Love & Other Disasters(29)

“Oh my god,” Dahlia groaned, leaning her forehead on their shoulder. Fuck, her hair smelled good. “I didn’t even realize how messed up I was until I stood up. I felt totally fine before. God. Bodies are so weird.”

“This is what I’ve been saying for years,” London said ruefully.

“Our rooms are so far away. Can you even believe this fountain? Oh my god.”

London patted one of her hands as together, they hobbled their way back toward the door.

“Remember when Tanner Tavish yelled at me last week?” Dahlia asked as they walked inside. The bar mitzvah felt like so long ago—years, it must have been—that London felt their own bout of hysteria bubbling under their skin. “He was so mean. Do you think he’s that mean in real life, or just for the cameras?”

“That mean in real life.” London nodded decisively, dragging Dahlia through the empty ballroom. “For sure.”

“No.” She shook her head, and then moaned with regret at the motion. “I bet he lives with a bunch of cats. And they’re named like, Sugar Biscuits. I bet you he writes fan fiction! What kind of fan fiction, though, is the question. Supernatural? Downton Abbey? Yes, yes, that’s it.” Dahlia smacked London’s arm. “He writes super-dirty Downton Abbey fan fiction. By candlelight. While wearing bunny slippers and a silk nightgown. And can I tell you, London?” London really wanted Dahlia to shut up. So they could kiss her. “He really loves his grandma. Aw, jeez. I think I love Tanner Tavish.”

“Okay.” London patted her hand again. It was soft and made them think delirious things.

“Oh my god. London. The cows.” Dahlia stopped in the middle of the hallway, doubling over in laughter. “I can’t believe I got drunk with you and I didn’t even get you to tell me your deal with cows.”

“Dahlia.” London struggled to get her upright again, to keep her moving. Awareness was filtering back into their system, and they feared she might need access to a bathroom soon.

Dahlia gasped as they entered the lobby.

“Barbara!”

Tearing herself away from London’s arm, Dahlia scuffled across the floor to the small couch where Barbara sat, knitting a scarf.

“London!” she shouted over her shoulder. “It’s Barbara !”

“Right.” London stuffed their hands in their pockets as they made their way across the lobby. “I can see that.”

“Barbara, what are you doing here? It’s like one a.m.”

Barbara’s calm blue eyes glanced between Dahlia and London and back again. Dahlia’s dress shifted as she leaned toward Barbara, and London could see the soft underbelly of one of her breasts.

That bright ball of light was back in London’s chest again, migrating dangerously to other places.

“I could ask the same of you two,” Barbara answered.

“Oh, we crashed a wedding in the ballroom,” Dahlia said casually. “Are you making a scarf ?”

“Yes. I have unfortunately developed a bit of insomnia in my old age, to answer your question.”

“Oh, Barbara, you are not that old.”

Barbara glanced down at Dahlia’s dress, and then reached over to pat her arm. “Yes, sweetheart, I am. Anyway, I find myself getting lonely up in my room, so I’ve been coming down here, watching people come and go. It’s been quite interesting, actually.”

“Barbara!” Dahlia yelled. “You could totally hang out with us if you get lonely!”

Barbara looked up at London then. They blushed.

“No,” she told Dahlia. “Thank you for the offer, but that’s quite all right.”

“Are you making the scarf for one of your grandkids?” Dahlia leaned even closer still to Barbara, examining the handiwork in her lap. “Aileen maybe?”

Barbara smiled widely at Dahlia then. “Bishop, actually.”

London gaped at the two of them. Of course Dahlia knew the names of Barbara’s grandkids.

“That’s so nice.” Dahlia leaned her head on Barbara’s shoulder and closed her eyes. “Barbara, wouldn’t it be great if you could be my mom? I mean, I have one already, but you could be like, a secondary one, you know? One who actually likes me.”

Barbara froze before looking up at London quizzically. London shook their head, raising their eyebrows. Their heart pounded, quietly but persistently, behind their temples.

“I think it’s time for you to go to bed, sweetheart.” Barbara gently pushed Dahlia away from her shoulder. London swooped in to help Dahlia stand. She swayed into them, her head bobbing onto their chest. London was overwhelmed. They wanted to wrap their arms around her. They didn’t know how to act in front of Barbara. They needed to sleep.

“Take care of that one, okay?” Barbara nodded at London, her brows furrowed in concern.

London nodded back, hoping they looked sober, responsible, steady. “I will. Good night.”

Slowly, quietly, they slipped an arm around her waist. They navigated the elevator. They walked Dahlia to her door.

Dahlia paused, key card in hand. London waited, a step behind her, hands back in their pockets. They were unsure what was going to happen here. If she was about to be sick. If she was about to invite them inside. If she had just forgotten how to open a door.