Amelia

2021

There was a time when I couldn't stand my name. My parents had shown their creativity by choosing an unfamiliar, foreign name for me instead of something common like Masha or Nastya. Back then, I had never heard anyone my age with the name. Nowadays, this is not so rare — more parents opt for European or American names for their children, trying to make them stand out. Now there are Rodions, Nazars, Vasilisas, and even Tsaritsas. But in my childhood, I was a target for mockery because my name sounded unusual.

One random memory: I was lying on the couch, crying because no Ukrainian celebrity shared the name Amelia, which meant it was unpopular. My mom comforted me, saying that when I turned sixteen and got my passport, I could change my name to whatever I wanted. Spoiler: when the time came, I didn't, because no name suited me as much as Amelia.

What annoyed me the most was when people shortened or distorted my name. For instance, calling me Mila or even Milka, as if I were the cow from the famous chocolate brand.

"Mila, could you please share your anatomy notes?" asked Sasha, one of my classmates, stretching out the word "please" and putting her hands together as if in prayer.

I winced. She ignored my requests to call me Amelia.

"Of course, no problem, Shu-u-ura," I replied with a sly smirk, deliberately echoing her nickname.

Sasha pursed her lips but said nothing — she really needed those notes and might have taken them herself if she'd shown up for class.

December was drawing to a close, and exam season was approaching. I was practically drowning in textbooks, trying to keep up with studying and my hospital internship. The lack of sleep was terrible; shadows under my eyes had become permanent, and it seemed like there was no end in sight. Although the exams were easier than previous challenges — after all, I was already in my residency — I still had mountains of information to absorb and a hospital work report to prepare.

After class, I met up with Danya, and we went to the university café, which was always crowded with students. We found an open table and ordered coffee and croissants.

"Can you believe it? One of my patients proposed to me today," Danya said, her eyes sparkling behind her oversized square glasses.

"I hope he was tall and muscular, and you said yes," I laughed.

"Oh no, he was old, and I was changing his diaper at the time!" Danya snorted.

"Ew, gross! Patients should either be asleep or out of their minds during those moments to avoid awkwardness."

"Exactly! I didn't even know what to say. I just smiled and patted his hand until a nurse came to chat with him, and I quietly slipped away." Danya sighed. "And what about you? Anything new?"

"Not really. Recently, I got a box of chocolates, though I don't know why it was given to me and not to Dr. Anatoliy Viktorovich, who actually treated the patient. I just talked to her and reassured her before the surgery, while the doctor did all the hard work."

"How don't you get it? People love being heard. And you do that brilliantly: you ask the right questions and make people feel important. That's why they remember you. I'm sure there's more in store for you than just mountains of chocolate, maybe even some brandy," Danya said with a smile. I paused, realizing I'd never thought of listening as a talent.

"Why do people always give doctors brandy? It's such an outdated custom! I'd prefer a Kit-Kat. And if it's alcohol, then definitely an Aperol!"

"Really? With so many cool cocktails out there, you drink Aperol?" Danya looked outraged. "I think we need to check out that new cocktail bar in Podil. I saw it on Instagram; it's cheap, and they have a huge selection. How about Saturday?"

I hesitated. The homework pile was so high, it felt overwhelming.

"I'm not sure," I said doubtfully. "Getting drunk before exams isn't the best idea. We could just hang out at my place..."

"Oh, come on! We're already like moles holed up at your place. It's settled — we're going to the bar on Saturday. And please wear that mini-skirt that's been lying in your closet for years. It looks amazing on you," Danya said with a sly squint.

"It's December! If I freeze my ovaries, you'll be my surrogate and explain it all to my future husband!"

"Deal!" Danya responded without hesitation.

I sighed. It seemed there was no stopping her, even with the most absurd conditions.

The waiter brought our order. As he set down our coffee and croissants, another waiter approached us with a huge bouquet of flowers.

"What's this?" I asked, glancing at Danya, surprised. She just shrugged.

"Which one of you is Amelia?" asked the waiter.

I raised my hand like a schoolgirl answering a question. The waiter handed me a bouquet of large red roses. I looked at it, but there was no note.

"Who sent these flowers?" I asked.

"A courier," the waiter replied. "He asked us to bring them to your table, but he didn't give a name."

I stared at him in total bewilderment, my mouth slightly open. When he left, I turned to Danya.

