Chapter 10 The Proposal Story
I didn’t get many days at home by myself during the week, so today was a pleasant exception that I’d been taking full advantage of. That was until my sister threw open the front door and gave me a clear and regrettable indicator of how the rest of my day was about to go.
“Why do people have to be such colossal dumbasses all the time?”
I stopped cutting my apple—carefully—and gave all of my attention to my sister who was now leaned up against the front door, eyes closed. “Rough day at work?”
She didn’t answer me right away. Monica stayed against the door, breathing to calm herself with a briefcase still gripped in her hand. After a few moments, her brightly shaded brown eyes found mine across the room.
“I need a drink.”
“Say no more.”
I got to work making Monica a drink, using it as an opportunity to practice my skills even on my day off. Too much practice was never a bad thing.
Seconds after putting the finishing touches on her Gin and Tonic, the glass was being pulled out of my hand and right up to Monica’s mouth. I watched her, slightly worried but mostly impressed, as the drink went from full to empty in less time than it took to make the darn thing.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
The glass clanked on the counter as she set it down, shaking her head. “No. I just wanna get stupid drunk and forget today ever happened. Get dressed and be ready in an hour. We’re going out.”
Protest swelled within my chest, hoping this would be easy to get out of.
“I really don’t feel like going out tonight, Mon.”
“Oh, come on, you need a night like this just as much as I do, if not more.” She lifted the bottle of gin up, with the cap already unscrewed, and tipped it back against her lips.
“I was gonna make some calls and workout and try to go to bed early. You know, be a responsible adult?” Unlike you currently.
Monica set the bottle back down after taking her swig, her face bunching up as she forced the alcohol down. “Being responsible is boring. Be fun with me for just one night, okay?”
“But I have—”
“You really don’t get a choice in the matter. You’re coming with me if you’re dressed to go or not. So, make your calls. Do whatever you have to do, but be ready to leave in an hour.”
And then she left to her room, the bottle of gin tucked under her arm as she went.
Great.
I really didn’t want to go out tonight, let alone go along with whatever drunken escapade Monica had in mind. But with Monica, I knew if she demanded you do something, you always ended up doing it.
Every fiber of my being regretted tonight already as I dragged myself into my bedroom and reluctantly pieced together an outfit to wear. I wanted to stay home in my comfy sweatpants, and I really didn’t want to put a bra on.
Days off were braless days and glorious for that reason alone.
Still, I did as Monica wanted and forced myself to put on a thin layer of make-up, brush my hair out and eventually, put on a stupid freaking bra.
I was ready to go in less than half an hour and ended up with a bit of free time on my hands while I waited for Mon to finish getting ready. During that time, I bit the bullet and called that dance studio I’d passed—AIM—and signed up for one of their classes.
My body was beginning to cave in on my resilience to stay away from dance, and each day it was more obvious than the last. Every day I wasn’t dancing, I wasn’t being true to myself, and I knew that deep down past my dwindling loyalty to my studio in New York.
Oddly enough, the woman who picked up the phone had heard of me and told me I had one of my old dance teachers back in New York to thank for that. Maria Taliani. I smiled as she said the familiar name, happy to still have some friends in my corner back home.
The woman over the phone offered to set me up with a tour of the studio to see if it and I were a good fit for each other, and then we could go from there.
She even knew I was taking part in the December competition and said if all went well, I could use their studio to practice as long as I used their studio’s name to compete under.
As I hung up the phone, my brain worked slowly to process what just happened. Was it possible that I hit a stroke of good luck—finally? After weeks and months of failing left and right, I’d finally hit my quota of bad luck for the year and stumbled onto something good?
“Uber’s here! Let’s go!”
Monica came waltzing out of her bedroom and down the hallway. Her short, flared black dress contrasted my baby pink one almost perfectly. We looked like total opposites tonight and not at all like sisters.
Her make-up, dress, and pinned up hair were all dark.
My blonde hair and short pink dress, though skin-tight, made me look as innocent as a babe.
The only thing we had in common tonight were our strappy black heels and DNA.
Monica stumbled just a bit towards the door, and already that alarm of worry went blaring off inside of me, telling me that tonight was a bad idea before it even began. Regardless, I tuned out the warning bells and followed Monica out the door and into a night I’d surely regret.
* * *
Monica took me to a club.
