Four hours of sleep later, I wake up to the sound of laughter coming from the living room. What is Lacy doing now? Did she bring a guy home from that bar? I'm going to kill her.
I drag my butt out of bed and wander toward the kitchen. Sitting at the counter with his back to me is a man. He is feeding a scone to Lacy, who is wearing only a tiny tank top and boxers.
She is stuffing the huge bite into her mouth when she sees me. "Oh, good morning sleepy head! Who did you end up going home with last night?"
I wave her off, hoping her male friend doesn't turn around and see me, but it's too late.
"I know who," a familiar voice says, as he turns on the barstool to face me.
And here I thought today was going to be better.
"Mark? What the . . . what's going on?"
Mark waves "hello" to me. "Don't worry, your secret is safe with me, and the night shift staff, and the day shift staff."
"What secret?" Lacy asks, her eyes lighting up with excitement.
"Before you get your g-string in a knot," Mark says, "you left your purse at the hospital and knowing what a long night you had already had, I figured I'd save you the trouble and drop it off on my way home."
"You don't live anywhere near me," I growl.
"So, it was even sweeter of him to bring it over," Lacy adds. "And he brought coffee and scones, too."
Mark smugly holds up my purse and his cup of coffee, "Purse and coffee."
I'm still going to kill him.
"It's a clutch, Mark," Lacy says, giggling.
"Right," he laughs, knocking himself in the head for being such a silly. "Lacy has been educating me on the intricacies of women's accessories. This is a clutch and that," he says, pointing to her top, "isn't a tank top. That is actually called a camisole."
"There is a distinct difference," she adds, nodding in complete agreement.
Yes, there is a distinct difference. One is worn as a shirt and the other is worn as an undershirt. I know this because right now I can see her nipples fairly easily, and by the look on Mark's face, so can he.
"Oh, and look," Lacy squeals, noticing the large eighteen stenciled on my oversized t-shirt, "you're wearing your birthday shirt!"
In my exhaustion this morning, I undressed and grabbed the softest and most comfortable shirt I could find in my drawer. It just happens to be a shirt my mom made for me.
"I always thought birthday shirts showed more skin," Mark says, desperately trying to be clever.
Lacy giggles uncontrollably like a ten-year-old girl in a tickle fight. "No, silly! Our mom made them for us every year, but she said eighteen was the cutoff. So that was the last one she made you. And you kept it?"
Is it so weird that I kept something that my mom made for me? It's not like I wear it in public. It's a sleep shirt. And it's soft. Am I even more of a nerd now?
"I think my eighteenth birthday t-shirt was left on a golf course one night after my friends and I found a twelve pack of hard lemonade . . . " she says, stopping to snort from laughter.
"I love that stuff!" Mark yells,over her giggling.
"You do? O-M-G! We have so much in common!" Lacy yells back, grabbing his hands.
"We totally do!" Mark yells. The two are holding hands and jumping up and down. Lacy is completely enthralled with him, and he glances over at me wearing a sly grin on his stupid face.
He thinks that he's won and has finally gotten to my sister. I have spent years keeping him away from Lacy. I knew if he met her, he'd immediately create some kind of weird fantasy about being with her. And while Lacy would be great for him, he would be the cement shoes that drag her to the bottom of her own personal Hudson River. No, thank you. I must stop this before it goes any further. I will not sit across from Mark at my family Thanksgiving. Not that I ever go to those things, but if I wanted to go he'd better not be there too.
I shoot Mark my best "get the hell out of here before I kick your ass" look.
He drops her hands and heads to the door. "Anyway, I just thought I'd drop it off."
"So thoughtful," I tell him, opening the door so he leaves that much faster. I smile at him. He throws a smirk back at me. I mouth to him "get out." He mouths back "I'm going."
"Right, well," Lacy says, backing away from us and heading to the guest room. "I'm going to get dressed. Nice meeting you." Then, with a flirtatious glance in Mark's direction, she piles on this doozy of a line: "You didn't tell me you knew such a great guy, sis." And with that, she disappears into the guest room, slowly letting the door close behind her.
Good grief. I hit Mark on the arm as hard as I can. "Idiot."
"Ow!"
