Wrangled

That’s so Billy, isn’t it?

To just watch from a distance with judging eyes?

Regardless, it doesn’t stop me from doing what I’m about to do. “You, uh … need a hand with that?” I ask him, approaching the other side of the counter.

Billy looks up as if from a daze. It literally takes him a second to realize who I am, as if he doesn’t actually recognize me. Or maybe he’s really in that much of a daze. He gives me a once-over, then sighs. “You’re drunk, Lance.”

“No I’m not.” I come to a stop by him. I promise I don’t stagger. “I can help you carry that. Trust me. Where are we taking it?”

“No, thanks,” he says, then returns to glaring at the platter.

I cross my arms and consider his plight, staring at the dish. After a moment, I smile. “It’s really beautiful.”

“It’s really heavy,” he retorts with a huff. He places his hands on either side of it, grips it, tests his ability to lift it, struggles for two and a half seconds, then sets it back down with a scowl.

I keep my eyes on the platter, gnawing on my lip in thought.

Then it comes out: “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t seem to hear me. He’s examining the platter like a scientist studying a convoluted, mile-wide bulletin board of data.

That’s okay. I deserve some standoffishness. So I go on. “I was unfair to you. At the clothing store. Earlier today.” Maybe Chad’s reaction to my bringing up prom night once again has planted a few fast-growing seeds of concern in my heart. “You made a good point, Billy. I could’ve … I could’ve told you what I told you earlier in a far more tactful and respectful way. Maybe even as a teen, I could have at least explained to you that I was hurting … instead of just cold-shouldering you and letting you assume the worst.”

Billy crosses his arms and shuts his eyes. The muscles in his face relax. Then he opens his eyes onto me. “You know what the truth is, Lance? The real truth? I …” He lets out a dry chuckle. “I thought maybe you got the wrong idea about me and assumed I was coming on to you. Do you remember what you said when I did try to approach you? You simply said, ‘No thanks,’ to me. I didn’t even ask for anything. I said hi. And you said, ‘No thanks.’”

I wince. 90s fashion; we all need to forgive ourselves first. “Okay, I was a brand of sassy sauce back then, for sure. I deserve that.”

Billy takes another breath, then squints at me. “And now you show up here with Chad Landry, the guy who made your life hell, and party with him all night? You guys are actin’ like … like a pair of frat bros. I can’t even begin to make sense of that.”

“You don’t have to. I hardly can, either. Other than to say …” I spread my hands innocently. “… some people change.”

Billy smirks appreciatively, catching both of my meanings in those words. Then he extends a hand toward me. “Redo?”

“Redo.” I shake his hand, grateful.

“Good. Now I hope you’re sober enough to help me carry this horrible, precariously-balanced thing to the game room before I accidentally witness Nadia putting her tongue down Vanessa’s younger brother’s throat.”

I don’t dare peer back over my shoulder at them to confirm or deny the fear. “You got it.”

With me on one side of the huge platter and Billy on the other, the pair of us carry it through the house and into the loud and crowded game room towards a spot on a long back table. I shout out at people to move out of the way, and I guess my obnoxious choice in words (or tone of voice) causes Billy to laugh, and we nearly lose the platter halfway there.

Once it’s set down, Billy stands back and admires his work. “It is a good arrangement, right? We’ve got to get all this eaten up. Cassie moved everyone out here, so less food is gettin’ eaten up, and I’m left having to … juggle her own hired staff. I didn’t ask to work this party! Did I cater all the food? No. Just the sweets. But here I am, arranging some other person’s food onto platters, and—” He stops himself. “Sorry, if you let me carry on whining, we’ll be here until three in the morning. Or is it already three? Don’t answer that, I don’t want to know.” He laughs at himself, then eyes me quite suddenly. “By the way, in your opinion, did Nadine Strong look particularly furious at the reunion, or …?”

After reeling for a second from Billy’s tirade, I consider his question—and why my answer might matter to him. “She seemed a tad … irritable toward the end, I might say.”