Page 91 of Sand in My Boots

Oops. That’s the alcohol talking.

My statement almost knocks her off the stool completely, but at the last minute, she grabs onto the edge of the table and hangs on. Her eyes blink rapidly, and she’s quiet for quite a few minutes. I’m not sure what to do. Do I backpedal and try to take it back? Do I pretend I didn’t say it? Maybe she didn’t understand what I was saying. I take a breath, holding it until she speaks again.

“I can’t live in a bar.”

More relieved than anything, my breath whooshes out on a laugh. I run with her comment. “Think of the possibilities. All the liquor you could want. People coming to visit you. Your very own communal bathroom. You’d never have to clean the floor. Did you notice how sticky it is?”

She sits there, a little wide-eyed, a little dazed. I’m hoping she won’t remember this conversation once it’s over. It’s more than ridiculous.

Her mind’s working out something. I can’t tell if she’s impaired by the liquor or because of the absurdity of the conversation. Perhaps a combination of both.

“You should take me home now.” She makes no attempt to get up and move, but her comment is serious.

“I’m thinking that’s a good idea. Want to stop for food on the way back to the resort?”

“Yeah. Something greasy.”

“I know just the place.” It’s a little out of the way, but luckily it’s open late.

“I have to pee.”

We’ve made it to the “no-filter” portion of drunkenness.

“You’ll have to manage without my help. No unisex bathrooms.” Clearly, I’m at the same stage as her. When I stand up, the floor rocks slightly. Good thing I had the sense to use rideshare rather than driving home.

“Think I can manage.” Again, she doesn’t move off the stool, just sits there blinking. “Though I may fall off. Help me down?” She holds out a hand, waiting for me to help her down. I do one better and wrap my arm around her waist, lifting her off the stool and planting her feet on the floor. She leans into me for support. “You always smell good. Why can’t I smell like you?”

It’s not in my nature to let comments like that go.

“Pretty sure it’s your body wash you’re smelling.”

“It smells better on you.” Her mouth pouts. If she weren’t quite so tipsy, I’d kiss it away.

“Sorry?”

“You definitely should be. It’s not fair.”

We stumble to the bathroom, Juli getting all her support from me. The doors to the men’s and women’s rooms are directly across from each other. “I’m going to use the bathroom before we leave, too. You going to be okay?”

She leans against the wall for support. I’m almost afraid to let her go in there alone.

“Hey, Juli. I didn’t get to say goodbye before we left.” A girl from the tour joins us in the hallway. She seems way less wasted than Juli, which gives me an idea.

“Hey, think you can help her out? Make sure she gets inside and to the toilet?” I’ve probably overstepped so many boundaries with my question, but I don’t have any other choice at this point. Sure, this woman’s mostly a stranger, but isn’t this what women do? Help each other out in the ladies’ room? That’s a thing, right?

“Sure. Got her covered.”

Wasting no time, she helps Juli through the open door, while I dart across the hall and swiftly take care of business. They’re still inside for a few minutes after I exit the men’s room. No out of the ordinary sounds emanate from the closed door in front of me, so I assume all is well.

After a handful of minutes, the door opens, the woman escorting Juli out, a worrisome look on her face. She all but pushes Juli into my arms. “All okay?”

“Um, yeah? Bye.” Her duties fulfilled, she races out of view.

Wondering what that’s all about, beyond helping a stranger use the bathroom in an inebriated state, I check in with Juli. She’s tucked into my side, her face buried in my armpit. “You okay?”

Her head shakes. “Need another shower.” Her jumbled words are barely comprehensible. And I have no clue what they mean.

“Okay. What about food? Still want to stop and grab something to offset the hangover you’re bound to have tomorrow?”