Jack With a Twist

that the wrong thing to say? I thought that this was what you wanted? Are you reconsidering?”

“Yes,” she says, looking up at me. “No. Maybe. I don’t know. What if I am?”

“Then you should talk to Marcus,” I say, grabbing some toilet paper off the roll and handing it to her to blot her eyes. “Maybe he feels the same way.”

“He doesn’t,” she says, as she quietly blows her nose. “When we were at our lawyers’ offices today, he asked me if I was sure. He asked me if I was a hundred percent sure, and I said ‘yes.’”

“So?” I say. “You’re allowed to change your mind, aren’t you?”

“Not with Marcus. When I said that I was sure, he said that we were done, final, finished, and that I could never come back. That he would never speak to me again.”

“Come here,” I say, jumping down from the sink. I pull Vanessa up from the toilet seat and give her a big hug. “It’s okay,” I say, stroking her hair.

Vanessa takes a deep breath in and out and I keep holding her tight. I’ve been with her through other nights crying over Marcus, and I know that after the deep breaths, she’ll start to feel better. We hold each other tight and I stroke her hair.

“I love you, Vanessa,” I say, and, as I say it, I feel her hug me back.

“I love you, too,” she says, and I feel someone’s eyes on us. I look up and see that someone’s opened the door to the bathroom by accident.

My future mother-in-law.

“Hi, girls,” Jack’s mother, Joan, says.

“Hi,” we say in unison, our faces still pressed cheek to cheek, arms still intertwined. I have a feeling that I should let Vanessa go, that my future mother-in-law is probably wondering exactly what it is that I’m doing with my maid of honor cooped up in the bathroom with her, embracing her, on the night of my bachelorette party, but the bathroom is so cramped that there’s actually no way for me to break away from the hug.

“This probably looks odd,” I say.

“It actually reminds me of my own bachelorette party,” she says, and I have no idea if she’s joking or serious. Since there’s no room for Vanessa and I to turn and face each other and make the requisite “I’m confused, are you?” face, we sort of hop out of the bathroom together and drop our arms. Joan walks into the bathroom without another word.

“Let’s do more shots,” Vanessa says, grabbing my hand.

Vanessa and I walk out to the bar and plant ourselves down on two stools. I melt into my bar stool, feeling like I’ll never get back up. Vanessa is already halfway slouched over the bar, and dangling her feet from the bar stool like a little girl whose chair is too high for her. The bartender pulls out two oversized shot glasses without our even having to say a thing, and fills them with shots of Southern Comfort.

“Do I look so bad that he actually knew that I wanted hard alcohol?” Vanessa asks, holding her head up with her arm.

“No,” I say, “you look gorgeous. He’s probably just getting you drunk so that he can take advantage of you later. Now drink!”

“Three, two, one,” Vanessa calls out and we down our shots. We both bring our shot glasses back down onto the bar with a slam.

“Ready for another?” the bartender asks, waving the bottle around in front of our faces.

“Yes, please,” Vanessa says, sticking her glass out. I hold onto my glass as I try to figure out if I’m too drunk to have another shot.

“He’s cute,” Vanessa whispers, pointing to the bartender.

The bartender overhears her and winks at her. I can’t help but laugh. Thinking other guys are cute—the first step in the healing process of a breakup. Vanessa just may be all right, after all.

“Well, I am fixin’ to get me a drink!” Miranda says as she sidles up to the bar.

“Just as long as she’s not fixin’ to steal my man from me,” I say to Vanessa. Vanessa laughs quietly into her shot glass.

“Brooke, you’re so funny,” Miranda says, turning around to me. I’m surprised that she’s answered me, since I thought I’d whispered that to Vanessa, but whenever you’re drinking, you tend to think you’re whispering when you’re actually screaming, so I let it slide. “As if Jack isn’t head-over-heels crazy for you, bless his heart! You are one lucky gal.”

“I’m very lucky,” I say, and I wonder if I’m beginning to slur my words.

“And I just think it’s so cute how y’all are flirting with each other by serving each other legal documents,” she says, picking up her drink from the bar and taking a sip. “It is just too sweet.”

“Well,” I say, downing another shot of Southern Comfort, “it was funny at the beginning.” Miranda smiles at me and takes a sip of her drink. Then, lowering my voice to a whisper: “Truth be told, it’s kind of getting a little annoying now.”

After I’ve said it, I suddenly realize how drunk I’m getting. Why on earth was I confiding in the one person here who I dislike and distrust the most? I motion for the bartender and order myself a glass of ice water. Vanessa frowns at me and orders herself another shot.

“I’m sorry to hear you say that, Brooke,” Miranda says, “I had no idea. I never would have suggested to Jack that he serve you with Interrogatories at your bridal shower if I’d known that you didn’t think it was funny anymore.”

Stop the presses. Stop. The. Presses.

Miranda told Jack to serve me with Interrogatories at my bridal shower? That was all her idea? I’m not sure which I’m more upset about—the fact that Miranda suggested it, or that Jack actually followed through with the idea that she suggested.

I grab at the cocktail napkin that’s underneath my ice water and tear it into two pieces. And then into four.

“That was your idea?” I ask, trying to articulate my words, an act that is becoming increasingly more difficult with each passing second.

“Yes,” Miranda says, laughing, “we didn’t even really have anything to ask you—I mean, it’s a simple business transaction, right? But Jack and I thought it would be funny, so we served you. He didn’t think you’d actually take them seriously. We were shocked when we got your responses.”

Jack and I. She just said Jack and I. As if they’re a team or something. Or friends.

Or more. I tear the napkin into eight pieces.

“Jack and I?” I say, eyes narrowing. Her face begins to blur as I squint my eyes until I can’t really see her at all.

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m his junior associate, right? Now that you’re gone, I’m the junior associate working on all of his cases with him.”

I tear the napkin pieces again and again, until they can’t be torn in half anymore.

“Oh, I’m sure you’re working it,” Vanessa says, laughing from the bottom of her throat. She leans into me and puts her chin on my shoulder so that we are both staring directly at Miranda.

“What?” Miranda says. “Am I missing something here? Is there some joke I’m not in on?”

“Oh, so now you think I’m a joke?” I ask and I can feel Vanessa nodding, her chin bumping into my shoulder.

“What are y’all talking about?” Miranda asks, laughing nervously.

“Are you sleeping with him?” I say, eyes narrowing into tiny slits.

“With who?” Miranda asks.

“Wow,” Vanessa says quietly, falling back onto her own bar stool. “She’s sleeping with so many of them she can’t even keep track.”

“Jack!” I yell at Miranda. “Whaddya mean who? Don’t play coy now. It’s a bit too late for that, don’t you think?”

“What?” she says, still laughing. “What on earth are you talking about, Brooke? Vanessa, what’s she talking about?”

“How dare you come here,” I say.

“You’re kidding, right?” Miranda says, “Vanessa, would you please talk some sense into your friend here?