says, then announces, “Flight crew role call: youngest to oldest.”
Amelia goes first, saying, “Pilot.”
Sophie: “Commander.”
Nolan: “Mission Specialist.”
Andy: “Obviously I’ll take Engineer.”
Then four sets of eyes turn to me. “Do I just make up a role for myself or—?”
Nolan cuts me off with a slap to the back. “That makes you Payload, my man.”
“Tough luck,” Amelia says with a sparkling wink before turning back to the rest of the group. “Round One. Rule Two. Easy mode. This is one small step for man, and—”
Sophie, Nolan, and Andy simultaneously yell, “One giant leap for mankind!”
Everyone turns toward Sophie for some fucking reason, and she says, “Tie to Nolan, he finished first.”
Sophie and Andy clink their beers together then each take a drink. My head is spinning and I’m still dead sober.
“That’s three to you, Owen,” Nolan explains. “One for each of them, plus your own.”
“The fuck?”
My eyes dart between their faces, landing back on Nolan’s in the hope he’ll take pity on me, but he only proffers the explanation of: “Payload.”
The entire experience is disorienting. Has it really been so long since I’ve played a drinking game that they’ve devolved this much? I guess it would be since law school… six years ago now. Yikes. And I get the sense that this drinking game is unique to the four people sitting next to me.
There’s nothing for it. Not wanting to stick out in this group any more than I already do, I raise my beer to my lips and take three big gulps.
Amelia says, “Round Two. Rule Three. Special Mission.”
Nolan—the Mission Specialist, evidently—thinks for only a second before yelling, “Voyager!”
Nolan, Sophie, and Amelia bolt up from their seats, scrambling through the hoard of sweaty strangers towards the bar’s front door. They each slap a hand on it and it’s hard to tell who was first, but when they get back Sophie declares Amelia the winner.
“Commander Lindell,” Amelia says to Sophie while nodding sideways towards me and Andy. “Can we please get some penalties for the two deserters?”
“Great idea, Pilot Mercado,” Sophie says. “One penalty drink to each, on top of their standard punishment.”
Andy puts up no argument, raising the beer to his lips as he says, “I hate the Voyager mission.”
“Wait.” My patience is fraying again. “A penalty drink on top of the standard punishment? What?”
“One drink each for losing the mission,” Sophie explains. “One for the penalty. Plus your three for Payload.”
“My three for Payload? So you’re telling me I’m the only one that has to take five drinks right now? What the actual fuck is this game?”
Amelia leans over to touch my forearm. “Don’t get hysterical, babyboy.”
I’m too stunned to reply.
“Refills?” Andy asks—I guess that’s what the Engineer does?—then jumps to his feet without waiting for our answers.
“Thank you, Engineer Walsh!” Sophie calls after him as he crosses to the bar. Amelia doesn’t wait for him to return to continue.
“Round Three. Rule One. Ready, set, go!”
They each slap a hand to their forehead, showing a number of fingers between one and three.
I am, once again, a beat behind, cautiously lifting my arm with two fingers extended.
With Andy away at the bar, my eyes flash to Sophie’s number (three), then Nolan’s number (one), before turning to the woman next to me, the two fingers on my forehead a mirror to her own.
“Looks like I have my mission partner,” Amelia says.
My answering expression is the slow, meandering eyeroll of a defunct baby doll. “What fresh hell is this?”
“Just a shot,” Amelia says with a smile.
“Another shot? Guys, I drove here.”
“And you’ll be Ubering home,” Andy replies, setting down five more beer cans on the table.
“Engineer Walsh,” Nolan says with a salute—his sign of thanks.
“The shots too, Andy,” Amelia says, gesturing between herself and me.
“Coming right up.”
“Don’t forget it’s two for Owen!” she calls towards his back, and I can’t help but throw my hands in the air. I can barely keep track of what’s happening in this whirlwind, but I heard that much.
“Okay, now I know you guys are fucking with me.”
But Nolan grabs me by the shoulders, rotating me to meet his eyes with complete earnestness as he says, “Payload is an important job, Owen. We couldn’t complete this mission without you.”
This whole charade is so far beyond ludicrous that it’s done a full circle and I’m almost… having fun?
I rub a hand over my beard, trying to hide the smile that the alcohol is pulling forward. “I mean, fuck it. I’m already in this deep. Might as well enjoy the ride.”
“Attaboy!” Nolan says as he shakes my shoulders.
The room briefly tilts, the drinks hitting me faster than I expected. This must be why they’re all taking such tiny sips.
“Careful with our Payload, Nolan,” Andy says, fresh shot glasses clinking against the sticky wooden table. “He’s got a job to do.”
“Owen and Lia,” Sophie says, “take your positions.”
I stand from my chair and move into the aisle next to our table, following Amelia’s lead as she elbows frat boys out of her way, carving a space for us. Sophie’s guiding hand is on my elbow, urging me forward to face the brown-eyed siren.
“Pilot Mercado,” Sophie says in her role as Commander, “you administer first because I don’t trust you and he deserves a chance to retaliate.”
“Retaliate?” My head twists to face Sophie. “What do you mean ‘retaliate’?”
“What’s the matter, Owen?” Amelia teases. “You scared?”
“Yes!” I say shamelessly. “I’ve been sentenced to about five standard drinks in fifteen minutes. So yes, I’m scared.”
“Nolan,” Sophie says, ignoring my desperation, “will you please teach Payload Walsh the sacred words?”