“Oh, my God.” Jenn grabbed my arm. “Chris McMichaels may be coming over here? To my house? I don’t know if I can handle this.”
“Of course you can. I’ll make another round.”
With that, Margaret picked up the empty pitcher and turned on her heel, going back into the kitchen. Finally, it was just the three of us.
“Jenn,” I said as she took another sip, “are you sure about this?”
“About what?”
I glanced at Meredith, who looked as hesitant as I felt. “I mean, come on. You don’t drink. And now you have guys coming over?”
She turned to look at me, annoyed. “What is wrong with you tonight?”
“Me?” I said. “You’re the one acting weird.”
“I’m having fun, Sydney. It’s my birthday.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m your best friend, remember?”
“Then why are you being such a buzzkill?” She shook her head, sighing. “Honestly, I’m shocked. With your history, I figured you’d be the last person to be so judgy.”
Across the couch, Meredith’s eyes widened. I forced myself to take a breath before I said, “My history?”
“Your brother,” she said, her voice flat. From the kitchen, the blender began whirring. “I mean, I get it. Maybe you think that if I drink, I’ll end up in jail, too? But I won’t. So just calm down, okay? Have your drink. Relax.”
I didn’t even know what to say to this. She was like a stranger, but with the familiar features and mannerisms I knew as well as my own. I lowered my voice, then said, “I can’t believe you just brought Peyton into this.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh, calm down. It’s not like it’s some big secret. Margaret already knows.”
Margaret walked into the room, the blender pitcher in her hand. “Margaret knows what?”
“Nothing,” I said, giving Jenn a hard look. “Never mind.”
The next half hour was consumed by Margaret giving Jenn what she called “the express makeover,” which consisted of putting on a more low-cut shirt, adding some jewelry, and layering on several coats of mascara. Margaret changed as well, into a dress she’d packed in her overnight bag. Clearly, she’d been anticipating a wardrobe transition, unlike the rest of us. Meanwhile, they both continued downing drinks, getting more and more sloppy. On the upside, neither noticed that Meredith and I had switched to water. At nine thirty, about when the guys were expected, Meredith bailed.
“Party pooper!” Margaret called out from the kitchen, where she was “giving needed volume” to Jenn’s hair, a practice that apparently required clouds of hair spray.
“Buzzkill!” Jenn chimed in.
“I have a meet tomorrow afternoon,” Meredith said quietly to me, like I was the one who needed a reason. “And this . . . is weird.”
“Seconded,” I said, holding up my water.
She held hers against it, then smiled. “Are you staying the night?”
“I don’t really want to leave her here like this.”
Meredith glanced back at the kitchen, where Jenn, I noticed, was suddenly looking a little queasy. Uh-oh. “You’re a good friend, Sydney.”
“So are you.” I reached forward, giving her a hug. “Good luck tomorrow.”
“Thanks.”
She waved toward the kitchen, but only Margaret waved back. Once the door was shut behind her, I went to check on Jenn.
“You okay?” I asked her. “You don’t look so good.”
“She’s fine. She just needs to eat something,” Margaret said, although I saw Jenn wince, hearing this. “Let’s order pizza. What’s the number for that place you like, Jenn?”
“They don’t deliver,” Jenn mumbled, then got up off the bar stool, putting out a hand to steady herself. “I’m . . . I’m going to go to the bathroom.”
She made her way across the room, using the wall for support. Margaret watched her go, then took a sip of her drink. “She’ll be fine,” she told me. “A quick puke is like hitting the reset button.”
I watched as she picked up a compact, looking at her own face. Then I said, “She doesn’t drink, just so you know.”
“Her empty glass says otherwise,” she replied, scooping out a bit of gloss on her fingertip. She ran it across her lips, then looked at me. “Look, when I showed up with the rum, she wasn’t exactly protesting.”
“She probably just wanted to impress you.”
“You can read her mind now?”
“I’m her best friend. I’ve known her since we were in preschool.”
“Well, then you’re aware that she’s a girl who can make her own choices,” she said, shutting the compact with a click. “Go check on her, will you? I’m going to order some food so we have something here for the guys when they come.”
She then picked up her phone, indicating the conversation was over. I could feel my temper rising as I walked down the hallway to the powder room, inside which I could hear Jenn retching. I knocked lightly on the door, then pushed it open. “Hey. It’s me.”
Jenn was huddled over the toilet, resting her head on one arm. She looked awfully pale, and the room smelled strongly of coconut. Ugh. “I’m dying,” she moaned. “I’m going to die on my birthday. Which is really symmetrical, but unfortunate.”