Knickers

Phony Tryhard Badasses

The bar is kind of a nightclub, and kind of not. It's classy everywhere it's not trashy and vice versa. Half the crowd wears cocktail dresses and collared shirts, while the other half wears DIY cutoffs and muscle shirts. I've never been to any bar like it.
Maya and I occupy a standing table off to the side, sipping our usuals, deflecting the combined flirtatious forces of six guys in the first twenty minutes, four for Maya and two for me.
"If I were straight, I would never sleep," she muses, swirling her martini in her glass. "That last guy was fine."
"Are you kidding? He looked like a shoe."
"Yeah, a Cole Haan shoe."
"Gross. Where's Layla?"
"On her way. Why, you're just dying to interrogate her?"
I shrug innocently, lipping the rim of my glass. "I just want to know what she's about, that's all."
Maya sighs dreamily, like a lovestruck movie character. "She's artsy and fun. A free spirit."
I raise my eyebrows at the description. "Sounds like a biochemist's dream."
"What? I can be creative." She stretches her neck in search of something at the bar. "Where's Blud Boy?"
"Why?" I say, my heart rate spiking. "Do you see him? Do I look okay?"
"Oh my god, Marls, chill." She steals a suspicious look my way. "Why? Are you planning something?"
"I want to tell him," I say, tapping nervously on the sides of my glass. "I thought maybe I'd have more confidence here."
"I wouldn't go dropping something heavy on him with a drink in your hand. It discredits you."
"Well, maybe it's a good backup plan if I get rejected. Then we can disregard the whole thing, pretend it never happened." I take a long sip of my watered down mint julep. "Being a drunk comes with the advantage of less scrutiny, at least."
"We'll have to face reality someday, Marley," she tells me soberly. "I know we have fun, but I want to be good for you and your life. I love you."
"Shut up."
"No, I won't. Face your fear of intimacy. I love you."
A creeping feeling trickles down my spine at the premise of returning these words. Maya and I do very much love each other, but would we be the phony tryhard badasses we are if we said it all the time?
"I get that your household growing up wasn't too friendly," she says, "but you're an adult now. I promise there's nothing scary on the dealing end of an 'I love you'."
"I disagree." I swallow hard. "But, I do, you know, love you. A lot."
"Was that so hard?" she asks, idly scrolling the text messages between her and Layla. "She just pulled up. Be nice."
"I'll be nice," I say, and neither of us speak until a girl comes through the front door.
Maya grabs my arm, frantic. "That's her. Be cool."
"I'm cool," I say, squinting at the new girl. She seems like Maya's type, lavender tipped hair and black lipstick, and stunning of course. Maya's nails dig into my skin, tightening as she finds and approaches us.
"Hey," she says to Maya, and they hug.
"Hi. How are you?"
"Good," she says, extending a hand to me. "I'm Layla."
"A pleasure," I say. "Marley."
"You want a drink?" Maya asks her, leading her immediately off to the bar without waiting for an answer.
I wait, knowing she doesn't want me to begin my questions at least until Layla has access to alcohol. They disappear among the crowd, shorter than all the girls around them in heels. I wait, tapping my fingers against the table, when a sudden commotion draws away my attention. The lanky, pierced blonde from the party climbs up on the table with a drink in hand. A moment after him comes Dom, his hair exploded into its usual disaster, and as soon as a song begins to play over the speakers they hook their arms around each other.
I straighten a little at the sight of them, joyous and laughing, hoping Dom sees me among the masses. He starts to sing then, barely loud enough to be heard above the speakers, in a bouncy duet with who I now understand to be Machine Gun Kelly. They dance and jump, drinks in hand, and the crowd matches their vivacious energy until the end of the song. They help one another down, off the tables, and without thinking I abandon my table to go find him, Maya and her date forgotten.
I weave between the nightclubbers, clutching my glass, anxiously anticipating the impending conversation. It should be easier than this. I want to be free of these nervous jitters.
I arrive at the back corner of the bar, pausing beside the table Dom had danced on a moment ago. After several thorough scans of the crowd, I spot Machine Gun Kelly, chatting enthusiastically with a group, but Dom is not among them. I wander a bit further and stop outside the bathroom.
A curvy blonde girl appears behind me, excusing herself politely, and I duck out of her way so she can enter the bathroom. As she passes, she wipes her cherry red lipstick off on the back of her hand and smooths her hair down.
Then, she goes into the men's room without breaking stride. As the door opens and closes, I hear Dom's voice from inside, calling a greeting to her.
My chest clenches as several assumptions bombard me. I begin to go through them one by one, wondering if she made a mistake, if she's had too much to drink, if she's selling weed in there, if she's a drag queen.
I spend a few minutes pacing outside, wondering how to put my mind at ease. Then, without any thought at all, I barge into the men's bathroom, seeing no one at first, until I see two pairs of legs in the stall, one standing and one kneeling. Hot jealousy rises in my throat as I beeline all the way to the far side, and push open the stall door with no consideration for consequences.
Dom is there, his eyes closed, his head back, his hand rested atop the head of the blonde girl, who is knelt before him. They both startle and scramble to orient themselves. The girl adjusts her dress and fixes her hair. Dom rushes to yank his shirt down to cover himself.
"Marley," he sputters. "What are you—"
My words catch in my throat, silencing me. Tears begin to brim, lining my eyelids and threatening to overflow, but I can't blink them away faster than they come.
So I swallow back my shock and barely manage to say, "Wrong bathroom."
I slam the door on my way out.