"That's for returning my purse," I say, shoving him out the doorway.
"Clutch," Mark says, correcting me.
"See you at work, where we see each other and nowhere else," I say, trying to shut the door in his face.
"Fine," he says, pushing back.
"Go!" I yell, slamming it shut.
Exasperated, I turn around and find Lacy standing in the living room fully dressed and ready for her day.
"That was fast," I grumble, heading to the kitchen to shove a scone in my face.
"Do you like him or something?" Lacy asks.
"Mark? God, no!"
"Really? Then can I? I felt we really had a connection," she says, plopping onto the couch.
"No, you can't like him and you didn't have a connection. That will never happen, got it?" I command her. What a nightmare.
"Wow," she says, holding up her hands like I drew a pistol on her. "Forget I said anything."
"Gladly," I say, pouring a cup of coffee and downing a second scone.
"So, Chad, did you guys do it or . . . ?" she asks, with a bit of a thrill in her voice.
Right, that. I forgot about that. I look up and give her my best easy, breezy smile. "No," I sing, "we just kind of hung out."
"But you guys did something, right?"
"We danced and made out and stuff," I tell her, making it sound like no big deal. It's just what I do.
"That's good! Is that how you wound up at the hospital?" she asks, confusion all over her face.
"I got called into a surgery," I say, shrugging. "We had to call it a night early."
"But I had your phone."
"You did. And the hospital has this special way of locating me when they really, really, need me. It's some kind of GPS technical stuff."
Please believe me. Please, don't think too much. I really don't want to get into this.
"Cool," she says, actually buying it. It helps that she thinks I'm smarter than her. "So are you and Chad going out again?"
"That would be nice, but I think we aren't compatible in that way."
"Oh, that's too bad. He was super cute."
She jumps up and grabs her bag, "Well then, in that case you should get dressed. Keep it casual."
"Whoa, where are we going?"
"It's training day. First stop: high school."
"High school?" I ask, hoping I got that wrong.
"Don't question my method. Just get dressed."
All I want to do is sleep and study up on the surgery. I'm about to protest, but then last night flashes through my head again. I suck at this and I hate sucking at anything.
Lacy dresses me casually cute today. A logo t-shirt for a sports team I'm unfamiliar with and cute shorts that are a little too short, but that she swears aren't. I tie my hoodie around my waist for my own comfort. I put on a pair of cute Pumas and we are off.
As we walk through the upper west side, Lacy decides it is a good time to grill me on what she missed.
"So, Mark tells me you have a date?"
"You and Mark seem to have a lot in common: sticky buns, giggling, my personal life," I say, doing my best to redirect.
"Who's the guy? Spill it."
"Why don't you tell me?"
I'm not dumb either. Mark has a big mouth and no filter, thus she knows exactly what happened with Bodhi and with Chad. She's just trying to help me save face, for which you've got to love her.
"Bodhi Wells, international hottie, who is probably the world's best neurosurgeon?"
"Not probably, is the best."
"Whatever. So, when were you going to tell me?" she asks, stopping in her tracks.
"I wasn't, and it's not really a date. We're meeting at the team-building event and then we're going to dinner. That's it. Just a work dinner kind of thing."
"No, tomorrow night is too soon," she says, her brow furrowing.
"Why?" I ask, a little offended that she thinks I can't have dinner with a man.
"I can't prepare you for sex with him in that short amount of time. How will you keep up without throwing red flags all over the field? I'm good, but I don't think I'm that good."
"Red flags?" I ask. "Field? Why do I have to have sex with him? He asked me to dinner. Plus, I'm not going to lose my virginity to my co-worker. This is just conversation and maybe a glass of wine."
"OK, you are so not ready for a date with this guy if that's the delusion you are under," she tells me.
"I think you mean illusion," I correct her.
"Yes, that," she says, agreeing. "Because he is not your co-worker. You aren't in a cubicle. He's a world-traveling surgeon playboy. He's not the guy in I.T. fixing your software. This guy could be a movie star or on the cover of Sports Illustrated!"
"What did Mark tell you?" I ask, trying to calm her down.
"Enough to know you are way in over your head. And so am I."
Lacy is pacing now and having some kind of panic attack.
