"Yeah?" I said. "Well, I have a night in college that says otherwise." Thinking of that awful, toilet-hugging adventure, my stomach churned. That night, it might've been the pizza. Or it might've been the vodka shooters. Either way, I wasn't taking any chances.
At the table, Anthony was grinning again. "Wuss."
Maybe I was. But I'd rather be a wuss than a human barfing machine.
Steve reached into a side cooler and grabbed a Pepsi. Popping open the can, he said, "So what happened at work? You gonna tell us or what?"
Just thinking about it made me tired, too tired to keeping standing there, anyway. I looked to Anthony and said, "Hey, scooch over, will ya?"
When Anthony slid deeper into the small booth, I squeezed in beside him and paused, wondering where to begin. Across from me, Steve nudged the pizza box a couple of inches forward.
I gave the final slice a quick glance. "Nice try, ass-wipe." I pushed the box away and started talking. "So you know how you've been coming in for lunch lately?"
"At the steak house?" Steve said. "Yeah. Why?"
"Well, I thought it was you guys."
Anthony gave me a confused look. "You thoughtwhowas us?"
"Lemme start from the beginning," I said. "So I'm working there today, and I get this drink order for a couple of Moon Pies."
Anthony was grinning now. "No shit? Is that really a thing?"
"Apparently," I said. "Not that I knew that at the time."
"Yeah?" Anthony said. "So, what's in it?"
I gave a dismissive wave of my hand. "Kahlua, Bailey's, something else – I forget. That's not important. But the thing is, when I get this drink-order, I think it's you guys, ordering something stupid again."
Across from me, Steve chuckled. "Us? Nah."
"Yeah, right." I gave him a long look. "Ass-blasters? Fuzzy berries? Stink eyes? Any of this ringing a bell?"
Now, both of my brothers were laughing.
I wasn't.
For the last couple of weeks, they'd been coming into the steakhouse, ordering outrageous drinks just to get a rise out of me. Usually, I spotted Steve and Anthony in the dining room and did the same thing I always did, poured a couple of beers on draft and called it good.
Today, Ihadn'tseen them. But I'dknownit was them. I mean, the order was for Moon Pies, the exact same thing that Steve had been calling me for years.
At the table, they were still laughing.
The dipshits.
I made a sound of frustration. "And stop laughing. It's not funny."
To my infinite surprise, Steve actually listened. He put on a serious face and said, "You're right."
Just when I'd decided tonotbeat him over the head with that last slice of pizza, he grinned. "It's freaking hilarious."
"It is not," I told him. "Do I need to remind you? I'm probably fired."
Steve made a scoffing sound. "For what? Serving the wrong drinks? If they're gonna be like that, screw 'em. Who needs a job like that?"
I did. That's who.
But that wasn't the point. I tried to explain. "It wasn'tjustthat I served the wrong drinks. It was that I served drinks that were really,reallywrong."
