When The Rain Falls

1. Pocket Rocket Burn

1 POCKET ROCKET BURN

AIMEE

Third time’s not a charm.

Because Jason is the third guy to offer to buy me a drink tonight and I'm not feeling it. Goldilocks had better luck with furniture. If a girl can stumble her way through a forest and find a chair that’s just right, why can’t I stumble my way through this bar and find love?

It’s pretty rude, honestly.

I may not be feeling Jason, but my feelings towards tequila remain favorable. So, I decide to accept his offer. If Jason can’t give me a night to remember, this drink can give me a night to forget. And that’s almost as good.

Jason shoots me a playboy grin as he hands me a full shot glass. He’s cute in his backwards hat and white crewneck. I can’t put my finger on why he's not doing it for me. Maybe I’m getting tired of frat boys.

I raise my drink towards his. When our glasses clink together, I yell, "Shots!” Half the liquid spills over the rim and runs down my arm. I toss the drink down the back of my throat and enjoy the burn.

Every time I raise a glass tonight, I expect it to buoy my mood. But no luck so far.

Jason reaches for my wrist and tries to lick off the spilled tequila.I wink as I pull my arm away and lick it off myself. This sends one of Jason’s eyebrows shooting up in intrigue. It’s all about leaving them wanting more. I’ve played this game so many times that all my interactions with men feel rehearsed.

“That’s hot, girlie. I like watching you do that.” Jason smirks.

Girlie? Gross.

Tonight is going to be fun, I tell myself. Tonight better be fun. I came here to forget some things. At least temporarily. And there's no reason why tonight shouldn't be fun. Dan, the bartender, promised I could dance on the bar top later. I’m wearing my favorite low-cut tank top. And ever since I walked into this bar an hour ago, guys have been tripping over themselves to buy me drinks.

Ok, the guy who tripped was pretty wasted. But still.

This bar held all my hopes and dreams for the evening. But now, it’s just starting to smell like body odor. And the floor is sticking to my heels.

Jason leans in and kisses me. Honestly, I’d get more butterflies if a dog panted in my face.

“Mmmm,” I say, licking my lips as I pull away. Oh my God. Why did I just do that?!

Aimee, stop being weird.

When Jason pulls me tighter and leans in for another kiss, I give him the redirect. I take his hand and lead him onto the dance floor. Which looks like a sea of Hawaiian shirts and sequin tank tops. Apparently, it’s Hawaiian shirt night or something.

Fun. Tonight is going to be fun . But it feels like a little bag of quarter-life crisis worries has been weighing me down all night. I want to shove it off the proverbial cliff.But, instead, I keep rummaging through it trying to unpack where the last several weeks took a wrong turn.

It probably started when my best friend, Tate, asked her boyfriend, Dominic, to move in with us. I tried to make it work. Living with them as the third wheel. It was hard to listen to their happy chatter through the wall every night while I stared at the ceiling feeling alone.It didn’t take long to realize it was time for me to move on.

Unfortunately, moving on meant saying goodbye to the cozy, top floor, garden apartment with a view of downtown Seattle that had become my first real home since college. The one with access to a rooftop patio. The rooftop patio I strung with decorative lights and turned into a miniature garden.

And from there, it just got worse. Through a room share app, I found a room in a newly constructed townhouse. And I also found the chiseled body of Alex. Alex and I started a fling. When that fling had been fully flung, I tried to break it off. And that’s how I learned this very important single girls' commandment: thou shalt not sleep with thy landlord.And that’s why I’ve been living in a hotel for the past three days. Tate and Dom are having the garden apartment remodeled, so moving back in with them was not an option.

Once we’re on the dance floor,Jason wraps an arm around my waist and I'm washed in his strong cologne. He begins to grind against me to a catchy pop song. I try to enjoy it, but I think Jason’s grinding is giving me pocket rocket burn.

I catch Tate across the dance floor with Dom. He’s holding her close, brushing her hair back from her face as they laugh. She goes on her tiptoes to nuzzle his nose. All of a sudden, grinding with Jason starts to make me feel dirty and cheap.

“Bathroom break,” I tell Jason, slipping out of his grip. I wave to Tate and signal her to follow me. I push my way through the heavy door of the women’s bathroom with Tate hot on my heels.

“Aimee, what’s up?” she asks. “And what do we think of Jason ?” she adds conspiratorially as her eyebrows jump up and down her forehead. Her eyebrows are perfectly sculpted and I try not to hold her meticulous grooming habits against her. I tried to wax my eyebrows once, but it was torture. I felt like I was being tarred and feathered with mini popsicle sticks.