"And you said nothing exciting was happening," she laughed. "So, who sent you the flowers?"

Danya reached out and gently stroked one of the roses.

"I have no idea," I admitted, still stunned. The flowers were truly magnificent.

"Not even a guess?" Danya asked skeptically.

"The most romantic thing lately was Nick buying me coffee," I recalled our recent lunch at this same café.

What I kept from Danya was my kiss with Leo Panfilov. But after that, he had vanished as if he had never been in my life. Besides, he didn't even know where I studied. I figured that kiss meant nothing to him. Girls like me were probably his breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

"Let's call Nick and ask if it was him!" Danya's eyes lit up with the usual excitement before one of her escapades.

"I'll just send a text," I said. Calling someone wasn't really my style.

I opened Telegram, found Nick's contact, and typed a message: "Hey! I just got a bouquet and wanted to ask if it was you?"

I set my phone on the table. Nick and I didn't chat often, but he was always polite and seemed interested. The problem was we were both too busy for each other—a typical story for medical students.

There was no reply yet, so we continued our breakfast. Danya talked about what had been going on in class, and we even mentioned Sasha-Shura a couple of times. She seemed to have almost given up on her studies and rarely showed up at the university. By the end of their program, many students burned out and looked for other paths. For example, one could become a cosmetologist and forget that there were still three more years of school ahead, while our former classmates were already working, starting families, and enjoying life.

My phone pinged, and I grabbed it immediately. The whole time we talked, I kept glancing at the roses, unable to stop admiring them.

"Nick replied!" I said excitedly and read the message: "Hey! Yes, it was me. Did you like the flowers?"

I smiled and quickly typed back: "They're beautiful, thank you!"

"It was Nick," I announced to Danya. "What now?"

"Invite him to the bar with us!" Danya clapped her hands.

I bit my lip, unsure if I was ready for this. Nick was nice, but I really didn't have time for a relationship, and I wasn't sure I liked him that much.

Deep down, I felt a pang of disappointment. The flowers were gorgeous, and Nick was kind, but for some reason, when I looked at the red roses, I thought of Leo. They were bold and almost defiant, just like him. Maybe a small part of me had hoped they were from him. His kiss and the way he talked to me... there was something magical and fairytale-like about it, so such a gesture seemed very much his style.

Another notification came. I opened Nick's chat. "Do you want to go on a date?"

"Danya, he's asking me on a date!" I exclaimed so loudly that a few people turned to look at us.

"Invite him to the bar," Danya insisted. "It won't be a date, but it's a good step."

"Fine," I relented, quickly typing: "I have an idea: Danya and I are going to a bar in Podil this Saturday. Want to join us?"

Nick replied almost immediately: "I'd love to. Should I pick you up?"

"Yes, that would be great! But then you won't be able to have a cocktail :("

"I don't drink, so it's fine."

"But I do, haha."

"I've never seen you drunk. This should be interesting ;)"

"Well?" Danya asked.

"He's coming with us," I sighed, unable to hide my excitement. Danya squealed in delight.

"Friend, if you ever get a boyfriend, we'll need to coordinate our meet-up schedule. I don't want to be that friend who's forgotten as soon as someone starts dating!"

"I don't have a boyfriend yet, don't worry," I laughed.

The week flew by unnoticed, and Saturday arrived. During the day, I was cleaning the apartment when my phone rang. It was Mom. Ever since I became an intern, we talked no more than once a week, although we used to speak almost every day. Mom always had stories to tell about her life, and I was happy to hear about her and Dad, as I rarely went home and missed out on a lot.

"Hi, Mom!" I answered.

"Sweetie, turn on the camera, I want to see you!" Her face appeared on the screen. My mom was an attractive woman in her fifties. A life of luxury had left its mark: she was refined, slender, with stylishly arranged honey-colored hair and her usual makeup. I don't think I had ever seen her without cosmetics.

I sighed, anticipating her reaction to my unkempt look: I hadn't washed my hair yet and had tied it up in a messy bun. Turning on the camera, I saw my mom — elegant and polished as ever.

"Amelia, why is your hair dirty?" she asked sternly.

"Mom, I'm cleaning at home. I'll wash it afterward," I drawled.

"You should always look your best. How do you expect to find a husband if you let yourself go?" Mom clicked her tongue.

I rolled my eyes. Mom loved talking about marriage. Her perfect vision of my life included a wealthy husband, kids, and a book club instead of working in a hospital.

