Wrangled

“You ain’t makin’ sense.”

“Sweater vests. High-waist miniskirts. Neon-colored jackets, soccer-mom capris, and parachute pants. Un-ironic corduroy. My point is, we all have something we aren’t proud of in our past. I’ve worn my fair share of embarrassing fashion. Hell, I’ve made quite a few flops before I had a hit. Moral of the story?” I give Chad a look. “We acknowledge our mistakes, forgive them, and move the fuck on to the next decade to make even worse mistakes.”

Chad narrows his eyes at me in thought.

He seems to have a lot of thought, since too much time passes for my liking.

I clear my throat. “So?” I gesture at him. “Are we good? Can we go, refill our glasses, and get wasted?”

Chad takes a deep breath as he considers me. The struggle plays out across his face, and I can’t help but notice how his pretty blue eyes look so tortured.

Someone pops a champagne bottle in another room. A chorus of cheers and shouting erupts, carrying into the foyer where the two of us still stand at the foot of a very tall staircase.

Yet somehow, the noise doesn’t seem to touch us.

I watch the anguish flood from his eyes. Then a smile teases his lips. “Nah, we ain’t all good yet,” he finally decides, despite the near-smile. “But I will find a way to get to rights with my own demons—eventually.”

“Well, don’t go rushing it,” I say back teasingly.

“Meanwhile …” He nods toward the noise. “I think you and I should take up your offer of gettin’ wasted.”

“Now we’re talking.”

Together, Chad and I head into the fray, fetch ourselves a pair of new (and very strong) drinks, and the party takes us away like we’ve been part of it all along.

And hour by delicious hour, the overall classiness level of this here shindig at the Evans’s ebbs away.

It ebbs away as certainly as ice cream melts.

As certainly as boys become men.

As certainly as a new moon waxes to a full one and back again.

I sure hope Cassie Evans isn’t regretting yet inviting the madness of Spruce’s graduating class of ten years ago into her lovely mansion.

We were—and are—a wild bunch.

It’s bizarre to me, that the number of people seems to have doubled from the official reunion at the high school to here at the Evans’s. Maybe people brought plus-ones. Maybe some folk came in from Fairview, since we’re apparently halfway there. I haven’t recognized a healthy amount of people here all night, so it’s a decent guess.

“No, it’s my turn!” I shout out, tripping over myself to get to the oversized Jenga blocks.

“Hey, hey, wait! I was supposed to—” Mindy and Joel turn to each other, both their eyes watery from alcohol. “Oh, maybe it is Lance’s turn? Did you already …?”

It doesn’t matter, because Chad—whose tie has been whipped off and is tied around his forehead like Karate Kid—is already attempting to take the next oversized block out … and he’s using just his teeth.

The effort inspires a hearty chanting of, “Lan-dry! Lan-dry! Lan-dry!” from a group of his wrestling buddies who have gathered around.

And when the inevitable happens, and all the blocks come crashing down, screams and laughter fill the room, and Chad downs another drink as the round’s loser.

So much of the night turns into a blur of moments.

Fun, laughing-until-my-belly-hurts moments.

There is a competition at one point of how many sausages the footballers can fit into their mouths. Spoiler: Tanner Strong did not win, but Harrison sure did.

There is very loud club music playing at one moment.

I might or might not have joined into something of a mosh-pit-slash-conga-line that breaks out loudly in the dining room and ends somewhere in the kitchen.

I vaguely remember a moment when everyone in our class is gently ushered toward the game room annex that leads out to the pool, since things were starting to get out of hand.

And a couple of champagne glasses might’ve shattered.

And a stain might’ve happened on that pretty white couch.

And I’m honestly not sure what else went down in that house, but now I can say for sure that Vanessa will not be hosting any more post-reunion parties at her parents’ mansion.

In the game annex, there might be a time when Chad and I—out of breath from laughing at a hilarious turn of luck in a game of beer pong—end up on a couch side by side, and we turn and gaze into each other’s buzzed eyes, and we share a moment.

I’m not sure what’s in this moment.

Or what it means.

But whatever it is, we enjoy it without words, and our laughs fade so quickly, I almost think he might kiss me right here on this couch in front of everyone.

The moment ends when ex-footballer Kirk and wrestler Owen break into a spontaneous wrestling match right in front of our couch, and they somehow end up spilling into our laps.