Wrangled

“Hmm. Yeah, I’m sure she … uh, isn’t bitter about not getting to host the after-party. Especially after everyone left the reunion so fast to … get here.” Billy lets out a nervous titter, then quickly draws silent. “I love her. I really do. But she … isn’t the easiest mother-in-law in the world.”

“I can imagine she’s a handful.”

“More than a handful. An armful.” He chuckles, then plucks a small finger sandwich off the platter and starts chomping on it. “Hmm. This is okay, I guess.” He takes another bite. “Okay, it’s good. It’s real good.” He tosses the rest of it into his mouth. “Fuck, I’m starving.”

I smile and drum my fingers on the edge of the table, forming a restless rhythm that lasts all of seven and a half seconds, then stop and look up at Billy. “Do you think I should forgive him?”

Distracted for a moment with his own thoughts, he belatedly lifts his eyes to mine. “Sorry, what?”

“Chad. Do you think I … I should …” I rephrase the question. “Would you forgive him? If he did to you what he did to me?”

Billy averts his gaze, then takes in a slow and pensive lungful of air before answering. “I think it would be difficult to do. I mean, it isn’t like what you hold against him is a grudge. It’s more than that. It’s deeper. It’s something real and painful.” He shrugs. “You are the only one who can answer that. Personally, I think it’d take a very, very big thing for me to forgive someone like that.”

“What kind of very, very big thing?” I ask.

I don’t even hear the shouts behind me. I don’t hear the loud whistling, the one or two screams, and the riotous laughter. I’m so used to it at this point that it’s as easy to bat away as a pesky fly after your finger food.

Billy shrugs at me. “I’m not sure. Something very big. Maybe something that shows he is willing to do anything to earn your forgiveness, even if he has to sacrifice his own dignity, or finally face his reflection in the mirror with honesty after all these years, or maybe he could …” Billy’s eyes drift.

The screams and laughter continue. I’m so focused on Billy’s answer, I tune out all else. “Or maybe he could … what? What were you about to say?”

Billy’s eyes go wide. “Uh …”

I frown at the look he’s throwing over my shoulder, annoyed at losing his attention when I thought we were finally getting somewhere. Figuring the commotion behind me to be just another dumb, drunken thing one of the football guys is doing, I spin myself around and take a look.

My jaw drops.

A nearly-naked Chad Landry is heading my way. All of his big, muscular glory is on full display as the proud, lean former wrestler struts slowly through the crowded game room towards me—his only dignity being the scanty scrap of a hot pink jockstrap.

14

Life of the Party

It’s not just pink.

It’s hot pink.

Scalding hot, bright, look-at-me, proud hot pink.

And Chad hides nothing from the crowd. He doesn’t even look embarrassed in the least. The man is proud in every sense of the word as he slowly struts through the room toward me to the tune of whistling and hooting. He takes his time to let each and every set of eyes fall on his body as he makes his way. Phones are out. Hands are slapped to mouths. People are rushing in from the pool outside in search of the scandal.

I wouldn’t doubt if every single eye in Spruce, Texas is going to have paid witness to the sight of Chad Landry cockily strutting through the room at his high school reunion after-party wearing nothing but a skimpy hot pink jockstrap.

Chad’s eyes found me long ago. And he’s watching me every step of the way.

I swallow hard.

I didn’t actually ever consider he would go through with it, even earlier today when I was mad at him. In fact, I counted on him scoffing and tossing aside that jockstrap, deciding it wouldn’t be worth it to earn my forgiveness. It’s even a wonder I found such a thing at some odds-and-ends gag-gift shop off Peach Street when I realized the athletic and sporting goods store wouldn’t have what I needed. I most certainly did not count on him to wear it, let alone make a runway show of it.

Not that I would put a hot-pink anything on the runway.

But here he is.

And there he is.

And here he comes.

When Chad comes to a stop in front of me, he crosses his arms, tilts his head, and lifts his eyebrows at me in a challenging, defiant way. “So?” he says, sounding smart. “Is this enough?”

I realize all the laughter and shouting have quieted down to a general murmur of whispers, hushes, and silence. Everyone is very much attending this moment right now.