“Do we care? Anyway, you’re leaving soon, and nobody here really knows who you are anyway.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Do it. Show ’em that pitching arm.”
I didn’t appreciate how close he was standing to me. It was really hard to have finally realized how I felt about him, and then see him walk in with someone else.
“It’s not a pitching arm,” I said, trying to move away a little. “First base, remember?”
Conor put his fingers around my arm, completely encircling it. “Definitely not a pitcher’s arm. A little too skinny for that.”
“Not skinny,” I said, brushing at a crumb on my wrist. “Toned.”
“Right. Toned.” He grinned. “You’re all about the toned. Or is it tonedness?”
“I think it’s tone-ocity,” I said. I finished the snowball and dabbed at my mouth.
“Tenacity, maybe. Look out, you missed a couple.” Conor reached out and brushed a coconut flake off my mouth. He was standing really close to me.
I thought, No fair. No fair doing that to me. Didn’t you come with someone else?
But for that matter, didn’t I?
“Thanks,” I said. I flagged down the server who was passing us and managed to get a glass of punch. Conor took one, as well.
I felt like I should make a toast. It wasn’t New Year’s Eve, but this party felt as if we’d all start singing “Auld Lang Syne” at the drop of a hat. Or a glass of punch.
“Well, cheers,” I said as I tapped my glass against Conor’s.
“What are we toasting?” he asked.
I adjusted the wrap on my shoulders, which had slipped a little. “To spring?”
He laughed. “Why would you want spring?”
“I don’t know.” I gazed around the room, looking for Sean. I couldn’t believe we’d come together; I hadn’t seen him in at least twenty minutes. I wondered if it was the same for Conor and his date. “Maybe I’ve been here long enough,” I said.
“I disagree,” Conor said. “Respectfully and all, but still.”
“Respectfully? That’s not like you.” I looked over at him and smiled.
“Well, on second thought, maybe you have been here long enough,” Conor said, frowning.
I was about to ask him what he meant by that when two things happened. One, Sean appeared at my side, sliding his arm around my waist. Two, about three girls came over and said, “Hey Conor, want to dance? Come on. You’re dancing.”
“Sounds great,” Conor said loudly as they pulled him out onto the dance floor.
“Where have you been?” Sean asked.
“Uh…right here?” I said as I watched Conor and the girls laughing and dancing together and my stomach did somersaults. “What about you?”
“I’ve been here the whole time,” Sean said. “Well, some of the guys went outside for a while. And then Kevin was showing us around the place.”
It’s called a date, I thought, irritated. Look into it! Didn’t he realize that I would know nobody here, and therefore he should look after me?
Then again, had I really missed him? Would I have been any happier if we’d spent the whole night standing side by side and not talking? At least this way one of us was having a good time.
“Anyway,” Sean said, “do you want to dance?”
“Not really, thanks,” I said.
“Come on, Kirsten. You have to,” Sean said. “We’ve hardly danced together at all.”
And whose fault is that? I thought. “Okay, sure. Let’s dance.”
As soon as we got out onto the dance floor, though, someone in the band decided it would be funny to play a slow ballad. So I awkwardly put my hands on Sean’s shoulders, and we started moving slowly around the dance floor. I wouldn’t call it dancing, exactly. Gretchen would go berserk if she could see this, I thought with a smile. All my waltzing practice gone to waste.
As we turned around, I saw Conor dancing with someone else—not the girl he came with, and not the three girls who’d pulled him onto the dance floor, but still another. What was it about these brothers? Conor was just as bad as Sean. They were chick magnets! And I for one didn’t want to end up on the family refrigerator.
“So, Sean,” I began. “You know the weekend we’re going away together? That ski trip, up north?”
“Which weekend was that again?” he asked.
We circled again, and I exchanged glances with Conor. “It’s next weekend,” I said.
“Oh. Sorry,” Sean said. “I kind of forgot.”
“No, don’t be sorry—it’s okay. It doesn’t matter if you remember. I—we’re not going,” I said.
“We’re not? Oh. Well, cool.” He waited a second and then said, “Why not?”
I hadn’t thought this through very well yet. Should I tell him the truth, or lie? He might not be my idea of the perfect guy anymore, but he’d been pretty nice to me since I got here. He should at least know how I felt.
“Well, see—”
“Excuse me. May I cut in?” Melissa tapped Sean on the shoulder.
“By all means.” I smiled at her. “Go right ahead.”
Okay, part one of the night accomplished. I’d told Sean about the weekend and he wasn’t completely heartbroken. Maybe I should be depressed about that, but I wasn’t going to bother. He’d never really been able to commit to the idea of going, anyway, and he was obviously happiest around all his friends and potential girlfriends. Maybe he wasn’t ready for just one girl yet—and if he was, it wasn’t me, because I wasn’t the girl for him, anymore than he was the guy for me. I felt badly about it, but I guess that sometimes you have to spend a lot of time with someone to find that out.
Now, for part two: Find Conor and talk to him and tell him he was right. That I couldn’t spend all the time in the world with both of them. That I had to choose. That you didn’t hang around a ton with one guy, but go away for the weekend with someone else (much less his younger brother).
I didn’t see Conor on the dance floor, but it was pretty crowded, so I waited a minute or two until the song was over. Sean and Melissa were dancing, and they looked sort of cute because he was so tall and she was so short.
When the song ended, I looked around for Conor again. Nope.
I walked around the outside of the room, past the Sno-Cone cart and all the chairs, and the clumps of people talking and laughing. I went out into the entryway, wondering if he’d left. Then I headed down the hallway toward the bathrooms, thinking I might as well fix my hair and redo my lipstick before I made my big confession. (Living with Gretchen for a month was definitely having an effect on me.)
On the way down the hall, I stopped to peek into another large room. It was a den, with tall bookshelves, dim green lights, and—
Conor.
Conor was in there talking to the girl he’d come with, and they were leaning against the desk, deep in what must be a very private conversation. Their heads couldn’t have been more than two inches apart. I was trying to decide just how bad it was when Conor turned in my direction; he must have sensed someone in the doorway.
I immediately held my tiny purse in front of my face, as if that would shield me. Then I raced back down the hallway for the front door. I grabbed my jacket from the coat check girl, threw a five-dollar bill at her for the fast service, and raced for the front door.
Unfortunately the ice sculptures in the entry had started to melt, because they were positioned right under a bright chandelier, and there was water on the hardwood floor.
So I wiped out and fell down in the middle of my dramatic exit.
As I’ve said maybe a few times before? Cursed.
A few people rushed over to see if I was all right, but I jumped up and hurried out the door.