“Definitely not that last one,” he said with a chuckle, trying so hard to make this feel casual; normal. “I’m not ready for you to grow up that much.”
It irked that he said that. One, because it was as if he was suggesting I wasn’t grown up enough to deal with real-life shit. Except I was, and he’d forced me into some of it. And two, because right at that moment, marriage wasn’t something shiny and fun, something to be excited about. In looking at the one shining example of marriage I’d known, I saw its flaws—its discolorations.
“No worries about that,” I said, pushing the door open without so much as a hug goodbye. “Marriage is bullshit,” I said before the door shut behind me.
I gave my mom a hug by the car, holding onto her a few seconds longer than necessary. “You okay?” she asked, running her hand down my hair. Normally, I hated when she did that and turned my head away to plump my roots back up. But in that moment, I sank in and took comfort in the uncomplicated gesture.
“I’m okay,” I said into her shoulder. While still holding her, I turned so I didn’t have to see my dad standing in the windows. It hurt too much. Would he tell her while I was gone? Would this be the final straw between them? Part of me wanted it to be. I really, really, did. But part of me—the dark, selfish parts—didn’t want to see my family split apart. Then again, had it ever really come back together after my dad’s last transgression?
“Just be safe, okay?” she reminded me when she let go first.
Unable to speak, I just nodded. And then I climbed into my car and began the eight-hour car ride to Vegas.
2
I stared down at my empty drink as a new text message lit up my screen. I didn’t need to read it to know it was the group chat with my best guy friends, but I wasn’t in the right place to reply either. Flipping my phone over, I signaled to the bartender to bring me another greyhound. She was way ahead of me, placing another one of the vodka and grapefruit juice concoctions in front of me the moment my hand was back down.
“Thanks,” I said somewhat sheepishly. “Knew I’d need another one?”
She gave me a knowing smile. “That’s kind of my job.” She threw a towel over her shoulder. “Kitchen’s still open. Want some food to go with that drink?”
I shook my head. “No, I’m fine.” At her look, I pointed one finger upward. “I have a room here. I’m not driving.”
“Okay.” She slid a small wooden bowl toward me and motioned for me to at least grab a few of the pretzels from it. To appease her, I plucked one from the top and gave her a smile that took some effort as I ran my finger over the large salt granules. It was weird to be in my hometown in a hotel. It was the first time I’d ever stayed in a hotel in Vegas, actually. After my mom passed away, I sold her house, bought a place thirty minutes away—closer to the desert. And when I was in town, when I wanted to imbibe and not worry about getting home, I stayed at Will’s.
I knew if I wanted to, I probably could have dropped by his house. It was vacant now, after all. Which was precisely the reason I didn’t want to. I could likely have stayed with Will’s parents, but since I knew they were dealing with more than enough as it was, I had no desire to call them up and impose. And since I very much wanted to have more than one alcoholic drink, getting a hotel made the most sense, though a hotel half an hour from home was a luxury I didn’t often treat myself to.
I rubbed a fist over the eye that regularly watered when I thought of the reason I was here too much. Though I lived thirty minutes outside of Las Vegas, I rarely had reason to venture into the city. This was my first time back in six months, and in the confines of this white marble and black iron-clad hotel, it didn’t feel that welcoming. But I knew that was due to the reason I was here in the first place. Funerals tended to cast a dark cloud over even the brightest places.