“Why? Do drunken has-beens from high school tend to tip well?” I quip, sounding a little more jaded than I intend to.
“Actually, no. You’d be surprised how regret and bitterness inspires cheapness in people,” he says as he wipes the zinc bar with a towel and nods at a man dressed in an expensive charcoal suit who sits three bar stools over. I recognize him as Patrick Sanders, former science club geek who earned a full scholarship to MIT, and then went on to start his own biotech company. I smile and give a small wave before looking away, not wanting him to take it as an invitation to join me. I wasn’t ready to explain why I was one of the few unmarried, childless people here. I drain the rest of my vodka and soda and swish the ice cubes around. I could use about ten more of these.
Patrick orders a Jack and Coke and I watch him sip it greedily. Maybe he’s as nervous as I am. I watch him glance around the crowd, tugging at the knot of his silk tie, a distant look in his eyes. Could his past be gnawing at him as much as mine?
When I received the invitation to the reunion, I’d immediately tossed it into the trash. But then Rachel had called—talking a mile a minute. What was I going to wear? Who was I nervous to see? Wouldn’t it be fun to be there together? When I didn’t respond, I could hear her inhale deeply. And then in a voice that didn’t even sound like hers, she’d said that everything wasn’t always about me. I was surprised not only by her attack—which came out of nowhere—but by how much the words had stung. Still sting.
I thought about what going would mean, the unhappy memories that would try to surface, the emotions I’d have to fend off. In my day-to-day life it was easy not to think about my lack of a family, but being in a room full of people I’d known twenty years ago—people who had other halves and cars with more than two seats—would force me to focus on it. But then I thought about Rachel and all of our shared memories. Even though it was the last place on Earth I wanted to be, I told her I’d RSVP yes. She’s my best friend and that’s what we do; she would’ve done the same for me. At least I hope so.
“Ready for another?” The bartender nods toward my empty glass and I can’t help but stare a beat too long at his deep brown eyes, sun-kissed skin, and sandy blond hair. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think there was a surfboard behind the bar.
“Only if you tell me your name. And the real reason why you love these events,” I say playfully. Patrick hears me and gives me a sideways glance, probably wondering why I’m hitting on a guy half my age, even though he looks like the type who takes out girls so young it prompts people to wonder Is that his date or his daughter?
The bartender begins a long pour of the Belvedere. “My name is Brian,” he says as he slides the cocktail across the bar expertly. “And I love these events because it brings out the best and worst in people. Want to truly see inside someone? Shadow them at their high school reunion.”
I take a long sip of my drink. “Do you really believe that?”
He leans in close. “See that guy over there?” he whispers, bobbing his head in the direction of Patrick. “He has everything. Multimillionaire, private airplane, trophy wife. He runs a Fortune 500 company. He could buy and sell every person here.”
“So?” I whisper back.
“So, he’s downing his drink like it’s water because he’s worried about what you and everyone else he went to high school with will think. That he’s still the nerd that the head cheerleader rejected, the guy the football players bullied.”
“Are you sure you just haven’t been watching too many reruns of Gossip Girl?” I snort and cover my mouth quickly, hoping no one else heard. “Besides, how would you get all that from serving him one drink?”
“You’d be surprised what I know,” he says seductively.
I’m about to ask him what he knows about me when a couple walks up, the man impatiently waving a twenty at Brian. They survey the bar quickly and begin to whisper. Are they talking about me?
Not wanting to know the answer, I turn my back to them and scan the room, taking in my classmates. Some look exactly the same. Others, much older. I shudder at the thought that someone in this room could be judging me and my choice to wear a cranberry red minidress, instead of a nondescript pantsuit, like most of the women here.