Here Lies Bridget Page 7

  Now it felt like we had nothing to say at all.

  I left my just-made and uneaten sandwich on the counter and set off to lose myself in party decorating.

  By seven o’clock, I had worked diligently to get the party set up. It was important to me that this party be perfect, that it help to reassert my reputation.

  The streamers were hung and laced through the lattices, the strings of twinkling white Christmas lights were twisted around the tree branches, the food was set up and covered, the cooler was filled and a big bucket of ice was waiting to be filled with beer.

  This party had to be amazing. Had to be big. People had to have fun. And the only way to ensure that everyone had fun was to have alcohol. Lots of it. It just worked out perfectly that Meredith and my dad weren’t home and that we didn’t have to be sneaky about that part.

  I had given Michelle one of the two credit cards Meredith had left behind for emergencies and told her to convince her brother to get a bunch of beer for the party, and reminded her to get it at the grocery store. Meredith would quickly figure out what I’d used the card for if Beers & Cheers showed up on her transaction summary.

  I was standing in my closet, looking hopelessly at the limp abominations on the hangers, when the doorbell rang.

  “Come in!” I shouted. I heard the front door open and then two pairs of footsteps coming up the stairs.

  “Hey, Bridget!” Jillian said, plunking herself down on my cushy bed.

  7 3

  “Hey,” I replied, and then looked at Michelle, who was holding a six-pack of Corona in each hand, “Do you need help bringing in the rest of the beer? Jillian, why don’t you help her?”

  I was, after all, busy. I turned back to my closet. There was a moment of silence before I heard Michelle’s quiet voice.

  “The

  rest of the beer?”

  I froze, the creeping, hesitant feeling of realization wash-ing over me. I turned to Jillian. “Tell me there’s a ‘rest of the beer.’”

  Her already wide eyes widened more as she pulled her eyebrows into a desperate, worried expression. I looked at Michelle. She was biting her lip, and had the same expression on her face as Jillian.

  I gave a humorless laugh, before shaking my head.

  “What the hell is wrong with you, Michelle? God, it’s like you’re stupid or something. One minute you’re telling me you’re all insecure about everything and the next minute you’re ruining my party.” I looked into her eyes. “Great job. Seriously.”

  “But Bridget, you just said to get some beer, you didn’t say how much you—”

  “I gave you Meredith’s credit card and told you to get beer for the party, how is it not obvious that you’re going to need more?” I spoke quietly, but I was livid. And I was worried, too. I had been depending on the alcohol to make the party a success. Depending on it to give me the confidence to try and get Liam back. “And if you had any question about it, why didn’t you just call and ask? ”

  “I tried! You didn’t pick up!”

  “Liar,” I said, and then remembered my phone lying on the f loor of the garage where I’d left it when I was filling the cooler with soda. I hadn’t seen it in hours.

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  P A I G E H A R B I S O N

  “I’m sorry, it was stupid—” Michelle started.

  “You’re right, so why are you still here?”

  She looked up at me, looking a little panicked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I

  mean why aren’t you driving back to get your brother to go buy more?”

  I saw a glimmer of relief on her face, before a new fear seemed to take hold.

  “Um. Well, he’s not at home.”

  I laughed again, “I’m sorry, what? Your brother has been sitting in that stupid gaming chair since we were like, six, what do you mean he’s not home?”

  “He went out with a friend—”

  I didn’t let her finish. “God, Michelle. Now what the hell are we going to do?”

  Jillian piped up. “I might…have an idea.”

  “What?” I asked, crossing my arms. I was not optimistic about anything Jillian might come up with.

  “What about your dad’s bar?”

  “I can’t use that stuff, he’ll kill me.”

  “Are you sure he’ll notice?” Jillian asked.

  “Am I sure he’ll notice? Yes, I’m sure he’ll—” I had an idea.

  “Ooh, but you know who won’t notice? Your dad. He drinks like, all the time, he’ll just think he drank it and buy more.”

  I saw that she regretted the idea now that it was being turned on her. “I don’t know, Bridge.”

  “Oh, stop it, we both know you’re going to do it, so just go so you can come back. Just fill the rest of the bottles back up with water when the party’s over. To him it will probably taste just the same. I’ll try and take a little of my dad’s, too.”

  Jillian didn’t move. “Go!”

  She stood up and pushed her way past Michelle. By the time I heard her car start, I was already back in my closet looking 7 5

  for something decent to wear. I was barely aware that Michelle was still there.

  “Bridget,

  I…”

  No way. There was no way we were going to do this now.

  “It’s probably not a good idea to talk to me right now. If I were you, I’d just go do something about your makeup.” I locked my eyes on her outfit. “And you’ll probably want to change.”

  She looked for a moment like she was going to say something, but then turned around and headed for the bathroom, where my makeup was.

  “Don’t use my mascara, it’s not sanitary to share it.”

  She’d shared it a million times, but I was mad. She was not going to waste my good mascara after how dumb she’d acted.

  After about thirty outfit changes, on the part of both Michelle and myself, Jillian’s car came squealing back into the driveway. The next thing I knew she was panting in my doorframe. I peered at her from the bathroom, where I was moisturizing my face.

