Either way, I’m too scared to open any of them in case I accidentally use some special, crazy-expensive bottle he was saving for whatever, so Woo Woos it is. I even dig a lime out of the fridge and cut it up to add a wedge to each of our glasses. Super classy.
Nate is sat on the floor at the long, low, oak coffee table. I guess it’s so the camera is at a better height where his iPad is propped up on the TV stand, a few feet in front of him. He’s got paper and pens ready for us, lined up neatly on the table. And coasters, which I make sure to use to put our drinks on.
“There she iiiiiissss,” crows someone from the TV, as I grab a cushion off the sofa to sit on next to Nate on the floor.
On the screen in front of us are four windows, each looking into a different room. There’s a ginger guy sat on a bed, an Indian guy whose fake background is the Love Island confessional room (hilarious, I love him already), one dude with golden tan skin and shoulder-length sandy hair sat cross-legged on a sofa, notebook on his lap, and finally Peggy Mitchell.
Like, I’m not even kidding. The guy’s got a blond wig that looks exactly like the beloved EastEnders landlady’s hair, is wearing pink lipstick and a leopard-print coat, and his background is set as the Queen Vic from the show.
I must be gawping because the ginger guy laughs. “Nate, didn’t you warn her about Peggy?”
Nate looks at me, looking a bit awkward and embarrassed, and mumbles, “Duncan missed our last quiz. And since it’s his turn to host, he has to do a forfeit to make up for it. Don’t ask.”
“Get out of ma Zoom!” Peggy/Duncan says, in a scarily accurate impression that has all of us cracking up. Then, in what I assume is his normal northern accent, he says, “So you’re the bird who’s been driving Nate round the bend all week.”
I absolutely hate it when guys say bird like that.
“Tweet, tweet, bitches.”
Nate flushes, but his friends only laugh. The Indian guy wags a finger at the screen and says, “I like her,” and the dude with long hair says, “I absolutely see what you mean, Nate.”
Duncan introduces the other guys, starting to rattle off names (Sam, Kaz, and Wills, in the order they are around the screen) but Nate laughs and says, “Don’t bother, mate. Immy’s not too great with names.”
He grins at me, though.
I shove him lightly. “Shut up and drink your Woo Woo, Nikolaj.”
There’s a little more chatter and banter before Peggy/Duncan claps his hands and announces, “All right, folks, put down those drinks and grab those pens. We’re gonna kick things off today with Round One: Things That Went Viral This Week.”
*
Admittedly, I do feel a little bit like an imposter.
Nate and his buddies are all pretty different characters, it’s clear, but there’s a way they all gel together that makes it obvious how strong their friendship is. They lay into each other, but it’s never malicious, and they riff off each other like it’s second nature. Which, I guess, given that Kaz mentions at one point they’ve been friends for over ten years, it sort of is.
There are all these references and inside jokes I don’t get; I absolutely tank on Round Three: Where Are They Now, guessing what job people from their class at school have now, but I make some really wild guesses (Percy Pinstock? Oh, yeah, he’s definitely a peacock trainer.
Jess Smith? Please, you just know she’s that lady Buckingham Palace hired to break in the Queen’s shoes for her) that I feel like I’m part of it all, and everyone has a great laugh.
It’s nice, though. It’s low stakes and good (mostly clean) fun, and nobody—not even Nate—seems to mind that some total stranger is a part of their ritual pub quiz night.
Nate’s more conservative with his cocktails than I am, but I don’t tease him about it in front of his friends. He does have work tomorrow, I guess, and I did make them kind of strong.
Even so, by the time we’re marking the final round, we’re both giggly and a little sweaty and slurring our words.
The last round was on Lord of the Rings quotes. I don’t win it, but I do come out with a really solid score. And, thanks to my stellar performance in Round One (thank you to all those hours I’ve spent scrolling social media this week) and in the music round, when Peggy/Duncan reads out our totals . . .
I’ve won.
I leap to my feet, narrowly avoiding upending the coffee table with our last drinks and almost elbowing Nate right in the face, to do a victory dance. I stand still and throw my arms out wide to belt a few lines of “The Winner Takes It Al ” by ABBA, and then, finally raise my glass to the camera.
“To absolutely whooping your sorry butts,” I declare in my most serious voice.
Everyone drinks, but Sam says, “Nate, I’m sorry, man, but you can never invite her again. This is humiliating.”
Peggy/Duncan is a few sheets to the wind and shouts, “Get out of ma Zoom!” again. Someone offscreen barks for him to shut up, which only makes him snort with laughter and shush himself loudly.
Everyone chats for a few more minutes before deciding to call it a night. I salute the boys and tell them it’s been an honor, and they all tell me enthusiastic good-byes, tell me how great it was to meet me. I think they’re probably just being nice, but I’m flattered nonetheless.
Nate gets up to turn off the TV and his iPad, and I wriggle across the floor until I can lean against the sofa. The movement makes my head spin. Or is it the room spinning? I think it’s both. It’s probably both.
“I like your friends.”
“Yeah, they’re not bad.”
“Sorry if I spoiled your night, or anything.”
“Because you won?”
“Oh, I’m definitely not sorry I won,” I assure him, cracking a smile.
It seems to take all my energy and focus to drag my cheek muscles up into a smile; the tiredness hits me like a train, right out of nowhere.
“Just, like, you know. Sorry if I took over your one night a month hanging out with your mates. I know I can be a lot. Especially when I drink. I get, you know. Excitable. Loud. Really chatty.”
Nate doesn’t disagree that I’m a lot, but he does say, “I don’t think you need a drink for that, Immy. But you didn’t take over. I had a good time, anyway. Did you?”
“Sure I did.”
Nate clears up, finishing his drink and taking our glasses out to the kitchen. He cleans up the lime wedges I’ve left on the chopping board and puts his iPad in the charger, uses the bathroom, then collects his pillow and blanket from the airing cupboard for another night on the sofa. All of this takes him a while because he stumbles around a bit, drunker than he intended to be.
By the time he comes back, my limbs are heavy, and I’m almost asleep. Nowhere, I repeat, nowhere, has ever been so comfortable as this spot on the hardwood floor with my head lolling back toward the sofa I’m propped up against.
“Come on,” Nate says. “You look ready for bed.”
It’s okay, I want to say, I’ll sleep here. He can take the bed tonight if he wants.
“I can’t feel my teeth,” I tell him instead, running my tongue over them to check they’re still there.
“Can you ever feel your teeth?” he asks, genuinely curious, moving his own mouth around like he’s testing it out.