"Relax, I'll clean myself up soon," I said amicably. Despite her flaws, I loved her and tried not to argue over small things. For the most part, we had a good relationship.

"Are you going anywhere?" she asked.

I didn't want to mention Nick — our relationship was still undefined, so giving her hope was pointless. It would only create more trouble for me.

"Dan and I are going to the new cocktail bar 'Lemongrass.' She wants to prove there are cocktails better than Aperol," I said with a smirk.

"That sounds interesting," Mom nodded approvingly. She always liked when I "went out into the world" instead of burying myself in textbooks. "What will you wear?"

"Dan is persuading me to wear a mini-skirt, though it's cold outside," I said thoughtfully.

"The white skirt with the black stripes?" she asked.

"Yes, that one. But I haven't picked a blouse yet."

"Hm, let me think. If your legs are exposed, wear something more covered on top, like a turtleneck. To avoid looking vulgar. Listen to your mother, and everything will be perfect," she raised a finger as if sharing a great secret. "And don't worry about the skirt being short. You'll be in the car and then indoors. You won't freeze."

We chatted a bit longer as I scrubbed the kitchen, occasionally wiping the sweat from my forehead, which made Mom look on with horror. Then she said something that made me freeze:

"Oh, your father is having trouble with the restaurants. Endless inspections, one after another, and they're finding violations. I'm starting to get worried," Mom frowned, though she always tried to avoid emotions to prevent wrinkles. "You know everything was always fine with the inspectors. Usually, they'd come for their share, sign the papers, and leave. But now it seems there's a new boss or something. Bribes don't work anymore."

"Why didn't you tell me sooner?!" I exclaimed. "How's Dad? Is he really stressed? Are the problems serious?"

"Sweetie, your father will always find a way out. No need to worry," Mom said calmly. She simply couldn't imagine Dad not handling problems, and the idea of her actually needing to help him was foreign to her.

"I'll call him," I said, frowning. I never called him first; we always communicated through Mom.

"I didn't think your father getting into trouble would be what it took for you to call him," Mom laughed. "Of course, call him! He'll be glad."

We talked a bit more and said our goodbyes. At the end of the conversation, Mom reminded me to wash my hair and use that Dior eyeliner she'd given me for Women's Day. I hung up and immediately called my father.

He answered after the second ring.

"Hi, Dad," I started.

"Hi, kitten," he said, sounding both happy and a little surprised.

It always amazed me how relationships change when you no longer live with your parents. As a child, he could yell at me, and grabbing my arm was normal. Now he was nothing but loving and gentle. We never argued, though I often kept my distance.

"Mom said you're having trouble at work. I wanted to check on you," I said as gently as I could. Whatever happened, we always supported each other in our family.

"Don't worry, I'll handle it. It looks like someone's trying to cause me problems, but I'll soon find out who, and there won't be anything left of them," he said confidently, making me shudder involuntarily.

"I hope you'll be careful. And I hope you're not serious about leaving nothing of them," I said, recalling an accident.

He paused, clearly remembering it too.

"Don't worry, of course, I was joking," he assured me finally.

"If you need help with work, let me know. I'll make time," I offered, though I wasn't sure how I could help.

"No, kitten, you've got your own things: internship, studying, exams coming up. But thanks for the offer," Dad said. "By the way, are you coming for New Year's?"

"I'll probably be with Dan, but I'll definitely visit on the first," I promised. I couldn't stand family gatherings with neighbors. There were never any people my age, and I didn't feel like listening to Aunt Lina's stories about her pear trees.

We said goodbye, and I hung up. An unsettling feeling of anxiety settled in my chest. Although my parents had no real reason to worry — they could enjoy a comfortable retirement without the restaurants — I knew how important that business was to Dad. It was his distraction, the thing that brought him life.

After the call, I focused on getting ready. I took a shower, styled my hair into voluminous curls, did my makeup, and got dressed. Just in time, as my phone pinged with a Telegram message.

"I'm parked outside your building. Are you ready?" I read from Nick.

"I'll be down in five minutes," I replied.

Pulling on my black boots with chunky soles and throwing on a warm coat, I left the apartment, leaving everything spotless behind me.

Outside, Nick's white Renault stood — a well-used car with a scratched door and rusted edges. It was a stark contrast to the one my parents had gifted me when I moved. But I knew how much he loved and cared for this car, which made it special to me.

