Page 56 of From Now On

“Your life is not falling apart,” Harlow says.

Oh. That whiny voice wasmyvoice.

“Well…it’s been better.”

She nods sympathetically, ceding that point. “Is this about Ben…or about something else?”

I blow out a long breath, then wince when the exhale worsens my head’s throbbing. “It’s notnotabout Ben. But more…the future I’d planned with him than Ben specifically. I mean, yeah,I miss him. But—he pushed the first domino, and now the whole line is falling down. I plannedeverythingwith him, and now it feels like that’s all just…gone.”

“I know the cell service here is spotty, but I think we would have heard if New York City was no longer standing.”

I roll my eyes, and regret that movement too. Not movingat allseems like the best strategy until I swallow some painkillers. “You know what I mean.”

Harlow nods. “Yeah. I do. But I’m serious. New York’s still there. Everything you planned—it’s still there. You don’t need him, Eve. You’re brave and smart and talented and brilliant, and New York has been your dream for as long as I’ve known you. Keep chasing it.”

My throat thickens. “Thanks, H. I’m sorry I was such a mess last night.”

My memory of the bar is fuzzy, which is probably for the best. I raise my hand, squinting at the faded black marks written on my palm. I have a vague recollection of doing shots with surfers. This is Julian’s number. No, Finn. Finn was the one I kissed.

I kissed a guy who wasn’t Ben.

I wait for the rush of guilt to appear. It doesn’t, which surprises me. Not that Ishouldfeel guilty, but I thought Iwould. We were together for a long time. I’m not sure if the lack of shame makes me heartless or means I’m healing.

“Don’t worry about it,” Harlow replies, pulling me back to the present.

“How—how bad was I?”

Harlow waves a hand. “You were just a little tipsy.”

My stomach sinks. I know my best friend well enough to see straight through that causal phrasing. Plus, I’ve never had this bad a headache from beinga little tipsy. “How bad, Harlow?”

She grimaces. “Hunter had to carry you to the car.”

Mortification sweeps through me, making me feel dizzy. “What?”

“It was very sweet, actually. After you threw up in the bushes, he picked you?—”

“After Iwhat?” I blurt, horrified.

Now that she’s bringing it up, I do have some vague recollection of my throat burning. I’veneverthrown up for any reason except a stomach bug.

Fuck. Ivomitedin front ofHunter Morgan. This is worse than the time I asked Peter Jenkins to the eighth grade semi-formal with toilet paper stuck to my shoe.

“I’m never leaving this bed,” I announce, then lie down and pull the pillow back over my face.

“Nuh-uh.” Harlow grabs the pillow, and then my arm, forcibly pulling me away from the mattress. “You need coffee, and Gatorade, and breakfast. Then, you can go back to bed if you want.”

“Just let me hide in here,” I plead.

Harlow holds firm, tugging me out of my room, into the hallway, and down in the direction of the bathroom. She drops her hand once we reach the doorway. “You have five minutes to pee and wash your face. Also, I’d suggest brushing your teeth. I tried to help you last night, but I think you mostly just swallowed the toothpaste.”

I glance down, noticing what I’m wearing for the first time. The jeans and skimpy top I put on last night were replaced by my favorite pair of cotton sleep shorts and the NYU hoodie I ordered online last year, thinking it would help me look like a local when I move to Manhattan.

Warmth expands in my chest. My life might be falling apart, but I have the best friend in the entire world.

I fling my arms around Harlow’s neck, nearly toppling her even though she has several inches on me. “I’m sorry I was a drunken disaster last night. Thank you for taking care of me.”

She squeezes me back. “Always. Too bad Sand Bar didn’t have karaoke.”

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