Page 9 of She Used to Be Nice
She jumped out of bed and slipped on her black booties in her effort to hurry of there. The less time they spent in this hospital room, with reminders of Avery’s behavior ticking across monitors and scribbled on paperwork, the better.
Pete cleared his throat awkwardly, like he didn’t know what to do next. Avery didn’t know either, at least as it pertained to Pete. She just knew she needed to go.
“Well, hey, thanks for giving me an excuse to leave my annoying friends.” He spoke in a tongue-in-cheek kind of way, like Avery was supposed to know what he was talking about. But she didn’t. She must have been tanked last night if she’d met his friends or otherwise involved herself in a guy’s life in a semi-meaningful way. There was no way she’d have done that sober.
“Oh, sure,” she muttered. “Happy to help.”
“Maybe you could let me know how you’re doing in a few days.” Pete took out his phone and offered it to Avery. “Can I get your number?”
He sounded so sincere that Avery thought it was a prank. Her lips were horribly chapped, and alcohol seeped through her pores like she was a dirty sponge festering on a kitchen sink. The fact that any of this appealed to Pete—who, for what it was worth, looked somehow cute, clean, and sprightly after a night spent in the hospital with a stranger—was mind-boggling.
“Oh, I, uh …” Avery scrambled for an answer, though as soon as she started speaking she had no idea where her sentence was going. There was clearly something about him that she liked, and her distrust of men made that hard to come by lately. She should just give Pete her number. Was it so shocking that someone would care about her well-being after a trip to the hospital? It wasn’t like he was trying to date her. But he was looking at her so intensely and curiously, like he was interested in more than justchecking up on her, like he was trying tofigure her out.No way was that happening. What man would honestly want to deal with this? To deal withher? And then there was the fact that she had no idea what impression Pete had of her from school, what he may or may not have heard about her from his proximity to her friend group. She’d rather not start off with a guy on that foot. The prospect of spending so much time with her college friends during Morgan and Charlie’s wedding events this year already filled her with dread. She didn’t need to add another person from Boston to that mix.
She shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
Pete cast his eyes down, dissolved his face into a nod. He looked embarrassed now. “Don’t worry about it,” he said quickly. “Hope you feel better. Nice meeting you.”
He made an about-face and bolted toward the door, practically leaving behind a cartoon cloud of dust. For a moment, Avery felt bad and considered calling after him, but then she tasted leftover booze on her tongue and her head throbbed, and she immediately dismissed the idea.
“What time is it?” Avery asked as Morgan handed her a manila folder of discharge papers.
Morgan yawned as she checked her phone. “Four in the morning.”
“Ugh, it’s so late. I’m sorry.” Avery wrapped her arms around Morgan’s waist and gazed up at her, pouting. “Thanks, Mom.”
Morgan met Avery’s eye and tightened her lips into a smile. Despite probably being exhausted, Morgan was trying to be a good friend, and for that Avery was grateful, even though she knew she didn’t deserve it. But that was Morgan. The most compassionate, sympathetic person Avery knew, the kind who’d put a bowl of water outside her apartment to feed stray animals and who cried when she saw old people eating alone at restaurants.
“Listen, don’t worry about it,” Morgan said, rubbing the back of Avery’s head. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”
Avery nuzzled her face into Morgan’s soft and worn-in buttery denim jacket. This was her going-out jacket from college, and its familiarity both filled Avery with warmth and made her pulse quicken. This jacket had been around for everything. Avery remembered Morgan was wearing it when she hugged Morgan and Charlie goodbye the night of that party at Viraj’s house senior year. If only Avery had left with Morgan when Morgan wanted to leave. She could have ended her night in the dining hall eating mozzarella sticks with her best friend, not with Noah holding her wrists down behind her back as he fucked her frozen, unprotesting body from behind.
Avery and Morgan exited the hospital, where outside it was dark except for a row of street lights flickering down on them from overhead. The only sounds were the fizzle of a fly bumping into a light bulb and a homeless man snoring on a bench next to his overfilled cart of belongings. Avery’s limbs felt heavy with exhaustion; it took quite an effort to stay upright, let alone walk. She fantasized about how late she was going to sleep in tomorrow. Or, rather, later today.
“Well, I was gonna text you about this tomorrow, but I guess that’s technically now,” Morgan said. Thankfully she didn’t sound pissed about this fact. She was merely stating it. “Are you free to get dinner tomorrow with me and Charlie and his best man? We want to celebrate the engagement.”
“I’m down. Who’s the best man?” Avery tried to act casual, but the concern in her voice was obvious. She just hoped she had some time before she’d have to see her old friends again, before she’d be subjected to their sneers and hatred for what they thought she did to Ryan.
“One of Charlie’s friends from the lacrosse team. He wasn’t in our friend group. I hardly know the guy, actually, but he and Charlie have gotten really close.”
Excellent start. “Sounds good,” Avery said, at ease now. “I’ll be there.”
Morgan leaned forward and smelled Avery’s shoulder. “But make sure you shower first. You smell like onions.”
Avery sniffed her armpit and recoiled. “Ewww.You’re right.”
Morgan laughed. “I’m, like, half joking. But also half not.”
“No, you’re right. It’s not good.”
Morgan laughed again and looped her arm around Avery’s shoulder, and they held each other tightly as they crossed the street. Tomorrow night’s dinner, Avery vowed with a yawn, would mark a brand new, freshly showered beginning.
4
THE NEXT MORNING(READ: a few hours later), sunlight burned behind the closed off-white curtains in Avery’s bedroom, bathing the room in a dull glow. Her brain pounded in her skull like a pressure cooker about to burst. Her contacts, which she’d forgotten to take out last night, were glued to her eyeballs. Groaning, she ripped them out and flung them onto the hardwood floor, where they curled and hardened with her other forgotten lenses. She felt around on her bedside table for the bottle of Gatorade she’d left there and chugged half of it. She, genuinely, wanted to die. Weren’t hangovers not supposed to feel this bad until your midtwenties? Avery was only twenty-three. She thought she still had time to be this level of self-destructive without consequence, at least to her physical health.
She pulled her pillow over her face and tried to fall back asleep, but it was fruitless, because now her stomach was growling. She couldn’t tell if it was from impending beer shits or if it was time for a bagel. She waited for more clues. She was nauseous, yes, but also hungry. Starving, in fact. The hunger wrestled and then overpowered the queasiness, and would probably even cure it. Confirmed: She needed carbs.
She threw on a pair of leggings and her oversized Woodford crew neck sweatshirt and trudged outside. The fall air was cool but the sun nearly blinded her, its harsh rays shooting straight downthrough a cloudless sky. She placed a curved hand on her forehead like a visor to shield her eyes, then crossed the street to Tal Bagels for a bacon, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel. She desperately hoped her credit card would go through. A couple months ago, she maxed out her credit after spending too much at a Madewell sale, and the guy at Tal let her have her bagel for free because he knew she’d be back, dragging her hungover ass to his counter the following Saturday morning and every Saturday after that like clockwork.
