A PARTY SIZED PIZZA with vegan toppings has been delivered, but the vibe around the dining room table is strained.
I'm annoyed at Vic, although I've forgotten exactly why.
Maeve is annoyed at Tim because he's her little brother and being annoyed with him to some degree at all times is just in the rule book.
Angel is annoyed at our old dog, Taffy, who is not so discreetly stealing cheerios from her high chair tray.
Vic is annoyed at Vivian who has taken over his TV room and thereby spoiled the sanctity of his sports watching schedule.
Vivian is annoyed with Jeffry who smells like pot but hasn't offered to share any with her.
In addition to all these resentments that are flying across the table like poison darts, Vivian is already on her fourth glass of wine which doesn't bode well, Maeve is surly as ever, and I appear to be the only one with an appetite because I am shoving pizza into my mouth like someone might steal it from me. Screw the blue plan, I think rebelliously, pouring myself another glass of wine. Today's a wash. I'll do face yoga tomorrow.
Jeffry is the first to float away from the table and back to his shedroom. Maeve follows him like a needy puppy. Tim politely asks to be excused (which he has never done before to my recollection) and then marches stiffly upstairs to his room.
Vivian is chattering away about 'the old days,' spirits bolstered by wine. To Vic's obvious irritation, she keeps slapping her palms on the table for emphasis. Eventually, he gets up and lifts Angel from her high chair saying, "We're going to watch the Curling highlights," or something nonsensical like that and they disappear into the other room.
"Ali, let's go dancing!" Viv says the minute Vic is out of earshot. "I want to get drunk and dance and meet somebody thrilling and fall in love!"
"Well, I'd say you're already drunk, so you're halfway there. But on the rest... let's just dial it back a notch. You can't leap from a five-year relationship into something else after just a few hours, Viv. We're not in our twenties anymore."
"Speak for yersell'," she says too loudly, slapping the table again and setting all the glasses rattling.
"Okay, you need to stop doing that. You're going to spill my wine."
"I'm sorry," she gushes, grabbing my wrist. "Alice, I'm so sorry. You're a good friend. I let my relationship come between us."
"Viv, I have not been a good friend at all. I didn't support your relationship with Leslie, I was an asshole at your housewarming party, and she had every reason not to want me around after that."
She laughs (again, too loudly). "You were n'asshole! You ruined her carpet. She HATED you."
"I don't blame her!" Now I'm laughing too. "But, seriously, who has white shag carpet? Insane!"
"Insane," she agrees with a sad look of longing.
"Come on, you sad old bird," I say, grabbing the bottle and our glasses, "Let's go hang out in your bedroom and have a retro dance party."
WE ARE HALFWAY THROUGH the Hits of the 80s playlist. There is a new wine stain on the carpet (Vivian: "Is payback, bishes!") and I have reenacted for her my TikTok famous dance which sends her into convulsions. She demands to see the video, so I sheepishly pull it up and hand my phone over to her.
Her laughter is so loud I can actually feel waves of Vic's irritation emanating up the stairs.
"Shhhh," I warn her. "The baby s'prolly sleeping."
"But, you're famous! Look at how many views you have. Looka-ll the comments! You're more popular than... Billie Eilish!"
"Stop it! Wait. Who's Billy Eyelash?"
"Ahahaha! Oh my god, you's so old. Wait..." She's been scrolling through the unthinkable number of comments which I have never had the stamina to read. "Who's this @JosstheBoss? He left a bunch of comments asking you to get in touch. Is he a stalker?"
"Lemme see," I try to grab the phone off her.
Vivian slaps my phone to her chest to prevent me from having it back, then pokes around some more. "Oooh, he's ridiculously cute. Look!"
She shoves the screen far too close to my face but I can make out that it is, indeed, Joss Carvil in the picture. Mr. Awfully Good Looking himself, looking casually perfect while internet stalking me.
I bat the phone away from my face. "Pah, he's just a corporate leech trying to get richer off my mistake."
"How does that work?"
"He came to the cafe this week and said he can help me make the business profitable." I hiccup gracefully.
"Great!"
"No, not great! It's some kind of gross corporate deal with the devil and I am. Not. Innerested."
"Mmm. I would do a deal with the devil if he looked like that. But can't you just listen to his ideas and then run away? How could it hurt to at least call him?"
I eye her skeptically, which is hard because I'm definitely drunk now as well and having a hard time seeing through both eyes at once. She raises both her hands in a 'do what you want, you always do' gesture and falls backward onto the pullout bed.
There's a light rap on the door and Tim opens the door partway. I notice that he's pomaded his hair and brushed it into a sharp part. He's also been dabbling in his father's cologne because an incongruously manly scent wafts into the room ahead of him.
"I just wondered if either of you ladies requires a glass of water before bedtime?" he asks in the formal, polished tone of a maitre'd at a posh restaurant.
Vivian just looks at me, like, is your kid always this polite? I shrug back at her, like, I don't even know who this is.
"Um, thanks for checking on us, honey. I think we're good."
He performs a little almost-bow and closes the door behind him.
"What was that?" Vivian whispers.
I shake my head. "I'm not sure. I think he has a little crush on you."
She puts a pillow over her face and groans.