Page 65 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
The women laugh. There’s rock and roll on in here instead of holiday music, which I appreciate. A bunch of the ugly sweater crowd is dancing.
“We really are kidding,” says Ginny. “We make jokes about killing childrenafterwork so we don’t accidently make themduringwork. It’s an elaborate coping mechanism.”
“That’s smart,” I say and take another long drink.
Ginny and Gabby ask me what I do, and I tell them about Art of the Brand. Then they ask me where I went to high school because where you went to high school is a big deal in Baltimore, like fiefdoms in ancient Europe. Alcohol enters my bloodstream and it feels like nostalgia. I’d forgotten how fun bars can be.
“So, what’s the deal with your brother?” Ginny asks.
The three women laugh again, like this is an inside joke. Gabby slaps Ginny’s arm.
“What? I’m just curious. I’m a curious lady.”
“You mean, how did he get so ugly?” I ask.
“Exactly!” says Ginny.
“The poor guy,” says Gabby. “Having to go through life with that hideous face.”
“And those terrible arms,” says Ginny.
“A mix-up at the hospital maybe,” I say. “It’s a family mystery.” When I remind Ginny and Gabby that Cal is married they boo me.
We talk about how it’s supposed to finally turn cold overnight and how the Ravens will absolutely lose in the upcoming playoffs because they were scientifically engineered in a lab to break our hearts. I go back to the bar for more gin and tonics for Meredith and me and beers for Ginny and Gabby. When we finish those drinks, Ginny’s and Gabby’s eyes meet across the table.
“Well, that’s it for me,” says Ginny.
Gabby sets her empty glass down with authority. “Me, too!”
Meredith is shocked. “What? You wimps!”
“I can’t wrap presents hungover tomorrow,” says Gabby. “I’ll seriously die.”
“Yeah, and if I’m not home in thirty minutes my cat will spite-poop under my Christmas tree again,” says Ginny.
After brief goodbyes and a high five from Ginny, Meredith and I are alone.
We watch the crowd. A crew of girls is having a bachelorette party and dancing with the ugly sweater people. Leg Lamp is pouring a long line of shots but doesn’t seem happy about it.
“Again,” I say, “sorry about the whole booty text thing. I was texting with a friend when you texted me. Wires got crossed.”
“The hazards of digital life,” she says.
“If one of you bitches pukes, I swear to god!” shouts Leg Lamp, and Meredith and I laugh.
“I’m glad you could come out and experience this holiday ambiance with me,” she says.
“Me, too. Thanks for asking me.”
“I’ll be honest, though,” she says. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Really?” I ask, even though I wouldn’t have bet on me, either.
She touches her glasses. “Inviting you out was me daring myself. Cal made it sound like you’re…well, like you haven’t been going out much.” She bites her lip. Her cheeks are flushed from the drinks and the heat of this place. “Same here, mostly,” she says. “I took one of those personality tests at my old job. Turns out I’m an introvert who can pretend to be an extrovert when necessary for social or professional gain.”
I laugh and drink the last of the gin that’s coating my ice cubes. “I took it, too.”
“Yeah? And?”