"Stop! I am just having dinner with him," I reassure her.
"So, you have no intention of having sex with him?"
"No."
"Ever?" she asks.
"Wait, what?"
"Answer the question. Are you ever planning on having sex with Bodhi Wells at some point in the near or far future?"
"Planning? That sounds so . . . " I trail off, trying to slow down this conversation so I can think. Yes, answer the question Kate. What is it you want from this guy? What do you want out of this dinner? "Planning sounds so manipulative," I add, with a tone of disgust in my voice.
"Wow, you really like this guy, don't you?"
"I respect him," I tell her with utter confidence.
"Well, there's hope after all," she says, smiling brightly.
"What does that mean?"
But she has moved on. She took some kind of nugget of information that she plans on using against me and intends to leave me in the dark until she feels I'm practiced enough to handle it. I have respect for that.
"Here we are," she says, stopping next to a large yellow school bus that is parked in front of a pub. "I decided that we should reboot you. And to do that, we have to start over. That means high school, but I can't very well get you hooked up at a high school to learn the initial adolescent moves, so I brought you here."
"To a high school field trip?" I ask, dreading the scenario she has created. "A minor is still a minor, sis. Even if it's drunk."
Then the bus door opens and I take a moment to read the banner that has red paint scrawled across it: PUB CRAWL!
A group of men and women of all ages come stumbling out of the bus and proceed to sing their way into the pub. As the last few trail in, a very drunk guy stops a very drunk woman and looks her in the eye. With the utmost sincerity, the two exchange the following dialogue.
"I love you, Sally."
"Shit, I love you, too, George."
"By the way, my name is Clyde."
"Cool. My name is Lynette."
As they kiss sloppily, Lacy and I watch on. Finally, they pull themselves apart.
"I love you, Lynne."
"I love you, Clay!"
And they fumble into the bar.
Lacy must be sensing my apprehension, so she just dives right in.
"Yes, I brought you to a pub crawl. Hear me out. They've been at it for three hours now, thus by my calculations they have as a group hit the sexual equivalent of the hormonal adolescent. Your objective is simple: make out with at least five guys. Tease them, get to any base you want with themâexcept home baseâand we call it."
"You want me to go in there and make out with total strangers?"
"Just like you did last night with Chad, minus the groin kick from hell."
I knew Mark had told her. Jerk.
"The point of this is to imagine they are in high school and you are in high school. But you get to make it up as you go, which means you are the most popular girl in school, head cheerleader, and all the guys want you. And today is just one of the many parties you're invited to because you are known to be a total slut."
"I'm the head cheerleader slut?"
"Pretty fun, am I right?"
"Oh man, I always wanted to be her," I say, my entire being filling with the fantasy.
"Then be her. And have fun."
"Ok," I say, agreeing to it. "Let's do this!"
I pull out a small bottle of hand sanitizer and douse my hands and lips with it.
"What are you doing?" Lacy asks me.
"It's sanitizer. I might be the head cheerleader in my fantasy, but it still sounds germy."
Lacy swipes the sanitizer from my grip and shoves a condom into my hand instead.
"Go get 'em," she says, pushing me into the pub doors.
"I thought I wasn't having sex!" I yell, as I find myself thrust between two manly men wearing sports jerseys that look like mine.
"The head cheerleader always gets to home base!" Lacy says, wearing a big smile.
One of the big guys grabs my hand and raises my arm in the air, "Hey, we have another Giants fan!"
The bar erupts with cheers and whooping. Suddenly, I'm hoisted onto one of the large men's shoulders and they are carrying me through the bar. Someone hands me a pint of beer. I drink it. There is more applause. Damn, it's good to be head cheerleader.
We move on to a few more bars where I drink a lot of beers and kiss a lot of guys. I have also added quite a few Irish drinking songs to my repertoire. The last bar of the day is called Shenanigan's, and I find myself in the back hallway with Joe, a husky blue collar-looking fella' who kisses like a drunken sailor. I like it. He is so good at kissing that I have decided to make him my first. I know, it could be the beer talking, but this hallway feels right and Joe seems to know what he's doing. I feel I'm in good hands.
