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(Charlotte)
“Permafrost!” Ishouted.
Scott threw his stack oftrivia cards in the air in frustration, as everyone clusteredaround the coffee table laughed uproariously.
“I don’t think your sistercan be beaten.”
I looked over at Matt andfelt oddly exposed; it was one thing for the guy to eat me out in asupply closet. It was another entirely for him to see what a hugenerd I was.
“She’s like this all thetime,” Scott said with a chuckle.
The bungalow my brother wasstaying in was way nicer than the one my parents and I had. Therewere upstairs bedrooms, downstairs bedrooms, a pool in a privatebackyard, and afull-time kitchenstaff.
I had a feeling this was where Mattusually stayed when he visited.
In the enormous living room, completewith a perfect ocean view, a handful of Scott’s friends and ahandful of Lauren’s friends all crowded ono the couches andarmchairs. Matthew and I had made the decision to not sit with eachother via wordless communication as we all settled in with ourplates of snacks.
The bear was not present.
“There’s gotta be somethingthat will stump her,” Lauren said, flipping through the box ofcards on the table.
“Since when did this go froma trivia drinking game to ‘attack the groom’s sister’?” I demanded,adding a laugh so I wouldn’t sound like I meant it, when I did.Maybe not the attack part. But being made the center of attentiondid feel like an attack.
“Here’sone.” Lauren cleared her throat dramatically before reading, andeveryone fell silent. “This tenth-century ruler and Catholic saintis rumored to be the inspiration for the ‘Red Wedding’ inHBO’sGame ofThrones.”
I sighed, which got everyone’s hopesup. Then, I said, “Olga of Kiev.”
“She’s right.” Lauren tossedher card down. “She’s right.”
Everyone groaned.
“Look, don’t be jealous ofme,” I joked. “You all have college degrees. Knowing which saintswere cold-blooded killers isn’t exactly a professionalfield.”
One of the bridesmaids, aBlack woman with long braids shot through with the wedding colors,raised her hand. “False. Russian history is a major.”
“Olga is Ukrainian,” anotherof the bridesmaids, this one a woman with long blonde hair in twobraids, wearing the type of jewelry one bought at a street artfair, corrected her.
“Okay, okay,” the firstbridesmaid said, holding up her hands in defeat. “I could get intothe history of the Rurik dynasty and the destruction of the KievanRus’—”
“How the hell am I winningat trivia?” My mind boggled. “I didn’t even finishedcollege.”
“Be glad you didn’t,” one ofmy brother’s friends chimed in. He was a generic-looking whitefrat-dude-turned-khaki-wearing-dad-type. If someone had told me heowned an RV dealership, I would have believed them. He went on,“The debt I’m carrying? Phew, they’re gonna repossess my casketwhen I’m in the ground.”
“You’re not even old enoughfor college yet, are you?” Lauren’s sister asked.
I wanted to sink through thefloor.
“She’s twenty-five,” Scottsaid. “Do you think I’d be letting my underage sister drink a beerwith all my buddies?”
I tipped the neck of my bottle towardhim in thanks for the save.
“Twenty-five,” Lauren mused.“I remember twenty-five.”
“When sneezing didn’t causeback pain,” Scott’s nerdy friend with the phone clipped to his beltput in. He groaned when he stood up, as if to illustrate hispoint.
“When I could stay up fortwenty-four hours straight and not even feel tired,” the woman withthe braids added.