I got into the front seat and smiled at Nick.

"Hi," I said, buckling up.

Nick looked great — short hair, trousers, a long-sleeve shirt, and his dark, expressive eyes focused on me.

"Hi, gorgeous," he said, reaching out to hug me. He smelled of fresh cologne, and his face was clean-shaven, his Apple Watch gleaming on his wrist.

The only downside — I didn't feel any butterflies. No sparks hinting at being in love.

"I bought you flowers," Nick said, nodding toward the back seat, where a small bouquet of roses lay.

I picked up the roses, examining them. They were nothing like the ones he'd given me before. First, they were yellow. Who gives yellow roses on a date? They belong in a hospital room with a dying grandma. Second, they were small and modest-looking. I couldn't complain, though — Nick was a student like me, and money was tight. But why had the first bouquet been so lavish?

"Thank you, you didn't have to," I smiled. "I only have one vase, and it's occupied by the last bouquet. I'll probably have to put this one in the teapot," I joked.

Nick smiled faintly and looked away.

"I hope this bouquet brings you joy too," he said.

Then he started the car and drove off. The heater was running at full blast, and soon I felt too warm. On the way, I texted Dan to let her know we'd be there soon, and she replied that she had already reserved a table for us.

We arrived at "Lemongrass," parked, and stepped out into the crisp, frosty air.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" Nick asked, taking out his e-cigarette.

I shook my head.

"You're a doctor, you know how bad that is for your health," I chided him.

"I'm a doctor, so I know how to help myself if needed," he winked. I shook my head again.

Leaving Nick to smoke outside, I walked into the café. He promised to join us as soon as he was done.

Inside, the café was small and crowded. I quickly spotted Dan, sat down at the table, and took off my coat.

"Well, friend," Dan began cheerfully, adjusting her glasses. "Where's your date?"

I rolled my eyes.

"Stop it. If you embarrass me in front of Nick, I'll smack you," I warned, and Dan laughed."

"Not a bad place," he said, glancing around.

"I'm an expert at finding spots like these," Dania boasted. "Are we ordering anything?"

"I'd go for some snacks," I said, scanning the QR code for the menu. "Nick, what do you want?"

"While you girls enjoy your cocktails, I'll have coffee. Maybe I'll order Pavlova or cheesecake," he said, flipping through the menu.

"I thought men usually prefer meat for dinner. They say the steak here is excellent," Dania chimed in.

"Oh, no, I'm not a fan of meat and rarely eat it," Nick replied, immersed in the dessert section.

I felt deflated. Nick's preferences remained a mystery to me; I couldn't figure him out. I was used to conventional ideas: a man should love meat, know how to grill the perfect steak, and make his woman happy with juicy burgers, like my father did. The better a man cooks meat, the better he is in bed — that was my philosophy.

I noticed Dania's subtle grimace, quickly replaced by a neutral expression. She had always been strict with men. They had to work hard to earn her respect, which was probably why she was still single.

The cocktails Dania ordered earlier arrived, and we placed our orders for snacks, coffee, and dessert. Taking a sip of mine, I frowned.

"It's all alcohol," I complained.

"That's the point," Dania winked.

Deciding to let loose, I gave in: "If we're drinking, we're drinking." Half an hour later, we were laughing, slightly tipsy from the cocktails. Nick was laughing too, but more at us than with us.

"I have an idea," Dania suddenly suggested. "We can't end the night here, right? There's a club called Portum nearby — a gay club with a drag queen show. Shall we go?" She looked at us pleadingly and added, "Plea-e-ase!"

I loved the idea — or rather, my tipsy, clouded brain did. I was sure that if she'd suggested it sober, I would have refused, but now I wanted an adventure.

I glanced at Nick, waiting for his reaction. I didn't really care whether he agreed — if he didn't, Dania and I would go alone. Yes, I knew it wasn't nice to ditch a guy during a date, but calling this meeting a date was a stretch.

"I don't know..." he hesitated. "I don't want any unwanted attention, but leaving you two alone isn't an option either."

"Perfect, we're going!" I patted him on the shoulder in a friendly way and noticed him wince.

We drank a few more cocktails, and I was feeling light-headed. Nick, having finished his cheesecake, watched us with mild amusement. When we finally paid and stepped outside, the cold air brought me back to reality.