She took me to a fucking club, and never before had a situation felt more deserving and appropriate to use the big F bomb.
I hated clubs and always had. There were too many people, the music was too loud, and it was always stuffy and hot and smelled faintly like sewage. At least, that had been my experience with the clubs in New York.
Seconds after walking into this club, I took in my surroundings and came to two conclusions.
One, there were just as many people as I feared there would be, bodies everywhere dancing and grinding and falling down on the dance floor.
The second thing I noticed, much to my delight, was that the smell in here wasn’t half as assaulting as the ones back in New York.
Take what you can get, I guess.
“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” Monica yelled over the music, disappearing into the masses of bodies before I could even respond.
I found us a spot off to the side, more towards the back where some random booths and tables were situated, and sent Monica a quick text to tell her where I was. The seat beneath me vibrated to each beat of the base as the music jammed on with some random pop song that I didn’t recognize.
Thankfully, the music wasn’t as loud back here, so when Monica finally showed up with two cherry colored drinks in her hands, we could actually hear each other enough to carry on a conversation.
“Here ya go. My treat. Consider it payment for coming out tonight when I know you didn’t want to.”
Grabbing the drink she offered to me from her hand, I frowned up at her.
“It’s not that I didn’t want to come. I just had an easy night planned is all. But this is good, too!”
She pursed her lips, doubt carved into her features. “You’re a terrible liar, and you always have been.”
“Listen, not all of us can do it for a living, okay?”
Monica openly blanched at me, her lips stretching wide in shock but humor alight in her eyes. “Wow, tell me how you really feel about my job, why don’t ya?”
I shrugged with a grin. “I’m just sayin’.”
“Not all lawyers are liars. The good ones turn the lies into new truths if you ask me,” she said with a sly wink.
“That must get tricky having your fiancé also be a lawyer. Unless you’re saying he’s a bad one.” Letting out a small laugh, I found the tiny straw of my drink with my tongue and kept my eyes on Monica.
“Eh, he’s technically not a lawyer yet. Plus, I’m not sure he’s gonna have what it takes to make it as a lawyer anyway.”
“What?” That definitely came as a surprise.
“Yeah, he’s…” Monica squinted her eyes together, like she was trying to find the pattern of words she wanted to say as if they were hanging in front of her. “Soft.”
“Uh, nothing about him looks very soft .”
Her stare swiveled over to mine, appreciation glazing her expression. “You’ve noticed, huh?”
“Kind of hard not to. He’s built like a freaking lumberjack.”
For just a moment, I recalled back to Ethan and I at the axe throwing place and how I’d called him a lumberjack then, too. The muscles in my cheeks tried to move into a smile at the memory, but I refrained.
“Yeah, he’s stupid hot. But he’s got too much heart, ya know?”
I sucked in a breath to answer her with, but she cut me off. “And I know that doesn’t sound like a bad thing, and it isn’t! As a partner in life, it’s undoubtedly a good trait to have. As a lawyer, though? He’s gonna get eaten alive.”
Part of me wanted to comment, but really, I had no idea what to say.
“You know, you never actually told me the story of how he proposed,” I said to change the subject.
“Oh, god,” she groaned. “I’m gonna need another drink if we’re gonna talk about that.” Monica flagged down a bartender who’d been walking around, successfully ordering us two more drinks.
“Why? Is it a bad story?”
“No, it’s just…” She sighed, coming forward in her seat and bringing the last of her drink to her lips. “It’s just embarrassing to tell my little sister.” And then she threw back the rest of her drink.
Confusion and—I’ll admit—an absurd amount of curiosity came to life inside my brain as I tried to guess what could possibly be so embarrassing about a proposal story. Monica was not someone who embarrassed easily.
“Okay, well now you have to tell me.”
“Do I have to?” she whined.
“Absolutely. Spill.”
It was at that moment that our next two drinks arrived, and we each took our own, handing our empty drinks to the bartender.
“All right, now that I’ve got a bit more of my liquid courage,” she began, sucking down a good half of her new beverage in another stint of impressive timing. “First thing I’m going to say before going into this story is—don’t tell Mom and Dad. Got it?”
“Have I ever been a snitch?”
Monica’s eyes widened as she pointed an accusing finger right at me. “When I was a Junior, you got me busted for smoking in the house!”