Chapters (44)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Epigraph
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Books by Julie Murphy
- Back Ad
- About the Publisher
Immediately, I want to duck into his mom’s silk robe like a turtle, and on top of that I don’t want this moment with Tucker to be over.
“Yes!” chimes in Clem.
Tucker nudges me, his pinkie leaving mine. “Say yes.”
I shake my head.
“You could get up there and sing ‘Jesus Loves Me’ right now and this whole house would go nuts. That’s how drunk everyone is,” he says.
“Yeah, everyone else is drunk,” I say. “The problem is I’m not.”
“It’s perfect,” he says. “You’ll be epic to everyone either way.”
I look at him, the word on the tip of my tongue.
“Say it,” he urges.
“Yes,” I blurt before I can change my mind.
Kyle howls and throws the mic at me, which I catch, but barely. I check the songbook and go with a song I feel deep down in my bones.
I hike one foot up on the coffee table, testing its stability. It’s solid, but it’s also probably never had to hold a six-foot-three, three-hundred-plus-pound person before.
There’s a moment of quiet while I’m waiting for the song to start and I’m forced to look at everyone staring back up at me. I don’t have the benefit of being under a spotlight in a dark bar.
“I want you to know that I’m happy for you. I wish nothing but the best for you both,” I sing.
A few people cheer with recognition. This is the one and only Alanis Morissette song I know, which I was exposed to on our way home from a choir competition in ninth grade when Ms. Jennings played us her personal playlist on the way home. I immediately went home and listened to the song on repeat while I sang/screamed along, feeling all the anger of a woman scorned. Unlike the song, I’d never been left for another woman, but something about the pain and anger made me feel validated and invigorated.
Clem holds her lit phone up, and a few people, including Tucker, follow suit as we reach the buildup for the chorus.
“And I’m here to remind you of the mess that you left when you went away.”
I guess I’m not the only one who feels this song so deeply, because the whole living room is singing along. More phones pop into the air. Some people from the backyard fill in.
Suddenly, I’m untying my robe and whirling it around me as I pace back and forth on the coffee table.
“You better work!” shouts Kyle.