Page 54 of We Met Like This
“You drank,” Sloane said as someone bumped into her from behind. She reclaimed her space by widening her stance. “Wait,haveyou been to Seattle?”
“I haven’t. Is that a bad thing? Is this a question I should be asking people? Does it answer a question without having to ask the question?” I wanted the answer to beyesbecause maybe that meant Oliver wasn’t done trying to get to know me.
“What?” Sloane asked, not keeping up.
“You know what I mean,” I said. Someone onstage wassinging “Open Arms” very poorly. “It’s a question that reveals things about someone without being overly invasive.”
“Invasive, like asking them if they’re sleeping with their boss?”
“Yeah, like that.” Shame washed through me. Oliver was done. And why wouldn’t he be? The feeling must’ve been accompanied by a change in expression because she pulled me into a hug.
“You’ve had a hard day,” she said. “I’m sorry.”
I just let out a muffled whine against her shoulder.
“What you should’ve said to Oliver’s question was,No, but I can be sleeping with you tonight if you want.”
I gave an ironic laugh. “Believe me, after the look he gave me today, he doesn’t want to. It will probably be another three years, at least, before I see him again.” That thought twisted my insides.
“Call him. We’ll tell him he’s being judgy and to get over it.”
“The only thing I want to do now is drink until I don’t remember any of my problems.”
“Deal.”
Sharp stabs of pain radiated behind my eyes. Like the sun’s rays were slicing through my eyelids, trying to blind me. My mouth felt like someone had been filling it with cotton balls all night only to empty it this morning, leaving my throat scratchy and my tongue stuck to my bottom teeth. I tried to enable my spit glands but they had been emptied as well.
“Sloane,” I groaned, wondering if she was up yet. Even if she was, she probably couldn’t hear me. I rolled over and the knives inside my head ricocheted around in my empty skull.Empty, because I certainly didn’t have a brain anymore. A brain would’ve given me thoughts and memories, would’ve reminded me how I ended up in this terrible state, but there was nothing. No thoughts. No memories.
I stumbled out of bed and to the bathroom, where I stuck my mouth under the faucet and sucked down water for several minutes. “This is why we don’t drink, kids,” I said to the nonexistent children in the room. My nephews immediately sprang into my mind, watching me with their innocent eyes, asking me if I was sick, telling me that their perfect mom never drank. I knew that wasn’t true, but hungover Margot was extra hard on me. She was super judgy.
Judgy. A thought rattled around in my brain with that word but refused to produce any actual memories.
“Sloane,” I said again, and beelined it out of the bathroom, heading for the kitchen and aspirin. On the floor next to the couch was the Bad Decisions jar. It was empty, turned on its side with two five-dollar bills on the carpet nearby. Weird.
A note was waiting on the counter next to the bottle of aspirin.I hate you. How dare you get to sleep in while I have to go to lunch with my family and face the consequences of our actions. