I ignore the comment.
Itwouldfeel nice to take back a bit of control. It’s seemed like, lately, I’ve had no control over anything. And it does get so draining trying to make the right decision all of the time. Maybe for once, I should be a bit adventurous. Just like Maya.
“Alright,” I agree, swallowing my anxiety for the sake of a bit of fun. “Let’s do it.”
“Yes!” Maya hops up from the couch. I don’t think I’ve seen her this excited since we got to the resort. At the very least, I’m doing something to please Maya, and that will be worth the risk of doing something wrong. “I’ll get the wine!”
“No more!”I command Maya as she reaches for an unopened bottle of rosé, but even I can’t take myself seriously with the way I laugh through the demand. I think we’ve already gone through two bottles. I don’t know. We’ve lost count, but I know it’s too many, especially considering most of the drinking was done by Maya. I’ve had enough to feel a bit fuzzy, but she’s completely wasted.
“Yes,more!” she counters through giggles. She holds the bottle above the surface of the water and I’m suddenly terrified that she’s going to drop it on her head and get hurt.
“Maya, be careful!”
She waves me off. “Stopworryingso much. I’mfineeeee.”
Fine, I scoff.Sure.
“Would you please just put the giant glass bottle down?” I ask. Maya rolls her eyes but does as I ask, setting it on the side of the pool. But then she unscrews the top and takes a swig right from the bottle.
She smacks her lips together. “Delicious!”
“No, it’s not,” I counter in exasperation. “You hate the taste of wine, remember?”
“Yeah, it’s pretty gross,” Maya says with a shrug, but the smile on her face doesn’t disappear for even a brief second. She takes another few sips from the bottle, and I don’t bother to stop her. She won’t listen to me anyway. Trying to control her is just a waste of breath.
Maya seems to detect my annoyance. “Are you mad?” she asks. “Oh God, you’re mad, aren’t you? I’m sorry, Darcy. This was supposed to be fun and?—”
I like to say that Maya has two stages of being drunk. The first is unbridled joy—excitement like a kid in a candy shop— and the second is horrible, terrible anxiety— the kind that’s stressful to experience even secondhand. We are very quickly entering the territory of Stage Two.
“No, Maya, I’m not mad,” I assure her. “Just chill, okay? I am havingsomuch fun, and I love you as much as I did two hours ago.”
The worry dragging at Maya’s face eases and she sinks back into a content smile once more. And I’m once more consumed by the patronizing thought ofsweet, precious Mayabecause really, this poor girl could not be any duller. Drunk Maya is like being with a toddler. A wildly overgrown toddler that can’t be subdued no matter what you do.
“Okay, good. I’m glad,” she says with a satisfied nod. She takes two more long drinks of the wine, then sets it on the side of the pool. She wades toward me in the water and grabs my arm. “Come on, Darcy! Let’s have a race!”
“That is a terrible idea,” I tell her bluntly. She frowns, and I have half a mind to give in just for the sake of making her happy, but I know this time I can’t. Letting someone who’s been drinking so much try to swim in the deep end is asking for disaster. And I don’t quite trust myself to be able to pull Maya out of the water at the moment, should it become necessary. I’d rather have Maya be mad at me than helplessly watch her drown.
“Oh, come on!” Maya pleads. “It’ll be just like high school. You remember? You and me, the stars of the Coppolo High School Swim Team.”
I scoff at the idea.
“More likeMaya Banks, star of the Coppolo High School Swim TeamandDarcy Gray, best friend of Maya Banks, star of the Coppolo High School Swim Team.”
“Oh, stop!” Maya waves me off. “You were just as good as I was. A valued member of the team. And you can prove it by racing me right now.”
“Maya, no?—”
“Darcy, yes!” Maya laughs, wading backwards into deeper and deeper water. I can see her start to struggle to touch the bottom and it strikes fear into me. Why the hell is she doing this? I’m not having fun anymore. Not at all.
“Maya, stop!” I demand. “You’re going to kill yourself!”
“No, I’m not,” Maya says matter-of-factly. “I am an excellent swimmer.”
“Yeah, but you’re also wasted,” I counter. I can hear my voice pitching up, but I don’t do anything to level it. I want her to know how stressed I am. I want her to stop going deeper and deeper into the freezing cold water. God, Iknewthis was a bad idea. I knew it and I told her, but I let her convince me that it wasn’t. Just like always. Just like coming on this godforsaken trip to begin with.
Whydon’t I ever stick with my gut?
“Just come back, Maya, alright?” I try to rationalize with her. “We can race tomorrow when you’re sober.”
