“You said ‘thanks.’ Was that ‘Thanks for coming to talk to me, now go away’?”

“I didn’t—”

“‘Thanks for putting yourself out there so I can make you feel like an idiot’?”

“No—”

“‘Thanks for making me feel attractive because my husband sure doesn’t, and that’s the only reason I came out tonight’?”

Before I could respond, Vanessa walked up with two shot glasses in her hands, and she looked back and forth between the two of us before stepping closer to him.

“How about ‘Thanks for understanding that sweat, armpits, and cheap leather do not go well together and for moving on to stink up some other area of the club’?” she said.

The man grumbled something, shook his head, and walked away.

Vanessa turned back to me, holding out one of the glasses. “I think you ordered this?”

I stared at the retreating leather and then the shot glass, all my planned protests flying out the window.

“What the hell,” I said, taking it and lifting it up.

She smiled and lifted her glass as well before we tossed them back. The thick liquid burned, like it was supposed to, and I coughed loudly as I put the glass down on the small table.

“What the hell!” I exclaimed again, wiping my mouth, those famous last words some of the last ones I remembered of the night.

• • •

Two hours later, I was in the fiery pit of hell but too drunk to know it.

There were karaoke singers wailing everything from “My Heart Will Go On” to “Shoop.” Nearby, Vanessa was making out with a man who she said was Tim, but I had a good feeling he wasn’t. And my hand was sweaty and sticky from the number of times it had been grabbed by a faceless stranger before I could react and yank it away.

Still, I put my name on the list for karaoke and gave in to the night. When my name was called out, Vanessa pulled away from her date and yelled something as I navigated the crowd to get to the front of the room. There was no stage, just a cleared-out space near the DJ, and I took the microphone and got into place.

I heard the opening chords to “You Oughta Know” by Alanis Morissette—my go-to karaoke song—and I began to sway. I was walking the fine, liquored line between complete happiness and total breakdown. I swallowed and pushed on, letting the familiar lyrics drip off my tongue.