Page 30 of Mom Com

The response of the crowd is a little thrilling—people taking note of me and Liv with their wide-eyed expressions and Wilder completely missing the ball on his pool shot. I hesitate a moment as we stop at the bar, wondering if this was the right decision, but the concern doesn’t linger the way it normally would.

Liv orders us two glasses of wine, claiming a switch to beer would be perilous. And while I’m faintly aware that more alcohol is unnecessary, I’m also staring down the barrel of my youth and I need all the bravado I can muster.

Liv clinks my glass and I take a big sip.

“So, what are the parameters of this bet?” I ask, trying not to look in Wilder’s direction and failing. “I mean, what decides who won?”

“Hmmm,” Liv says, scanning the crowd. “How about this, leave the convincing to me. If I don’t get Wilder to say or reveal something that indicates he still cares about you, then you win. Pressure to perform is squarely on my shoulders, just where I like it.”

“Um, can I get a loan on some of that confidence? Because I could really use it for the next week or so.”

She grins at me mischievously. “Oh, I don’t think you’re lacking in the confidence department. I very clearly remember the time you climbed onto the bed of Jake’s truck at school and told off an entire parking lot of people for gossiping about you.”

I laugh, even though normally that memory would make me cringe. “You weren’t even there when I did that.”

“See what I mean?” she says, raising her glass. “News of your badassery reached all the way to Yale.”

I open my mouth to respond but Matt has made his way over to us, grinning from ear to ear. “Fuck me, this is a surprise. I’d heard you were back in town, Maddi, but having you show up to my birthday celebration makes me feel all kinds of special.”

Liv cocks an eyebrow and a smile. “Actually, we’re here for the basic drinks and the juvenile atmosphere.”

Matt nearly breaks into song. “Perfection. I’m an ambassador of juvenile atmosphere. Search no further, ladies, I’m at your service.”

I catch Wilder stealing looks at us from the pool table and frowning.

Raff, Matt’s best friend, claps him on the shoulder, joining our small group. “Why do I get the impression that I should already be apologizing for you?”

“Because you haven’t drank enough beer?” Matt suggests. “Or because those ginger curls on your head are actually pubes and you’re really a giant limp dick?”

It’s so stupid that I laugh despite myself.

Matt nods at me approvingly. “See, even Maddi thinks you’re lame.”

Raff doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s not what your sister said last night.”

“Man, what did I tell you about sister jokes? Not fucking funny,” Matt says with a warning glare.

Liv swirls her glass, the ice cubes clanking against the sides, and cuts them off before they melt our brains with bro-y posturing. “Mads and I are after a game of pool. Anyone call winners on this game?”

My eyes flick to Liv. While I’m not bad at pool, per se, I also didn’t think she was going to throw us into the lion’s den of Matt’s crew.

Matt, of course, lights up like the string of rainbow lights above the bar. He turns around, waving his hand for us to follow. “Yo Wilder, Maddi, and Liv call winners!” he bellows. It occurs to me that Matt must be Wilder’s teammate. “Don’t mess this shit up.”

There are hoots and hollers as we approach, but Wilder’s eyebrows are still pushed together like he’s concentrating too hard.

Liv winks at her brother, which does nothing to soften his expression.

“It’s your go,” Wilder says to Matt.

I get a look at the pool table, which only has a few remaining balls. It takes Matt about two minutes of calculating and one fast shot to sink the last of the striped set and then pocket the eight ball, which is surprising because I would have wagered he was too drunk to identify the cue ball much less hit anything at an angle. And while Wilder resets the table like he’s in a bad mood, Liv and I shrug out of our coats, piling them on a stool next to the wall.

“I hope you’re comfortable with losing,” I say in a whisper, gesturing in Wilder’s direction. “Thatis not the face of someone who’s happy about my presence. He looks like he’s going to pick an argument with the pool table.”

She shakes her head like I’ve got it all wrong. “Nope. That’s just Wilder’s resting face when his sense of antiquated decorum is disturbed by the improprieties of rabble-rousers.” She adds a British accent and makes a bit of theater out of it with an exaggerated bow.

I can’t help but giggle.

“I’ll break,” Liv announces loudly, pulling away from our huddle, and giving me a wink.