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For the first time in quite a while they made it out, clubbing and stuff. The music was blasting like insane and the songs were kinda old. Not too old to feel nostalgic, just lame old. In a rare fit of not so bold boldness Greg didn’t hesitate to point it out. Luckily, Tom was in good spirits and let that comment slide. He was determined to have fun. Manic, almost. Greg on the other hand was determined to not die from alcohol poisoning. He had a feeling that his stomach wasn’t made for the liquor they served at this place. Or maybe it was the liquor they served here that simply wasn’t made for human stomachs. Anyhow, Greg opted for water the last round, asking the bartender to serve it with ice and some fruit so it could pass for vodka or gin or something. He knew better than becoming a douchy sober friend mid party.
In the corner of his eye he saw Tom do that silly tiptoeing thing that he would do when he’s slightly tipsy or enjoys himself a bit too much and sneak up to Greg with two glasses of some ludicrously looking cocktails. At the sight of more booze Greg had to groan. Sensitive stomach aside, his head started pounding a little and his eyes felt droopy, too. But he was willing to put up with it for a bit more - Tom could use a night out. Like. He really could. Tom was borderline fucked, re: Cruises. Greg was fucked too, perhaps, but he wasn’t new to rock bottom. He was so far from being new to it that he yawned and started falling asleep right there on a sofa in a loud club, mid thought of potential jail time. Panic attacks were easy to reschedule these days.
“Get a grip, Sleeping Beauty, I’m not letting you doze off here,” Tom shouted at him, mercilessly shoving one of the glasses to Greg and nearly spilling the drink.
Snatched from the hazy drowse, Greg took the glass and dutifully got up to his feet, trying to place the beat of the song. He was self-aware enough to know his bouncing didn’t look any good but stopping now wasn’t an option. Stopping was never an option, really.
“Tom, this is like? I don’t know, maybe one too many a drink?” He sipped it nonetheless, obeying Tom’s frantic nods and waving hands.
“Drink up, Gregory! Time to get a little naughty,” Tom bursted into one of his border line hysterical laughs and had to put his glass down. It stopped as abruptly as it started, though, when Tom let out a theatrical gasp that slowly turned into a conspiring grin.
“Greg?” he loudly whispered, coming closer. Maybe a bit too close but Greg was no expert in proxemics. And it felt nice, so. “This is it.”
“Yeah?” Greg smiled back uncontrollably, unsure why Tom’s silly moods were always so contagious. The headache was going away. Maybe ‘this’ indeed was ‘it’.
“This is it! This is the song!!” Tom shouted back, starting to do some funky moves. Greg shouldn’t be one to criticise but it definitely (probably) looked stupid. Still, it was Tom and it only made Greg smile wider.
The song in question was another relic from ye ole 2005, but at least Greg recognised it. The chorus prosaically reminded him the title - ‘Hey Ya’.
“Yeah, yeah, I know this one, man.”
“Don’t tell anyone,” at that Greg’s brain almost instinctively prepared to soak in potential leverage material, “but I really love this song, okay?” Well. Maybe not leverage. And maybe a stupid choice for a favourite song, considering uh. Tom and stuff.
“Really? Cause, uh, isn’t it a bit-”
“If you say ‘old’ one more time, I will smack you, Greg.”
“No! No, just? Perhaps a little glum for my- For my liking, that’s all,” Greg waved a hand gingerly.
“Glum? Are you in your right mind? Listen to it,” Tom cupped his hand around his ear and made a goofy face. The song conveniently went:
Don't want to meet your daddy
Just want you in my Caddy
Don't want to meet your mama
Just want to make you cum-a'
“It’s hot! If anything.” Satisfied with himself, Tom continued bopping his head and when the song required, shouted out: “Ice cold! Ice cold!”
Greg didn’t know much about things but he knew when he knew them. Usually, at least.
“It’s a sad song, actually? Um, crumbling relationship and such?” Tom didn’t seem to listen really but oh well, when did it stop Greg. “Like? I remember I’ve seen that show? The medical show? And they played it and I was like woah, weird! Because it was at a wedding? And you know?”
Tom clearly didn’t know and didn’t care.
“Shut up, Greg! And shake it!!”
And so Greg obeyed and shook the hell out of it.
***
Tom entered the apartment and wrestled with the shoes. He nearly tripped but that only made him giggle. It was one of those rare nights where he managed not to lose the spirit or lash out at anyone (Greg). The demons didn’t take over. Considering the impending hearings and the weird atmosphere at home lately, this felt especially good. Small victories.
“Hey, there,” Shiv yawned, appearing at the top of the stairs. On her forehead she was wearing her sleeping mask, the funny one, with “Fuck you” embroidered over the silk. She looked so cuddly, it made Tom’s heart swell. He forgot how much he loved this, just them at home, pyjamas and no business.
“Hey baby,” Tom murmured with a smile. Despite all their recent arguments, it was easy to slip back into loving her. She started descending and they embraced briefly in the dim lights of the hall. He wanted to bury his face in her soft hair, but she wrestled out of it and went to pour a glass of water.
“You woke me up, Wambsgans,” she said and he knew she meant it as a tease but it still sounded like a reprimand. Tom's head was pleasantly buzzing with the alcohol though, so he masterfully brushed it off.
“Good, now I can cuddle you to death,” he put on his trademark serious-not-serious voice and leaped to catch her back into his arms.