"Where to now?" Nick asked, taking my hand.

I looked at our intertwined fingers. It felt a bit awkward, but I convinced myself he just didn't want me to fall since I wasn't in the best shape. I didn't pull my hand away, though a part of me wanted to.

We walked down the lively streets, surrounded by the buzz of people enjoying themselves. Teenagers in bright outfits were heading to another spot. Suddenly, I felt like someone was watching us. I turned around but saw nothing unusual. Still, the feeling lingered.

I'd experienced this sensation before, but always brushed it off as paranoia. After all, anyone could glance at me in a crowd. This time, I did the same, blaming my feelings on paranoia, but still carefully slid my hand out of Nick's grasp. He didn't say anything, and we kept moving.

Portum was just a ten-minute walk away. For the club, I was perfectly dressed and was glad I'd taken Dania's advice on the skirt.

We paid the entrance fee and walked in. The place smelled of sweat and was stifling. I looked around the dim room — neon paintings of men in provocative poses hung on the walls. A few side tables were occupied by men of all types: some looked ordinary, while others sported extravagant mesh shirts and leather pants. They hugged, kissed, and behaved freely, embodying every cliché about gay men. My head spun. Or maybe it was the enclosed space making me feel drunk again.

The dance floor was packed. Many women had come to watch the unique scene. Some couples looked completely ordinary, and I wondered, "Could I spend a Saturday night with my boyfriend in a gay club?" Oops, I was here with someone who'd be happy to become my boyfriend!

I glanced at Nick and saw him barely holding back from reacting to the scene. If he had a drink, he'd be more comfortable, I decided.

On stage, the drag queen show had started. She wore a tight beige dress, a voluminous blonde wig, bold makeup, fake breasts, and a multitude of fake diamonds on her neck and wrists. To the beat of an old song, half-naked dancers moved around her.

We checked our jackets in the cloakroom and went straight to the dance floor. Thanks to the alcohol, we didn't need a warm-up — we instantly caught the vibe and started moving to the music. Nick stood nearby like a guard, scanning the crowd with disdain. Dania and I, on the other hand, danced and sang as if we were alone, oblivious to everyone else.

The show was spectacular. Women squealed with excitement, slipping money into the dancers' pants. The queen of the night looked more feminine than most women I knew. She batted her enormous fake lashes and cast flirtatious glances at handsome men on the dance floor, swaying her hips and showing off her chest as if magnetizing the crowd.

When we danced ourselves tired, Dania and I decided to step outside for some fresh air. I called Nick to join us.

A diverse crowd was outside, laughing and chatting. We sat on one of the outdoor couches.

"That was so fun!" Dania said, ruffling her dark, bob-cut hair. "Did you see that diva? She was on fire!"

"If you'd suggested coming here when I was sober, I would've said no," I giggled. "So you made the right move."

Dania laughed and winked at me.

"So, Nick, what did you think?" she asked, looking at him.

"Well... Can't say I loved it," he answered hesitantly, clearly trying not to offend us.

"I thought so," I said, encouraging him.

"It's almost eleven," Nick noted, checking his watch. "When are we heading home?"

"Let's stay a bit longer," I suggested. "I think we'll be tired in a couple of hours."

"I don't want this night to end!" Dania chimed in. "Tomorrow you'll be my boring friend again, doing homework."

"With a horrible hangover," I agreed.

Nick sighed but agreed. Like a true gentleman, he didn't leave us alone.

We returned to the dance floor, but soon a fight broke out. Two guys were fighting intensely, and even three people on each side couldn't break them up. At first, it was interesting, but when I saw blood trickling from one guy's nose, I immediately pulled Dania toward the exit. Nick followed us.

"What a scene," Dania said, shaking her head.

"I can't stand violence," I shuddered.

Nick stood between us and the crowd exiting the club and said,

"I'll go downstairs and see what's going on."

I nodded, and he disappeared into the crowd.

"Nick is such a bore," Dania drawled. "If he weren't here, I'd feel so much freer."

"Shh," I put a finger to my lips, signaling her to lower her voice. "What if he's standing by the door, listening?"

"Maybe then he'd get the hint," Dania laughed. "Honestly, I hoped you'd finally get your love life in order, but after meeting him, I realized it wouldn't happen."

I rolled my eyes. As much as it pained me to admit, Dania was right.

