The karaoke portion of the evening concluded with the entire bar singing along to the bartender’s rendition of “Sweet Caroline.” Our spirits thus raised, we headed to Nue for nourishment. We feasted on spicy wings, garlic fried rice, and smothered fries, our conversation growing giddier with each fancy cocktail we consumed.
To Jane’s disappointment and my glee, Kailey went home after dinner. She claimed she didn’t have the energy for dancing.
“Don’t worry.” I wrapped an arm around Jane’s shoulders and waved goodbye to Kailey. “I’ll take care of her.”
Our next stop was a nearby bar that was having a nineties pop music night. I immediately ordered a round of tequila shots, which Jane loved. She was so exhilarated she called for another round.
The night began to blur in a whirl of flashing lights and sweaty, nostalgia-fueled dancing. It turned out Jane’s work friends were pretty fun. They each bought everyone a round of drinks. Once the conversation devolved into her friends shouting questions about Owen’s penis size, I pulled a face at Eva. Even when she was very drunk at her own bachelorette party, Jane was too sensitive to field questions about her beloved’s private parts. Eva took the hint and loudly suggested that we should let the bride-to-be get home for some beauty rest. The other girls were so blotto that they merely squinted and nodded and followed her out the door.
We didn’t, though.
“Jane.” I caught her hand before she could follow the others. “Sister dance party?”
I’ve always had a magical connection with DJs, and that moment was no different: as soon as the words left my mouth, a remix of Destiny’s Child’s “Jumpin’, Jumpin’” blared. Jane and I screamed with delight, and together we jumped into the center of the dance floor.
I was happy with the way the party had turned out. If only we’d gone home after that Destiny’s Child song. If only we’d left it at that. If only I hadn’t ruined everything.
CHAPTER 25
I SWEAR ON MYfirst-edition copy ofHarry Potter and the Deathly Hallows: I don’t remember saying it.
I have almost no memory of what happened after our friends went home. I remember whirling around with Jane under the pretty lights, and I remember laughing the way we used to do when we were kids. It was the kind of uncontrollable laughter where you want to keep talking, to keep the joke going, but you can barely get the words out, and you’re doubled over, slapping your thighs and trying to breathe. That’s what I remember: being in the sister zone. It gets rarer the older you get, and I wanted to keep it going all night, to soak it all in. Just me and Jane.
Like I said, I don’t remember saying it. But once we got going like that, I would’ve said anything to keep Jane laughing.
I awoke the next day around noon, and the first thing I noticed was the number of notifications on my phone. Blearily I typed a feeble joke to the group chat: “Why do I have so many messages? Did I win something? Has Johnny Depp chosen me for his next child bride?”
But their replies were swift and serious.
Eva Galvez 12:19 PM:
Wait. Before you open any of them, you should know, there’s a video of you and Jane that went viral. It’s not good.
Amy McDonald 12:20 PM:
It’s really not good, Rachel. Prepare yourself.
My first thought was that they must’ve been overreacting. It was probably like a hot-sisters video, but we didn’t do anything scandalous. We kept our clothes on and certainly didn’t do any kissing-sisters crap. But Eva had sent the link to the video, and I watched it, and then I ran to the bathroom and threw up.
I’d meant to give Jane a memorable party, and instead I’d ruined her life. If only I could go back and undo those last tequila shots, un-go in that bathroom, never have that conversation. I kept going over and over my memories from the night before, and I could sort of remember it now.
But the video showed it all in unforgiving detail.
“Local News Anchor Makes Light of Accusations.”
I had no idea what the headline meant, and I saw that the video was less than a minute long, so I thought,How bad couldit be?So I played it. And there were Jane and I, in the bathroom of that club—and as soon as I saw the shaky iPhone footage I got a clench of dread in my stomach. People only pulled out their phones to record complete strangers if it was a real train wreck. We were cackling with laughter—accurate. We were repeating something, but it was hard to decipher through the laughter. I watched as I sank to my knees and wailed (voice still shaking with mirth), “Jeremyyyyy!” Jane raised her arms to the heavens (or to the stained bathroom ceiling) and crowed, “Why did you do it, Jeremy?” And then I lurched forward and grasped Jane’s hands and gasped, as though I were saying something very secret and very clever, “Hashtag me too please!” And Jane screamed and covered her face and laughed until her mascara pooled, and we were chanting it together, clutching our stomachs at the hilarity of it: “Hashtag me too please! Me too, Jeremy!” And then I was prancing around the bathroom smacking my own ass and crooning, “Please call me hotcakes!” And Jane was slumped against a sink, exhausted from laughing, and that’s when the video stopped.
Hashtag me too please.My skin crawled with horror.
When the video ended, I could feel the absence of oxygen in my body, and my vision was clouded with gray. I dimly registered the impossibly high number of views on the video, but I closed it before reading any of the comments. I didn’t need to read them; nothing anyone wrote could be worse than what I felt. I was despicable. I’d never hated myself—you know me—but after I watched that video, a feeling of loathing clawed up my throat, so strong I wanted to scream. What was wrong with me? How could I be such a complete, vicious idiot? How could I bring poor Jane into something likethis?
In the minutes that followed, this entire year replayed in my mind: my idiocy at work and with men, every mean and selfish thing I’d ever said. Remembering it all, I called myself names I wouldn’t call anyone else. But I deserved it all, because I never learned. I never took anything seriously. Apparently I would never grow up.
If only I hadn’t dragged my beloved sister down with me.
When I went to her condo, Owen answered the door. He told me Jane was in bed, and his face told me everything. He despised me, even if Jane was too kind to do so.
Jane looked sick with regret and misery.
