Jack With a Twist

Brooke, I would never—”

“Please don’t give me ‘I would never,’” I say and I am suddenly sure that I am, in fact, slurring my words. But I don’t care. This needs to be said. “We all know what you would and would not do. And the ‘would’ category, as the entire legal community of New York City knows, definitely includes sleeping with partners. Married ones, preferably.”

“My word,” Miranda says, her voice barely a whisper. “I can see where I’m not wanted. I thought that we were becoming friends. But, I guess not, now that I know how you really feel about me. I’ll just be going.”

“Good idea,” I say, trying to articulate each word.

“Way to lay the smack down, Brooke,” Vanessa says, as Miranda rushes off. “I don’t like her, either.”

“You can’t use that expression if you’re over the age of twelve,” I tell her, and slurp down more of my ice water.

“Twenty-two,” she says. “The cut-off age for ridiculous expressions is twenty-two.”

We stumble off of our bar stools and back to our table, where the sisters Solomon have made sure that we each had a slice of bachelorette party cake waiting for us.

“I got you a cup of coffee, Brooke,” Patricia says, “how do you take it?”

“You’re no fun,” Lisa says, clearly on her way to having a lot of fun herself. “If the girl wants to get drunk at her own bachelorette party, that’s her prerogative!”

In slow motion, I see Patricia shoot a dirty glare in Lisa’s direction.

“The boys are going to be here any minute,” my mother says, appearing out of nowhere over my shoulder, “and you have eyeliner running down your face.” She dabs a napkin into my water and blots my face. I close my eyes as she puts makeup on it. She rubs concealer all over my face a bit too roughly, but I’m too drunk and tired to protest. Once she’s done with me, she starts in on Vanessa, who has begun hugging anyone in arm’s reach to tell them that they are her best friend.

Minutes later, the clock strikes midnight. On cue, the lights dim and the men start coming in. First, I see my father, who walks directly to my mother to give her a kiss and then I see a few of my friends’ boyfriends, fiancés and husbands walk in, not to mention a few gay best friends. Finally, I see Jack walk in with his father.

“Jackie,” I say, as Jack comes over to me and gives me a kiss, “consider yourself lei’d.” I take my lei off and put it around his neck and he kisses me again.

“Counselor, consider yourself served,” he says, handing me a legal document. I can feel the alcohol coursing through my veins.

“Are you kidding me?” I say, scanning the document. It’s a subpoena for witnesses that Jack wants to depose. Even through my drunken haze, I can still tell that it’s a lot of witnesses.

“Kind of,” he says, laughing and adjusting the lei.

“It’s not funny,” I say. “It’s not funny at all.” I’m somewhat aware that my party guests are beginning to look at me.

“Well, it’s meant to be a big joke,” he says, “so why don’t you try behaving unethically and we’ll see if I want to withdraw my subpoena.”

“That sounds dirty,” Vanessa says, laughing, from across the table. “Withdraw my subpoena.”

Jack laughs.

“You think that I’m a joke or something?” I say. “Is that why you and Miranda have been playing your little games with me? Playing jokes on me?”

“Well, to be fair,” he whispers, leaning into me, “we never really thought you’d take us seriously.”

“Oh, I take things seriously,” I say, “In fact, I’m very serious when I say that you’ve been playing dirty all along. You know that I have limited resources, and yet you’ve been inundating me with work.”

“Brooke,” he says, looking around at all of our party guests who are now beginning to stare. But I don’t care. I’m saying what needs to be said. What should have been said a while ago.

“It’s probably because you’re having an affair with Miranda and you just want to spend extra time with her,” I say.

“We’ve all had too much to drink, Jack,” Lisa whispers to Jack, gently taking my arm. “Sweetie, why don’t we go to the bathroom for a minute and get you some water? Let’s just try to have some fun, okay?”

“Fun?” I yell at Lisa. “This is not fun. Litigating this case has not been fun. Planning this wedding has not been fun. In fact, Jack probably learned how to play dirty by being a part of your family, since your family has been steamrolling over mine the entire time that we’ve been planning this thing.”

“No, we haven’t,” Lisa says quietly. And then to Jack: “Jack, would you please tell her that we haven’t?”

“Lobster!” I yell at her. “You served lobster at my freaking bridal shower!”

“What’s she talking about? What’s wrong with lobster?” Lisa asks Jack. “Brooke, what are you talking about?”

“You know what, Brooke?” Jack says, grabbing my arms away from Lisa. “You don’t even seem to want to get married, so I don’t know what you’re so upset about.”

“Excuse me?” I say, trying to release my arms from Jack’s grasp, but he’s holding on too tightly.

“You don’t even have a wedding dress and the wedding is a month away!” he says. “What does that say about how much you want to get married to me?”

“No,” I say, “I think it’s you who doesn’t want to get married, since you’ve given me no time to look for a wedding dress. I would have gone shopping for a wedding dress, but you kept inundating me with work!”

“We didn’t actually think you were actually going to do it!” he says, laughing like a mad professor.

“See?” I say, looking over to Vanessa. “There’s that we again.” Vanessa nods back at me, her eyes beginning to involuntarily close. I feel mine beginning to shut, too.

“Since when did you ever choose work over your real, actual life?” he says, running his hand through his shaggy brown hair. “When? Name one instance in the entire five years we were working together.”

“I don’t even know who you are anymore,” I say to Jack. “And it’s quite clear that you have no idea who I am, either.”

Everyone’s staring at me and the room begins to spin. Vanessa and my mother rush to my side, a show of support, and I try to fight back the tears that are threatening to explode from my eyes. I turn to my father, whose face has gone completely pale.

“Daddy, would you please take me home?”

23

I wake up the next morning in my old room at my parents’ house. The room I grew up in from the time I was born straight through to high school and college. My toes practically touch the tip of my twin-size bed and I nearly knock over the glass of water my mother left for me the night before on my bedside table as I stretch my arms out.

“Knock, knock,” my mother says quietly as she opens the door to my bedroom. She’s holding a tray with coffee, a buttered sesame bagel and a bottle of Advil. The perfect South-Shore-of-Long-Island hangover cure. “Can I come in?”

“Of course,” I say, even though she’s already halfway across my room. “Morning.”

“I thought you could use some of this stuff,” she says. I sit up in my bed and she sets the tray down next to me and perches herself at the end of the bed by my feet. I’m instantly reminded of all of those sick days when I was growing up and how my mother would prepare a tray with everything I needed to feel better—ginger ale, toast with strawberry preserves, tea with honey—and would then sit on my bed with me until I felt better.

“Thank you,” I say, picking up the bagel and taking a bite. It’s just the right amount of soft and sweet and the butter melts in my mouth. I wash it down with a greedy sip of coffee and think that this is the best bagel I’ve ever eaten in my life.