I fumble around trying to pull the condom Lacy gave me from the tiny pocket of my tiny shorts. It drops and I have to retrieve it from a puddle of spilled beer. God, I hope that's beer. No time to concern myself with that, I think, as I rip the condom package open with my bare teeth.
"I think you're a little too drunk for that," Joe says, slurring his words in that cute drunk guy kind of way. "Maybe we should just grab some coffee."
"Nah, I'm good," I assure him. "Just hang on, so how would I do this?"
Again, it might be the beer talking, but I have suddenly decided that perhaps I should give my first blowjob before I have sex. There is a certain protocol to these kinds of things. I'm almost positive. I'm about to do the unthinkable and get down on my knees and unbutton Joe's pants like I've seen women do in countless R-rated films, when I remember that venereal diseases can be transmitted orally as well as vaginally. To hell if I'm going to get the clap via oral sex or otherwise. But boy do I want to try this, and try it right now! So, back to the condom. I unroll the condom with my fingertips and contemplate how I should insert it into my mouth. I place the condom in my mouth and begin to kneel down in front of Joe, but he takes my hand in his and stops me.
"I think you can just put that directly on my . . . " he starts, but he's interrupted by my very loud hiccup that causes me to somehow suck the condom back into my throat. As I choke and gag, Joe slaps me on the back to help free it. I can't tell him that his slapping isn't going to work, because I'm choking. Finally, he grabs me from behind and gives me the ol' Heimlich maneuver. The condom shoots out of my throat, and I simultaneously throw up about a gallon of beer all over poor Joe.
I thought last night was humiliating. I have topped that.
"I'm so sorry," I apologize, while wiping him down with anything I can get my hands on. "I didn . . . am I that drunk? I'm so sorry. I was choking, and by the way, thank you for getting that thing out of my throat. You saved my life, which means you've saved many other lives."
Shut up, Kate. Now he's totally confused and thinks you're not just drunk but some kind of lunatic.
"Right, I'm a surgeon," I try to explain. "I'm a neurosurgeon."
"Yeah, and I'm an astronaut," Joe says, laughing at me.
"You are?" I ask him. "I've never met an astronaut."
Lacy grabs me from behind and pulls me down the hallway toward the back exit, "He's not an astronaut."
I throw up the rest of the beer and onion rings in the side alley and sleep the entire cab ride home. There is no way I can come back from two horrible sexual encounters in a row. That's it. I'm not cut out for this. I must figure out an excuse so I can cancel dinner with Bodhi. Lord knows what I would get myself into with a guy I actually like.
Lacy follows me into my bedroom. She begins pulling dresses and matching shoes from my closet.
"What are you doing?" I ask, crawling beneath my covers.
"I'm getting you ready for the next level of training," she says, completely serious.
"Next level? I think in most games once you lose the first two levels you don't get to move onto the third level."
I've played video games before. I know how this works. Game over.
"Are you kidding? You rocked it today," she says, pulling me out of my bed and yanking off my t-shirt. "That was so high school. You tried to put a condom in your mouth and then you threw up on a guy. A guy, mind you, you should have never attempted to have sex with in the first place. He's like fifth time material, not first time. So, congratulations, Kate, you just skated through your sexual adolescence unscathed."
"Unscathed?" I ask, as she pulls down my shorts and pulls a tight dress over my head.
"Believe me, if you had actually done that when you were in high school, you would have been the talk of the school for at least a year. But lucky for you, you're an adult and you get to make an ass of yourself and move on without suffering the torture of peer shaming. You'll never see that guy or any of those people again."
How she could turn today into a victory was beyond me, but her enthusiasm is contagious and I suddenly feel like I am actually getting good at this try-and-fail business. Who knew failing could be a good thing?
"So, let's get going," she goes on, shoving a pair of heels on me.
"Where next?" I ask, admittedly a little curious and still a little nauseated.
"College," Lacy says, her eyes smiling.
"I've been to college. It was just a lot of sitting and reading, and sitting and reading. Test, test, test."
"Not the version of college you had," she says, grabbing my hand and pulling me out the door. "I'm talking about the version of college I've had."
And just like that, I throw caution to the wind and we head back out into the city. I just pray this college party doesn't involve more beer and vomit.