Broken Resolutions

Chapter Seven

“What are you doing here?” Rita accosts Billy in the hallway.

“I told you I would be here if I finished my work.” 

“But I didn’t think you actually meant it.”

“Why would I have said it if I didn’t mean it?”

“I don’t know. Everyone says that kind of stuff. And how can you not know that Aspen is in Colorado?”

He shrugs. “I was never strong on geography. Why did you tell them I do software development? I design websites. What’s wrong with that?”

“I didn’t think you were coming!”

“So. That’s still no reason to lie about what I do.”

“Just watch what you say,” Rita tells him before turning her back to him and walking toward the living room.

Shortly afterward, everyone gathers in the living room again, all of the couples positioned next to each other, except for Craig and Hannah on opposite sides of the room.

An undefined awkwardness fills the space.

Hannah takes another sip from her glass and crosses her legs, knowing that her dress slides up her thigh as she does so. If she could have pulled it up a little higher without being obvious, she would. Craig is directly opposite her and she notices she has caught his attention. Piss on him, she thinks to herself. Piss on him and his tramp girlfriend. Piss on them both. She feels as if she is going to cry. Not only cry, but sob, break down in front of everybody. She imagines herself as a pathetic heap in the chair, sobbing hysterically while everyone stares at her. Poor Hannah, she’s gone off the deep end. No wonder Craig left her. She takes another gulp and pushes back the tears.

Craig pulls at his collar. He hates wearing a tie. What is the use of it? A piece of fabric dangling from his neck. Although, at this point, he thinks, if things continue the way they have been, I could always form a noose and hang myself from the chandelier.

Shelia is just trying to make me jealous, that’s all, he tells himself. But still, he cannot get the image of that guy out of his mind. That tee shirt plastered against his stomach. Guy must be anorexic. Or maybe he does a thousand sit-ups a day. Did I ever have a stomach that looked like that? A six-pack, that’s what they called a stomach like that. He imagines Shelia’s long red nails resting upon such a stomach. He glances at his watch. Just a few more hours. Everyone will be out by three. He could make it a few more hours. It wasn’t like Shelia was going to go to bed with this guy or anything; she just met him. A few more hours. I can do this, he tells himself. 

He pulls at his tie again. It’s so hot in here. What the hell does she have the thermostat on? It has been an ongoing battle between them. He turns it down; she turns it up. Guess she turned it back up after I left, he thinks to himself. Of course, she’d have to have the heat set up high—what she’s wearing, she’s probably cold. That dress is short as hell. And Andrew, that asshole, hanging all over her in the kitchen. What was that all about?

He looks at Hannah. He has to admit, she does look great with that haircut. But when he first saw her, it killed him—the thought of all that hair in some hairdresser’s trashcan. Knowing he’d never run his hands through it again. He’d had to remind himself that he’d already given up that right. Sometimes, he still has to remind himself. He looks at her long legs. Her legs always did look great in black nylons. He looks at his watch again. It is going to be a long night.

“What if…” Andrew says loudly.

Everyone smiles except for the two newcomers, who glance about the room in confusion.