Page 63 of Delayed Intention

When we’re seated for lunch, Molly mixes up our groups but, per my instructions, keeps Ellen well away from me.

I’m still so hungover; I can barely eat a thing.

After lunch, we move on to facials followed by massages.

By the end of our day, I feel my limbs are longer, and my face is fixed with a small smile with all the tension they removed today.

By the time I come back to my room to get ready for the hen-night, I feel ten years younger than I had in the morning.

Pushing Georgette’s words aside, I shower and put a ton of product in my curls which I’m leaving natural again tonight.

For the night out, I wear a bright red silk slip dress and my brown cowboy boots paired with a light brown cropped cashmere sweater.

I walk into town to meet the ladies rather than drive.

I don’t want a repeat of today’s hangover from hell, but I’m still planning on a few drinks tonight.

Abbie and Dana are there with my sisters when I arrive. Tamar and Roselyn beeline for me, drinks in hand.

“Here’s the cocktail of the night.” Roselyn hands me what looks suspiciously like a whiskey sour with a peach slice.

“Am I allowed to ask what it is?”

“A peach whiskey sour.”

I make a face at her, and Roselyn shrugs.

“She’s from Georgia so…”

“That’s not what we want to talk about,” Tamar interrupts.

“Right,” Roselyn nods. “What were you and Georgette Cohen talking about at the spa today?”

I don’t hesitate. “Healing contaminated wounds with delayed secondary intention.”

They both look confused.

“Come on.” Tamar starts and I throw my hands up.

“Honest to God.”

“Is she injured?” Roselyn asks.

“No, you nosy bitches.” I take a healthy swallow of my drink. It’s not as horrible as I’d expected. “She’s comparing mine and Josh’s emotional wounds to those inflicted by a vicious animal or a chain saw.”

“Okay…” Tamar looks at me thoughtfully. “You know that makes sense actually.”

I roll my eyes and point to my drink. “This isn’t terrible.”

Roselyn smiles at me. “I know right?”

My sisters look amazing. Tamar’s long blond hair is in a low, messy bun, and she is wearing jeans and a black tank top with polished-looking black sandals.

She has a pink Chanel crossbody bag; because, of course, she does.

Even though Tamar is in her forties, she could easily pass for a younger age than I am.

Roselyn has a pretty pink and white scarf on her head, covering her hair, and tied in a beautiful bow at the nape of her neck.

She is wearing a pink boat neck long-sleeve shirt with an ankle-length distressed jean skirt.

Daniella is over at the bar and is wearing a light-yellow cardigan over a navy A-line dress.

She keeps her curly blond hair at the length of her shoulders.

“More alcohol.” I say after I’ve polished the first drink.

We walk up to the bar to order and, one by one, the other hens arrive.

This is the same bar where Josh and I attempted karaoke last fall.

My body remembers slow dancing with him here and I flush with the memory, becoming very thirsty for a drink.

Of course, it’s the same bar where I was rescued by the bartender and a few patrons when Josh transformed into a drunk asshole a few months ago.

Considering all of this, I decided maybe I’m entitled to be more intoxicated than I originally intended.

The entire place isn’t rented out for us but there is a side room, of sorts, that is covered by a tent and is all ours.

That’s where the DJ is set up and there are two food trucks for us to order either non-kosher BBQ, in keeping with the southern belle theme, or kosher pizza options for Roselyn, me and anyone else that is so affiliated. Something for everyone.

I go order a small pizza for myself, and Felicia saddles up next to me in line.

“Hi there Lily.”

“Felicia, I’m so sorry about last night. I’m mortified—that party was supposed to be about you and I’m an asshole.”

“Thank you for saying so, but I’ll be honest with you, there is a reason I’m a surgeon.” She smiles shyly at me. “I don’t like being the center of attention and having all eyes on me. You did me a favor, honestly.”

“Well then, you’re welcome?”

She smiles wider. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. And to say thank you for everything you’ve done with Josh to make this week possible.”

“I’m okay. I’m going to get drunk again, but hopefully in a more fun way than a suck-out-all-the-air-in-the-room way.”

She laughs. “Whatever blows your skirt up girl.”

She wanders off, and I make my way up to the bar to order another drink. The tables are getting cleared out to put down a dance floor in front of the DJ. I need to drink more if I’m going to dance. And to stop the other memories I have of this place.

I take my pizza back to the table and join some of Felicia’s friends from the residence, who are all eating barbecue happily.

We laugh as we eat, and it’s awesome to spend time with people who aren’t my grandmother’s age.

Dana and Abbie join us at our picnic table and, within minutes, I’m laughing so hard with these women my face hurts.

Somehow, we’re on the topic of learning to take a sexual history on a patient while trying not to sound like a creeper.

We are all in hysterics, and as I head over to the bar with Dana to place drink orders for the table, I remember the last time I had so much fun.

It’s a tie between karaoke night with Josh and the Purim festival in Lincoln. Maybe there’s not enough alcohol I can drink to forget.

“Are you having a good time?” I asked Dana.

“Absolutely.”

“I see you and Abbie are on again.” I eye her.

“I’m a total commitment-phobe and I freaked out when she moved to Nebraska.”

“I know.”

“She’s really great though,” Dana said, looking fondly back to Abbie.

“She is.”

“How are things for you and Josh?” Dana asked.

“Complicated. We’re friends… with less benefits at this point.”

“Yeah, that never works.”

“Not for me anyway.”

We order and wait for drinks, and the music starts to get loud enough that small talk is off the table, which is fine with me. I like Dana, but I’m so tired of talking about myself. I want a night off and a good time.

We head back to our picnic table with two trays of shots and various other drinks. One of Felicia’s Georgia friends makes a toast in her honor and we all drink, and move over to the dance floor.

Under the tent are string lights that turn on above us, as well as the stars and the shadows of mountains all around our horizon. We are line dancing, or at least the ladies from Georgia are, while others—such as my sisters and me—are just bumping into everyone else.

I look up to the stars, and as good of a time as I’m having, I ache right in the middle of my chest.

I love him.

I haven’t wanted to think about it because it has been such a mess, but the fact remains.

A waiter ambles by with a tray of shots, and I grab one and toss it back. Setting myself between two people who are actually line dancing, I focus and eventually get the hang of the moves.

No matter what I do, the ache for Josh does not entirely leave me, but I still have a great time.

If this is as happy as I can be, I can live with this.

I may not be wonderful, but I’m okay.

I look at the sky and know it’s enough. This is enough.