Written on 12/31/16

In Adam’s cracked red solo cup were a few glugs of orange Hawaiian Punch, a splash of Sprite, four—no, five—melting ice cubes, and two shots of pineapple vodka. Okay, he originally meant to pour only one shot, but then he saw how close it was to midnight, then he saw Cassidy with that baseball player with the chiseled face, then he realized that he was really not drunk at all, so he poured another one in and started drinking. That was twenty minutes ago and Adam was feeling it now; it was 11:47.

He didn’t dare talk to Cassidy. She was sitting on a stool by the table, and the baseball player said something that must’ve been funny because she cackled, barely holding onto her drink, and touched his arm and stared deeply into his eyes. Adam knew that look; he downed a long, long sip and took out his phone, but Nick slapped a hand on his shoulder before he could turn on the screen.

“I know you weren’t staring at her,” he said. He had a raspy voice and smelled like old cigarettes.

“I don’t know, man.” He couldn’t look him in the eye and the music was so loud he could barely hear.

“It’s been four months.” He pointed at his cup. “I want you to finish that, right now.”

Adam inspected his cup and swished around the contents; there was a lot of alcohol left. “Can I stay with you tonight? I shouldn’t drive.”

“For sure.”

“Alright, alright.” He held the cup to his lips then chugged and it burned. He almost threw it back up but he held it down, then he crumpled up the cup and tossed it on the hardwood floor.

“Attaboy!” Nick said, slapping him on the back, too hard. “Come on, let’s get another drink.”

“I don’t know about that…” But Nick gave him a look of disapproval and he followed him to the bar. He checked his phone; no texts, and it was 11:53.

“Get me a cup,” Nick ordered. He leaned over the counter, long hair falling over his face, and whipped up some concoction. He passed it to Adam. “Drink that. Want to come outside with me?” he asked.

Adam looked out the window. Snow was falling. “No.”

“Okay.” He glanced at Cassidy, still talking to that baseball player. “You should really come outside.”

“It’s snowing.”

“So?”

“…okay, I’ll go.”

They headed outside, to the front porch. The wind was biting, and the snow was not heavy but it did get caught in Nick’s hair. Nick offered Adam a cigarette and he declined. They stood in silence, Adam taking big gulps from his drink. He was warm.

“I’m going to text her,” Adam finally said.

“Bro…” He pulled out his phone. “Adam, don’t do that.” Adam was already typing out his text. Can we talk? Come outside. He sent it without hesitation. “Dammit, Adam.”

“I had to, man.” He finished his drink and set the cup on the rail. She had just opened the message.

“Nah, you didn’t.” He checked the time. 11:58. “It’s almost midnight. Let’s get another shot in ya.”

“Okay.”

They went inside. Shots had already been poured and were being distributed accordingly. The whole party, at least fifty strong, gathered around the plasma screen TV. Adam tried to find Cassidy but couldn’t; he checked his phone again. She had left him on ‘read’.

Nick and Adam became separated in the fray. The ball was dropping and he was surrounded by strangers. With spittle and slurred words, they chanted, “3… 2… 1!!!!!” and the ball dropped and they all took their shots.

The crowd dispersed, and Adam went off to find Nick, but he found Cassidy and the baseball player instead. They were off to the corner, sitting on a windowsill, making out. Her leg was draped over his lap. Adam looked on, lip quivering, eyes saturating, and they were so oblivious to anything else but themselves.

He turned away, unable to decide if he was furious or devastated. Maybe both, but he couldn’t stay here. Couldn’t do it. His legs were turning to jelly and his cheeks were hot and red and he just couldn’t stay here.

He fished out his keys and pushed through the door. Nick was out there, off to the side, smoking again. But Nick never saw him, and that midnight shot was hitting Adam now. He slipped down the stairs and cursed and somehow caught himself. His Honda was parked on the curb as other cars sped past; he laughed at his vision blurring and the one tear that was finally falling.

He hopped in, head heavy, and started the engine. And then came the rest of tears. They were coming down harder than the snow, and Adam rested his head on the steering wheel. He sobbed. He thought of his bed and wrapping up in that down blanket he had. He would be fine then. He would be just fine.

He put the car in drive, and he turned the wheel out to the road, but he stopped before he hit the gas. Adam thought as best as he could. He looked, and that was all he had to do, because he couldn’t even see where the lanes ended.

Adam breathed and turned off the car.