Make Me Hate You(18)

We were just warming up.

In the bar, it was mostly the bridal party — Morgan’s parents were there, along with my Aunt Laura, then there was Oliver, of course, and three of his friends from Boston who had driven up for the party. His parents weren’t in town yet, but from what he’d told us, they weren’t the kind of parents who would hang out at Lobster Larry’s, anyway.

And where Oliver had just a few close friends, Morgan filled the rest of the bar with hers, extending an invite to the girls we used to hang out with in high school, a good amount of her sorority sisters from college, and the girlfriends she’d made through intermingling with Oliver’s friends.

There were other people there, too — long-time family friends of the Wagners, along with some locals who just happened to be around on the night our party took over. They seemed to enjoy the free entertainment as much as we enjoyed providing it.

And in the very back of the bar, at the seat farthest from the karaoke stage, was Tyler.

It’d been easy to avoid him today after our interaction last night, since I’d spent most of the day with Morgan shopping and getting dolled up for the night. I hadn’t even seen him until we loaded onto the giant party bus Morgan’s mom had rented for the occasion, and even then, I saw him for only a split second before he climbed onto the bus and took his place in the back, talking primarily to Oliver and watching everyone else with quiet amusement.

I was perfectly fine with his distance from the stage, from me.

But it didn’t stop me from glancing at him from time to time.

And every time I did, he was watching me, too.

The bar roared with applause when we finished singing, and Morgan and I laughed and hugged before handing our mic to the next singers — Oliver’s friends — and carefully making our way off the stage. Morgan was out of my arms and sprinting into Oliver’s in the next instant, and I chuckled, flipping through the karaoke book to put my name in for a solo song.

Oliver’s friends, who I learned on the bus ride over were roommates from college, belted out Queen as we all screamed along in the bar chorus. And then, three things happened very quickly.

One, Morgan demanded that we chug what was left of our drinks and get refills.

Two, one of Morgan’s sorority sisters ordered three rounds of back-to-back shots for the whole bridal party.

And three, I climbed up on the bar and started shaking my ass to Oliver’s drunken-karaoke version of “Hip Hop Hooray” by Naughty by Nature.

It was just me at first, with my hands in the air and little hips rocking to every beat of the song that I could make out over Oliver’s loud scream-singing slash rapping. The bar filled with hoots and hollers, along with my Aunt Laura screaming for me to be careful, and I just laughed and dropped down low, circling my hips before I popped back up again and body-rolled.

Soon, more and more girls climbed onto the bar with me, including Morgan and her mom, who was blushing so furiously I thought she might combust. Morgan grabbed her hands and turned them side to side, urging her mom to dance, and then they both threw their hands up and moved to another round of cheers — the loudest from Mr. Wagner.

I came alive in that moment.

The crowd and the noise of the bar faded, until it was only a sort of buzzing hum that filled me from the inside out. I raised my hands overhead, feeling the music, the energy, smiling as the alcohol swam in my bloodstream.

This was exactly what I needed.

I’d been wound so uncharacteristically tight since I’d stepped foot back in New Hampshire, and for the first time in two days, I was loose, care-free, and happy.

I was me.

My smile bloomed even more at the realization, and I closed my eyes, giggling to myself as I danced and danced. Every now and then, Morgan would bump into me and I’d stumble, but I’d just laugh and hold onto her while we both found our balance again.

It reminded me of high school, sneaking wine coolers from her mom’s stash and dancing in her backyard or out on the dock by the lake. It reminded me of long, hot summer nights in the pool with her and Ty, staying up until the sun rose again, the days blurring together.

And it made my chest hurt with the longing to go back to those days, to that specific day, and to never cross the line with Ty.

I wondered what it would have been like if Morgan would have been in her room that day my mom left, if I would have found her instead of Tyler, if nothing would have ever changed between us.

I stopped dancing, my arms falling to my sides, eyes fluttering open as the bar came into focus again.

I’d missed so much with Morgan.

I didn’t know why it hit me at that moment, but it did.

Sure, she’d visited me in California, and we’d met up on girls’ trips, but we hadn’t gone to the same college like we’d always dreamed of. After what happened between me and Tyler, I’d fished out an acceptance letter for the summer session at San Francisco State University that I hadn’t thought twice about once I got accepted into BU. Lucky for me, they accepted, and though Morgan begged and pleaded with me to reconsider, she said she understood when I told her I wanted to get out of this town, out of this state, out of this area of the country and start anew.

But because of that choice, we hadn’t been in the same sorority like we always thought we would be, or danced at the same parties, or stumbled home from the same college bars. We hadn’t come home to New Hampshire to visit her parents and my aunt for the holidays. Tyler was a year ahead of us, already a sophomore at Boston when Morgan was a freshman.