  “What?” I glared at the eyeliner that was beneath her eyes and in need of tidying. We were never going to be ready for this party.

  “I…got….” She tried to catch her breath. “Pulled…over.”

  I felt a twinge in my stomach, and my fingers froze on my cheeks, where I was applying my Hourglass cream bronzer.

  “Did you have the stuff in your car?” I needed to know.

  She nodded, and my stomach lurched again.

  “Do

  you

  still? ”

  She nodded again.

  “Well, then no harm, no foul.” Not that she hadn’t freaked me out but I didn’t need to stay freaked, the way she apparently planned to.

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  P A I G E H A R B I S O N

  I started rubbing in the bronzer again.

  “Bridget!” Jillian shouted, and I looked back at her.

  “What?” I made a point to emphasize the t. Man, was I tired of people having freak-outs.

  “Bridget, omigod, I could have gotten arrested. Don’t you even care?”

  “But you weren’t, so…”

  “So, nothing, Bridget, I almost got caught with like twelve bottles of liquor and a thirty-pack of Natty Light in my back seat!”

  “Twelve bottles and a thirty?”

  “Yes!” she said, insistently.

  “That’s great, good job.” I wiped my hands on the towel that hung on a ring next to the sink.

  “That’s not the point! I got pulled over for a taillight being out, and I almost got arrested for underage possession of alcohol! And I don’t even drink! ”

  I sighed. Why wasn’t she sharing this story as a victory, instead of worrying about something that was already over and that, more to the point, didn’t happen?

  “Okay, Jillian, you have got to calm down. First of all, you didn’t get caught, so stop f lipping out. Second of all, you do not ne
ed to be such a buzz kill. What you do need to do is to bring in the bottles, put them outside on the table and cheer up. Because you’re really annoying me right now. You and Michelle.”

  At that moment, Michelle came into the room. She’d been going through Meredith’s clothes, upon my instruction and insistence that it was fine for her to do so. I didn’t want her to look better in something of mine. She was wearing a form-fitting black dress that looked awesome on her.

  “What about this?” she asked, smiling.

  “Too tight.” I said after a half a glance in her direction. It 7 7

  wasn’t really, but I didn’t need her looking better in something of Meredith’s either. Normally, I wouldn’t be that way, but it was a big deal for me to look good to Liam. It was like a bride on her wedding day—it’s just unfair for a bridesmaid to look better. Except this wasn’t a wedding, it was a bash where I was going to try to look good enough that Liam would forget about why we broke up.

  Michelle left the room again. Jillian was still watching me.

  “Bridget, it could have been like a huge deal.”

  “Well, it’s not! God, Jillian, chill!”

  She squinted her eyes at me. Irritated. “Fine. But I’m never doing that again.”

  I was more irritated by far. “Don’t worry, you won’t need to do anything for my next party. You don’t even really have to show up.” Not if she was going to act like that.

  I knew that the truth was that I would probably have reacted the same way. I also knew that I could have just as easily gotten the wrong amount of beer. I knew that I was lucky to even have friends to help me with the party. I was lucky that they would get alcohol even when they weren’t necessarily interested in having any themselves.

  But I couldn’t say any of that. Couldn’t worry about any of that when I had the party to think of. I figured they’d either forgive me privately or decide they had been stupid and apologize.

  It was what always happened.

  And with that thought, I finished putting on my makeup, told Michelle how good she looked in a high-necked, con-servative dress, and told Jillian to go to the store and pick up the cookies I’d forgotten to buy.

  C H A P T E R F I V E

  “Right foot red!” Martin, the linebacker for the school football team, shouted, popping open the top of a Corona he’d just been handed.

  I stretched my foot to the nearest red dot. My last remaining competitor in our game of Twister was a gawky girl named Sandy. A couple of guys I barely knew had brought it with them, and on a dare, I was playing the game and had promised to get other girls to do the same.

  I acted grudging about doing it, rolling my eyes, saying how I’d do it only because they dared me. Frankly, though, I would jump at nearly any chance to show off my f lexibility and ability to do a perfect backbend. Never was there a game with such opportunity to appear innocent and not at the same time.

  My eagerness was only heightened by the fact that Liam was outside, too. Sure, he was playing football with a couple of other guys, but I was sure he could toss a few glances my way.

  I landed my foot effortlessly on the red dot by snaking my leg through my opponent’s knees, a tactic that got a lot of 7 9

  encouraging “oohs” and whistles from my audience—which was mostly guys. I looked up at the crowd and smiled.

  Sandy slid her foot toward the red dot, and then slipped. In our slightly altered state, it seemed like the funniest thing that had ever happened. I was laughing so hard I barely noticed when Martin placed the cardboard crown—stolen from the kids’ meal at a cheap restaurant someone had been to that evening—on my head.

  I looked up to see Liam smiling at me from across the yard.

  In an entirely characteristic move, he shook his head and laughed.

  He used to do it all the time with me, as if to say, “Oh, Bridget, you’re really something.”

