Jack put the punch bowl on the kitchen table and fussed over it, ladling some of it into a glass and pretending to sample it, then repeating the process as he added more ingredients, conscious that Skye was watching.
“Okay, it’s ready,” Jack announced. He ladled out the mixture into the lowball glasses and had Skye deliver them to the others, who were seated in the living room. He also took that opportunity to pour some of the crème de menthe he’d set aside earlier into his own glass before entering the living room.
Celeste smiled at him. “Saved you a spot,” she said, patting the sofa cushion.
Jack glanced at Skye, who went to get a kitchen chair for himself, then returned Celeste’s smile and sat beside her.
Jack cleared his throat, then raised his glass in a toast. “Happy birthday, Celeste … and don’t forget, an Irish woman is never drunk as long as she can hold on to one blade of grass and never fall off the face of the earth.”
“That’s supposed to be an Irish man!” Celeste exclaimed, but she laughed.
“To you,” he said, then gulped his drink down.
Score one for Celeste. One for Skye … although it looks like he didn’t like it. Derek only took a sip. Same as Horace.
“Yeah, I’ll have another one of them,” Peter said.
“You can have mine,” Derek said, handing his brother the glass. “A bit too sweet for me.”
“I’m going for another one, as well,” Jack said, standing up. He looked at Celeste.
“Why not,” she said, handing him her glass.
Jack reached for Skye’s. “Uh, thanks, no,” he said.
“Come on, you’re part of the team, aren’t you?” Jack chided.
Skye grinned. “Guess you owe me that one. Okay, one more.”
Jack was a little slower to consume his second glass, but by the time he did, Skye and Celeste had finished, as well. Horace’s original glass was still half-full, but Peter had finished Derek’s drink and already helped himself to a third.
Damn it, slow down, you idiot. If you pass out, Celeste and Skye will be giving me the hairy eyeball when they start to really feel the effects.
By the time dinner was over, Skye and Celeste were beginning to slur their words. When Peter stood up, he stumbled and had to grab the wall to keep from falling.
Son of a bitch. He’s out of it. Celeste and Skye aren’t quite there yet. We need to keep the party going for a little while longer. Even though everyone else was finished eating, he speared another section of ribs as Peter staggered toward the bathroom.
Celeste glared at Horace. “How much did the two of you drink out in the hangar today? I know we’re having a party, but get real. We have a job to do tomorrow.”
“Nothin’,” Horace replied. “I swear.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
The sound of Peter vomiting came from the washroom.
“Real nice,” Celeste said. “Get him out of here. Grab his sleeping bag and put him in the hangar to sleep it off.”
“He’s my brother, I’ll look after him,” Derek said, then looked at Celeste. “Nobody had any beers in the hangar.” He raised the half-full beer he’d been drinking and said, “This is the first beer I’ve had.”
“Same for me,” Horace said, indicating his own bottle.
“I think that punch was stronger than it tasted,” Derek said, eyeing Jack.
“It is pretty strong,” Jack acknowledged. “Sorry, maybe I should’ve warned everyone.”
“Yeah … I can feel it myself,” Skye said. “I won’t be having any more, that’s for sure.”
Peter lurched out of the washroom and Derek steadied him by the arm to lead him outside to the hangar. After a few minutes, Derek returned. “He’s passed out. It had to have been really strong.”
Jack smiled apologetically, then slowly finished off the last piece of rib on his plate. He was conscious of Celeste staring at him from across the table and knew that to reach for more food now would make her suspect that he was stalling.
“I wonder if this would be a good time for you and me to check on our guest?” Celeste said, as Jack wiped his fingers with a paper towel.
“Uh, might be a bit early,” he replied. “We haven’t had your birthday cake yet.” He felt her toes search out his groin under the table and squirmed back in his chair.
Celeste looked bemused at his discomfort. “I prefer to have my cake afterward,” she said, rising to her feet. “Derek and Horace can do the dishes when they’re done their beers.” She looked at Skye. “Aren’t you supposed to have an online chat with someone?”
“Oh, right … I’ll need some privacy,” Skye replied, his head swaying slightly.