" We think ,” I answer, “that we need to start being more discerning about men,” I sigh as I lean into the mirror and inspect my face. My red lipstick is already wearing off and my mascara is starting to darken the skin below my eyes.

"Oh? Is Aimee finally taking an interest in a real relationship? Is our girl finally growing up?" Tate teases. She likes to do that. Tease me about my latest string of one night stands. I don't go looking for them. They find me. And it's hard for me to turn down a good time when it basically comes knocking on my door.Except now, I think I have a bit of a reputation. And it’s not one that I really like.

"Tate, let's not get carried away.” I shrug her comment off. “I’m just raising my standards. Just like, two small notches above frat boy or something,” I tease back. I smile, but it feels hollow. I've never had one of those brings me flowers and chocolates kind of relationships. To be honest, I had no real interest in one until recently. Now all my friends from college are settling down and the party circuit is starting to lose its appeal.

That’s what happens when you turn twenty-seven. You start to do things like read the news, and drink water on purpose, and have a favorite plant store. Tate keeps pointing out that the classifieds don’t count as news , but they’re in the news paper, so I’m counting it. Plus, I like to scan the Missed Connections section, just in case someone is out there looking for me. Meeting someone in person isn’t really working out for me. So, why not try random luck?

“I’m still not sure what was wrong with Alex. He seemed nice.” Tate props a shoulder against the wall next to the mirror.

“Can I borrow your lipstick?” I change the subject. The truth is that I didn’t really like Alex. I only slept with him because I was lonely. But I don’t want Tate to feel guilty about me moving out.

Tate studies me before slipping the purse off her shoulder and digging around in it.

“You’re avoiding the question,” she reminds me as she hands me a tube of lipstick.

“Alex, Jason, whatever.” My tone is light, but my heart feels dark. “They’re all the same.” I wave her off, lipstick in hand.

A group of loud, drunk women burst through the doors. One of them slips into an empty stall and the others huddle around it, laughing and talking loudly through the crack between the stalls. Tate watches them with amusement.

And I watch her.

Tate and I have been best friends since college. So I’m perfectly qualified to claim that since she met Dom, she’s the happiest she’s been in years. They are perfect for each other. Where is my perfect for me ?

“Pssst. Tate,”I say, trying to gather her attention.

“Aimee…” Tate shakes her head in mild amusement as she turns back to me. “Why are you pssst- ing me?”

“Because it adds a sense of conspiracy and intrigue,” I explain. “And I love conspiracy and intrigue.”

Tate lowers her head in a chuckle. Trying to get a laugh out of Tate always makes for a good distraction. And Lord knows, I’m all about distractions. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever met a distraction I didn’t like.

“Did Dom ask you yet?”

“Not yet. But I think soon,” Tate replies. Tate found a little black box in Dom’s dresser when she was doing laundry. It’s just a matter of time now.

“I can’t wait for you to plan a wedding.” I smile at her. “I’m going to be the most annoying bridesmaid in the world. Also, you have to let me design your invitations.” I point the lipstick at her like it’s a finger. “Advanced warning, I refuse to use the word nuptials . That word gives me the shivers." What also gives me the shivers is the fact that Tate is going to get married and I’ll see her even less than I do now.

“You know it. I plan to take full advantage of having a friend in graphic design when the time comes.” She pauses before adding, “How’s hotel life?”

“A total vacation,” I beam, lying through my teeth. Apparently glossing over discomfort is a skill of mine. “They clean my sheets every day. The continental breakfast is amazing. And you can’t beat free shampoo." In other words, it feels sterile, and lonely, and I hate it.

“It’s not free,” Tate chides playfully. “It comes with the room. Aimee, you can’t live in a hotel forever.” I just smile at her. Because my bank account is starting to agree. “You should call your sister.”

That makes me wrinkle my nose. Tate knows my sister and I don’t get along. But we both know she’s right.

"I know. I will,” I say, popping open the lid of the lipstick.

Tate looks at me. Her eyebrows wrinkling with concern.

“Don’t worry!” I tell her. As I apply a thick layer of red lipstick, I bump my hand on the bathroom counter. A thick stripe of red slides up to my nose.

“How do I look?”

“Amazing.” Tate chuckles.She takes a step back and trips on her heels.

“Team Shitshow has entered the building.” I laugh.