Strangers In The Night

2. 39 Hours, 03 Minutes Until It Ends

Bo waited. He arrived first at the hotel's steakhouse – lit in gold and decorated in red – as people mingled behind plate glass windows like a zoo enclosure. Ada was not around, so he waited outside the restaurant's shadowed entry. He squirmed, waiting. Watching people pass around him, texting Ada countless times before threatening to order room service and use up the incidentals fee she paid. The rehearsal dinner started at 07:30, after all. Running almost half an hour late did not bode well with his stomach.

"You're such a baby," she told him, rounding out the nearby double doors from the adjacent nightclub. She had a glass of something brightly colored in her hand. "I met up with some friends. Sue me."

"You didn't say you were going drinking."

"Maybe you weren't listening," she said.

Bo's skin prickled. "Are you coming to eat?"

"Depends. Are you going to stop being a sourpuss?"

"Maybe if the world suddenly bursts into flames, I will."

Ada stared, possibly realizing what she was doing – sending her already morose brother into a worse mood – before she took a deep sip of her drink. "You – !" She stopped, clearing her throat. "I regret this already," she whispered, most definitely under her breath but loud enough for Bo to hear.

'So do I.'

Already seething beneath his skin, Bo took his seat at table 8 – his name card written in beautiful script – and barely moved from it. Whatever Bo thought Ada's presence could supply vanished almost immediately after, always in sight but too far to be heard. She moved to old friends, talking and laughing and leaving him wringing his fingers under the table. Bo squirmed in his seat, the polo shirt he picked tugging gently at his sides and arms, while his khakis too tight around his waist. He wondered how long it would be before someone joked about it.

"Hi, there. Can I sit?" a woman hummed, sitting in the vacant spot beside him. "I'm Alana Russell. How are you?" She waited for the pleasantries to be handed back.

Bo knew the words. Simple words he used every single day – "Hi, I'm Robert. Or Bo." – but he nodded, half-smirking for a half-second before he grimaced. He cursed himself through his teeth.

She smiled, the expression already curt and uncomfortable. She asked, "Um...sorry for...bopping over," she laughed. "I like meeting new people. H-how do you know the happy couple?"

"I don't," Bo said, his hands pressing into his lap. It sounded like a question more than a statement, and Bo's face flushed red. He recognized the antisocialness of the statement, but leaning into trying was too much of a double-edged sword for him. She would fade into oblivion after this weekend.

"You're a guest of someone here, then?"

"I – it's not that," Bo said, stammering. "I'm only here because my family doesn't listen to me, and my sister didn't want to ask any of her exes to come like some cheesy rom-com." He could have stopped himself at that, but exhaustion rolled through his limbs; he took a sip of water. Bo wanted to be alone. All he needed was one lousy interaction to shut down for the rest of the weekend.

"What?" the guest asked, eyebrows raised in surprise.

His head spun. "That was...that was mean of me to say. My sister is a lovely human with selective hearing and enjoying life otherwise."

"Oh." The word was desperately confused.

"So tell me, Ms. Russell, liven the conversation – how much do you think this wedding cost? I'm guessing at least north of $10,000." Bo clenched his jaw. He didn't recognize himself when comments like that flew out of his mouth. It was moments like these when he wished he could turn invisible.