  I smiled back and, with a huge effort to be the first of us, looked away. I hoped that he watched me go, thinking wist-fully of how he missed my crazy antics. But I suspected he’d probably just gone back to his game, and that if I could read his thoughts I would be disappointed by how me-less they were.

  The next hour of the party carried on exactly as I’d hoped.

  Everyone was up, talking, playing games and laughing. No one was sitting around exchanging looks about how bored they were and trying just to stay as long as was polite—which had always been my biggest fear as a child, and the reason I never had birthday parties.

  It wasn’t until I started hanging around with Jenny’s crowd that I finally felt like people would stay at a party I had. Even if it was just because they were afraid Tammy would pull their hair out if they didn’t.

  I f loated around the party, paying attention to a few people at a time, and each time being pulled away and having to give a secretly self-impressed “Sorry, I have to go!” before carrying 8 0

  P A I G E H A R B I S O N

  on with the new activity. It felt like my life was getting back to normal.

  If I said something, people listened.

  If I had a plan, people were excited to participate.

  If I took off my clothes and dove into the pool wearing a black bikini, people—well, guys— watched and eventually jumped in, too.

  I even sort of enjoyed the nasty looks from the other girls who were wearing makeup that would wipe right off and hadn’t thought to bring a bathing suit—it meant they were jealous.

  It meant I was back to being me.

  At around ten-fifteen, the doorbell rang, and, assuming it was the pizza guy, I shouted “Pizza!” and everyone cheered.

  I find that at a party it is easy to get everyone excited about everything. I could have shouted “Dishwasher detergent!”

  and everyone would have been just as excited.

  I ran toward the door, still wearing my bikini and only a sheer sarong around my hips. The cardboard crown had been perched upon my head again, and as I figured, aptly.

  I opened the door to see Anna.

  My gut lurched as I reasserted my mental direction from f lirting for a discount to appearing entirely nonchalant.

  “Oh,” I said, the disappointment ringing in my tone, “we all thought you were the pizza guy.”

  Anna smiled and raised an eyebrow at my implication that everyone was as disappointed as I was. It was a tactic I used in arguments, too—implying that “everybody says so.”

  “Sorry, then. I’m not the pizza guy exactly…but I did bring the pizzas.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you called and placed your order with my friend.

  Since I was coming here anyway, I said I’d bring it.”

  8 1

  What?

  “Um.” Had she trumped me? I wasn’t sure. “Okay, well…

  whatever then…I guess—”

  “And I picked up the check for it, too.” She was still smiling as she watched my face for reaction. “Since you’re throwing the party, I figured I’d contribute something.”

  My jaw tightened, and I felt a wave of fury wash over me.

  Who did she think she was? Was this supposed to be charity?

  I was about to give her a piece of my mind when she stepped inside, past me.

  “Everyone!” She waited a moment for the hum to quiet, and weirdly, it did. “There’s a bunch of pizzas in my back seat—can anyone help me bring them in?”

  A bunch of guys hurried toward her, giving her high fives on the way to the car, telling her how awesome it was of her to bring pizza for everyone. I’d never heard half of these people be polite, and here they were thanking Anna for something they should have been thanking me for.

  Or

  Meredith.

  Whatever.

  They walked right by me, suddenly paying me no attention.

  I stood motionless, feeling like a car on the side of a highway being shaken by the wind from every other passing vehicle, none of them stopping to hel
p.

  I decided the only thing I could do was to keep moving and ignore what Anna had just done. The only way I could be cooler than she was would be to not show that she’d bothered me.

  I walked up to her, and put an arm around her shoulders.

  “That was very nice of you to do for everyone here at the party.” Because she most certainly would not get away with saying she did it just for me.

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  P A I G E H A R B I S O N

  “No problem, Bridget. It was really my pleasure,” she replied, without a trace of superficiality, and then walked away.

  I needed another drink. But first I needed to check my makeup and be sure I still looked my best, particularly now that she was here. I ran upstairs, away from the party. The echoing of my kitten heels on the wooden steps brought back a vague memory of a party of my mother’s when I was very young.

  I’d been set up in my parents’ room with popcorn and Cinderella, and was told that downstairs was a grown-up party and that I was to stay where I was unless there was an emergency.

  After a few hours, the movie was over and I was still awake.

  I had put the movie back on from the beginning, and started to raid my mother’s closet. I’d found a turquoise slip and a mismatched pair of high heels.

  Then, after finding a Redskins hat—which I thought would be the perfect piece to complete the outfit—on my father’s side of the closet, I’d headed downstairs as proud as could be.

  A few minutes later, I’d been sent back up with another movie and a lot of praise for being so cute. I can hardly remember ever being so content.

  I was a lot more proud of myself back then.

  I reached the top of the stairs and headed toward my bathroom. I was still feeling melancholy when I opened the door to see Michelle vomiting into the toilet.

  We both shrieked, and I closed the door partway again.

  “What the hell?” I said, my memories of size-six heels on size-three feet replaced by the puzzle of Michelle having a reaction that could, at a moment like this, only come from overdoing the alcohol. “Michelle, what’s going on? You don’t drink!”

  I stood on the other side of the door, utterly confused.