"Alright, maybe Nick is boring. But I already know that and don't feel anything for him, so we probably won't see each other again." I sighed. "Actually, he was always like this. I just hoped... I don't know, that he'd show a different side tonight. Now I'm not sure I should've invited him out with you. How could anything romantic start if a friend is always around?"

Dania shrugged. I was sure she didn't feel guilty.

Nick emerged from the club. He looked agitated, and my first thought was that he might have overheard us.

"Is everything okay?" I asked with concern.

"Listen, I'm leaving," Nick said sharply. "See you at university."

I widened my eyes in surprise, hearing the edge in his voice.

"What happened?" I asked, blocking his path.

"Nothing. I just don't need this drama." Nick started to walk around me, but I grabbed his jacket sleeve, turning him toward me.

"Listen, whatever you heard, it's not what you think..."

"What exactly should I have heard?" he challenged.

"Nothing..." I muttered, letting go of his jacket.

"Amelia, nothing happened. I just realized that this isn't for me, and there's no reason for me to be here. Deal with your issues and admirers on your own."

With those words, Nick turned and walked away. I watched him go, not understanding what he meant.

"Do you think he heard our conversation?" I asked Dania anxiously.

"He wasn't nearby. And even if he was standing by the door, we spoke quietly enough that it's unlikely he heard anything," Dania replied, looking as confused as I felt.

"Maybe something happened in the club? And what did he mean by 'admirers'?" I wondered aloud more to myself than to her. "This is so strange..."

I grabbed my phone and called Nick. He declined the call. Then I sent him a message on Telegram:

"Can you explain what happened? Did something happen in the club? Why did you decide to leave?"

I stared at our chat for a few minutes, hoping he would come online and reply. But Nick was driving, so it made no sense. The mood was spoiled after the incident, and I didn't feel like dancing anymore.

"Shall we go home?" I asked Dania, holding back tears.

"Don't be upset, friend," Dania gently stroked my hair. "Turns out he's not just boring, but also a jerk. Who in their right mind leaves girls alone at a club?"

"Oh, don't worry, you know I start crying over silly things when I've had a bit to drink," I waved Dania off, wiping away a tear that betrayed me by forming in the corner of my eye. "Yes, he's definitely a jerk!"

"I'll call a taxi," I told Dania, opening the Uklon app.

"Call one for yourself, and I'll get one for me," she replied, diving into her phone. "I'm too tired to stop by your place. Besides, I'm heading the other way."

"Alright," I agreed.

We both called our taxis and began to wait. Stepping out of the club's courtyard, we glanced around. The street was already empty: dark, quiet, with only the light of street lamps cutting through the void. Somewhere in the distance, a burst of drunken laughter rang out, making me shiver for a moment.

Dania's taxi arrived first. She hugged me, kissed my cheek, and said:

"Text me when you're home."

"Okay," I smiled. She always asked me to do this, and every time I forgot to text. It had become our tradition.

Dania got into the taxi, shut the door, and, waving at me through the window, disappeared into the darkness. I blew her a kiss and looked at the app. My driver had canceled the ride.

"Damn it," I whispered, waiting for another driver to pick up my request.

Suddenly, I realized I was standing alone on an empty street. The cold wind whistled in my ears, swaying the bare tree branches. I felt my legs start to go numb from the chill and silently cursed my short skirt. Another burst of laughter made me jump. I reassured myself that I could always take shelter in the courtyard or go back to the club.

Finally, another driver accepted the ride. He was supposed to arrive in four minutes. I sighed with relief. Just a little longer, and I'd be warm.

When there were only two minutes left until the taxi arrived, a group of guys appeared around the corner. My heart stopped. They were just walking in my direction, not looking threatening, but I started glancing desperately at my phone, tracking the arrival of my driver.

Thankfully, the guys passed by, only briefly looking at me. I breathed a sigh of relief as they moved a safe distance away. The alcohol must have made me overly jumpy. A shiver ran down my spine, as though someone was watching me. I glanced back, but there was no one there. The guys were already far away, laughing drunkenly and exchanging comments.

At that moment, the taxi arrived, and I practically jumped into the front seat.

"Finally," I exhaled, rubbing my numb legs.

The driver, a heavyset man with a red face and small eyes, glanced at me briefly, then turned his attention to the road and pulled away from the curb. The click of the doors locking sounded, and I involuntarily glanced at him but said nothing. We were on our way home.