Page 42 of She Used to Be Nice
Morgan nervously bounced her leg up and down under the table as she shoved pad thai in her mouth with her chopsticks. It had been a few weeks since she successfully dragged Avery to yoga, and their friendship was back to normal. Blair had remained up in Boston, where she could easily be forgotten. Avery’s old friends were scattered in their respective towns, no longer shooting her glowers about cheating on Ryan. Avery hadn’t seen Noah since the engagement party, and thankfully nobody brought him up. Because of all this, her mind was freed in a way that allowed her to focus her energy on supporting Morgan with whatever she needed for the wedding. Today, that meant a reality check about napkins.
“Morgan.” Avery put her hand on Morgan’s knee under the table. They were at Up Thai, one of the best Thai places in the city. “Nobody’s going to notice the napkins that much. They’re going to be used and then tossed aside. If the bubblegum shade will help you cut costs, maybe you should consider it.”
Morgan rubbed her temples with her fingers. “Ugh. You’re right. This wedding is turning me into a crazy person. Who cares about napkins?”
“Exactly. Plus, if you save money on the napkins, you can spend more on your dress when we go to Kleinfeld tomorrow. That’s a pretty good trade.” Avery pointed at Morgan with her chopsticks. “Also, people love Pepto-Bismol. It’s the only thing that got me through my bouts of heartburn last summer. Gabriela could be onto something.”
Avery wondered if she’d be this picky over something as silly as napkins when she planned her own wedding. Then again, she hadn’t spoken to the guy she’d come the closest to wanting to be in a relationship with since she bolted from his parents’ house. Pete had probably resigned himself to stop trying with her anyway after she didn’t follow him back on Instagram. Lately she’d started staring at his little follower notification, willing herself to change her mind and follow him back. But then she would snap herself back to reality. If following her was going to be his only show of effort, that made it even clearer to her that he didn’t want to be with her. Their communication would devolve into him emoji-reacting to her Stories once every few months and her either double tapping it because she felt weird or ignoring it. And that would be that.
Avery contemplated the colorful lamps hanging from the ceiling while Morgan angrily poked around in her dinner, trying to think of a way to shift this conversation to something happier. Her eyes landed on the empty plate of curry puffs on the table between them.
“Isn’t it crazy how neither of us had Thai food until college?” Avery asked, gesturing with her chin to the plate. Her parents’ idea of ethnic food was the Americanized Chinese restaurant two blocks away from their house in New Jersey. “We were pretty sheltered.”
Morgan replied with an almost imperceptible laugh. “Speak for yourself. I grew up with sofrito seasoning everything and was basically born with a bottle of hot sauce in hand. Your parents think Tabasco is exotic.”
“I know. They were so nervous about what I’d eat when we went to Mexico with everyone for spring break junior year. They were like, ‘Watch out, the food’s spicy!’ And they were right, honestly.”
“It really wasn’t spicy, Miss I-Can’t-Handle-Black-Pepper. I remember it being gross, though. I still have nightmares about cold slices of unmelted cheese laid on top of nachos. That hotel sucked.”
“Remember when Viraj felt queasy after eating that taco and purposely drank the water in the shower so he’d throw up?” Avery mimicked the sounds of Viraj slurping water and dry heaving, and Morgan threw her head back laughing.
“What was the name of those ridiculously sweet cocktails we drank?”
Avery snapped her fingers, trying to remember. “Adios Motherfucker!” she said when it came to her.
Morgan squealed. “Yes! That’s it!”
“And then there was Mountain Dew Me.”
“I forgot about that one! Those were disgusting.”
“Viraj had, like, ten of those. Which was probably what sent him over the edge.”
Avery doubled over laughing, but inside a deep wave of sadness crashed over her. Ryan got sick that week, too. She remembered running around town in search of saltine crackers and bottled water, and spending their last night cuddled in bed together watchingThe Parent Trapwith Spanish subtitles.
Avery took a sip of her Thai iced tea. “Have you heard anything else about Ryan coming to the wedding, by the way?” She tried to sound innocently curious, but even asking the question made her nervous.
“I haven’t talked to Charlie about it again,” Morgan said. “But I can inquire if you want.”
“No, that’s okay. Better to not bring it up. Maybe Charlie will forget.”
Sometimes Avery wondered how Ryan would’ve reacted if she’d told him what happened the night of that party senior year. Not that that was on the table if he came to the wedding or was on the table back then. He’d been furious when he confronted her about cheating, so Avery had no doubt that he would’ve seen thetruth as a convenient excuse to put the blame of her mistake on someone else. Plus he wasn’t exactly the most progressive guy around. Even though Avery had adored him, at the end of the day he was a bit of a typical bro, always the first to laugh at the sexist memes that were sent around in the lacrosse guys’ group chat, and she wasn’t always sure that he was laughing ironically. He probably wouldn’t have believed her anyway.
“I care more about whether Pete’s coming, to be honest,” Morgan said suggestively.
Avery wasn’t sure when or if she was going to tell Morgan that she’d met Pete’s parents and was currently sitting on his Instagram follow. She needed to figure out what to do about it herself first, and right now her plan was to let him fade into unimportance.
“I don’t have his number, Morgan,” she lied. “Remember?”
“Charlie has it if you want it. Just say the word. And just know there is a chair on the seating chart with Pete’s name on it whenever you’re ready.”
Morgan smiled, her spirits officially lifted. Avery was glad she could boost Morgan’s mood, even if it involved a brief interrogation about Pete.
“We’ll see,” Avery said.
They decided to go out after dinner to continue the evening’s good vibes. They each went home to change and texted each other pictures of their outfits—a black crop top and loose jeans for Avery, a midi dress and white sneakers for Morgan—before agreeing to meet at Ace Bar, a dive bar in the East Village notorious for its throwback music and five-dollar Bud Lights. They elbowed their way through a group of underage guys wearing pastel button-downs to get to the sticky, wooden bar, then ordered two shots of tequila. After the booze settled in their stomachs, they jostled their way to the crowded dance floor, where they screamed “I LOVE THIS SONG!” after every song, laughing and grinding against each other as the DJ played a perfect mix of throwbacks and popular bangers. Chests and arms bumped into them from every angle, like a hurricane of limbs.
Suddenly, Avery’s breathing became shallow. Her vision darkened. Everything around her began to tunnel.
