Page 50 of The First Kind of Love
After the initial shock wears off, the rest of us engage in a scholarly discussion about whether Lila’s a criminal, or her “friends” are criminally insane.
“There’s no way she communicated with the dead,” Gage says matter-of-factly. “The risk of possession is too high.”
We all look at him with a collectivewhat the fuck?expression.
“What? I’ve watched every season ofGhost Adventures.”
“I don’t know Lila’s friends, but that seems like something so specific that it has to be true,” Josie muses, peeking over our group huddle to try and read the blonde’s steel-tight visage.
Bristol nods in agreement. “She told me once about a run-in with the police, but she didn’t go into a lot of detail.”
“I know Lils. She doesn’t believe in the paranormal. There’s no way she would’ve sat through a séance,” Aeris adds through a jumble of slurred words. She’s all starry-eyed, and her head is so high in the clouds that I’m not sure she even realizes she’s one too many drinks off the ground. I really hope for her sake that we get this right.
After we break from the circle, Gage authorizes himself as the speaker, saying with (maybe too much) confidence what the lie is.
“You’ve never spoken to the dead before.”
Chest puffed, a self-satisfied grin unfurling over his lips, you’d think he just saved us all from a future hangover. But Lila snort-laughs into her hand.
“I didn’t break my ankle because the police were chasing me for public urination. I broke my ankle because they were chasing me for indecent exposure. I flashed my tits at an oncoming car,” she reveals.
“Did any of them crash?” Cali asks, impressed.
“Those fuckers better have if they took a single look at my fiancée’s chest,” Bristol growls.
Lila pats him comfortingly on the shoulder like one would calm a rabid rottweiler, and all the tension in his upper body practically melts on contact. “Don’t worry. You get them all to yourself for the rest of our lives.”
Gage shifts the subject. “Wait, you’ve talked to the dead?”
Lila shrugs. “According to the psychic I forced my parents to take me to when I was seven, yes. My childhood cat, Mrs. Whiskers, passed away from old age, and I was convinced that I could communicate with her on the other side. But now that I think about it, I don’t think Mrs. Whiskers said, ‘I’m at peace, Mother. Do not worry about me, for I have found sunlight in the passing storm and will dance in the rain as it baptizes my earthly sins.’”
I can’t help but speak up, my tone undercut with a blend of wariness and repugnance. “And someone…used your toothbrush as a…”
“Yes, my dear Shiloh, yes.”
Lila leaves it at that, and I’m grateful that she doesn’t go into more detail.
Everyone begrudgingly drinks from their glasses, and Hayes offers to drink twice the amount so that Aeris can start sobering up. With my lips to the rim, I brace myself and throw back a hefty swig, a tumbleweed of fire rolling down my gullet and making me grimace. It’s vodka. Top-shelf. And I’m about to regret arriving on an empty stomach.
Hayes spins the bottle with minimal effort, watching it fly at hyper speed in a clockwise direction. Damn those hockey wrists.
While the crowd lingers over the Wheel of Misfortune, the neck slowly seesaws between Drunk Charades and Spill YourGuts before ultimately coming to a standstill on the latter. I have no idea what that entails, but it can’t be good.
Gage sucks his teeth. “Oof, tough break, buddy. You either answer a question, or you have to eat the mystery food we have prepared in the kitchen.”
“Mystery food? Please. I have to text you pictures of groceries. The craziest thing you have cooked up back there is watered-down protein powder,” Hayes scoffs.
“Whatever you say.”
Gage pulls a card out from God knows where, brandishes it with the flair of a game show presenter, then clears his throat in an exaggerated manner. “What sound does your partner make when they orgasm? And please imitate it.”
Yikes.
There’s a domino effect of winces, and Hayes is shooting red laser beams out of his eyes, looking like he’s a second away from squashing GageTom and Jerry-style.
Do I think Gage may have rigged the game by choosing the most invasive and inappropriate question to ask? Possibly.
“I’m not answering that, dipshit,” he snaps.