“Tom!” She laughed, not being fast enough to get away. “The serial cuddler is back?”
“Back and more dangerous than ever!” he roared. Holding her there and then felt like home. She hasn’t felt like home for an eternity. And despite all the laughter and kisses in the neck, his eyes started prickling. It was just a stressful month, he said to himself.
Suddenly his phone beeped and then again and again and Shiv finally managed to free herself. Breathing a bit heavily, she asked more out of curiosity rather than concern or irritation:
“Who the hell is texting you at, like,” she glanced at her smart watch, “2 in the morning?”
“No secrets from my Queen,” Tom bowed and held out his phone to her. She wasn’t taking it but he shoved it into her hands anyway, heading back to the coat rack and taking his trench off.
“Well, who is it?” Shuffling with the hanger he heard her sigh and unblock the phone.
“Oh God, it’s cousin Greg. I don’t even wanna know,” she said. Some unpinnable feeling washed over Tom. He swallowed it like bile.
“Ah, Greg. What is he saying?”
Shiv rolled her eyes a little, as if Tom’s texting history was the least interesting thing to her. It probably was. Opening the text, though, she let out a surprised laugh, seemingly amused now.
“It’s a song? Jesus Christ, you’re exchanging songs now.” There was another blip and she read out in a fake dreamy voice: “Dear Tom, please listen to this song, for it makes me think of you-”
“Uh-huh,” he chuckled, choosing to join in on the joke, but something about her nonchalance made him uneasy. “What does it really say?”
“Nothing, just a song you allegedly like, a cover of it from some show? I don’t know.”
He felt something warm bloom inside despite her clear disinterest. Greg, what a silly goose. They’ve parted mere twenty minutes ago.
“Put it on,” he said, uncharacteristically decisive, and gently took her free hand in his, the other one wrapping around her waist. It was his home, it was his wife and he was allowed to have nice things. “Put it on, it’s a good song. It’s gonna be fun.”
She rolled her eyes yet again but apparently felt generous enough to let this little moment just be and put the song on, offering him a little smile. It was nice, almost like when they just started going out. Shiv rarely was this pliable.
Gentle ukulele started playing to Tom’s surprise but then it all came back to him - Greg’s nonsense about weddings and sad songs. Whatever, he probably didn’t even know what he was talking about. If television people played it at their wedding, how sad could it be?
They swayed quietly and Shiv even rested her head on his shoulder. When the singer opened with:
“My baby don't mess around
Because she loves me so, and this I know for sure,”
She let out a small smug laugh that Tom felt more so than heard, and for one brief second he felt so soft and held and content, and-
“But does she really wanna
But can't stand to see me walk out the door?”
Shit. He never got sober so fast. His heart jumped up to his throat and with some alien horror he felt blood in his veins run cold. Shiv tensed in his arms a little, but neither of them stopped moving.
“Don't try to fight the feeling
'Cause the thought alone is killing me right now”
Killing is the word. Something small and delicate died in Tom's chest.
“Thank God for Mom and Dad
For sticking two together 'cause we don't know how”
Shiv finally looked up and though he couldn’t quite decipher her expression, he felt the painfully familiar urge to save the situation.
“Hey, hey- hon? It’s just a song,” he managed a weak smile despite his actual feeling, and she reluctantly stayed in his arms, relaxing a bit. The voice coming from the phone in her hand sounded aloof and distant, singing “Hey ya” over and over, and they swayed still, holding eye contact, trying to silently decide what it meant to them. To Tom it meant everything.
“You think you've got it, oh, you think you've got it
But 'got it' just don't get it till there's nothing at all
We get together, oh, we get together
But separate's always better when there's feelings involved”
To Shiv? Who knows. She didn’t like being mind fucked, that much he knew. With an eybrow raised at him she was probably trying to decide if that was indeed just a random song from clueless Greg or a carefully planned operation on guilt tripping her into something.
“If what they say is, ‘Nothing is forever’
Then what makes, then what makes love the exception?
So why oh, why oh
Are we so in denial when we know we're not happy here?”
At last, she broke the embrace and held out the phone back to Tom. He took it automatically, not being able to look away. Her eyes betrayed little emotion and he couldn’t tell if she was hurt or just generally displeased. Shiv shook her head in somewhat of disapproval and headed back to the bedroom. Half way up the stairs she turned back to him and her voice sounded sharp and cold like a surgical scalpel when she said:
“Tell Greg,” she paused and slightly raised her eyebrows at the name as if checking that Tom understood, “to kindly fuck off.”
And suddenly Tom was alone. The phone slid out of his hand and he finally let out a shaky breath.
“What the fuck…” he whispered to himself slowly sinking down on the sofa. Some primal fear still held him paralysed. Hearing the words he couldn’t muster the courage to even think in his head? Dancing to them with his wife? He was going to be sick.
Absent-mindedly he noticed that the song was going on and finally got to the part they were listening to at the club. Fucking in caddies and whatnot.
A bit late for that. He reached for the phone and put a stop to this torture. After a second of thinking he typed out a text and sent it.
***
Greg was dozing off in his bed, drunk and exhausted, when his phone buzzed. He lazily opened his eyes and reached out for it. Tom’s reply simply read: “Fuck off, Greg”.
Greg chuckled and went back to sleeping. Whatever, Tom.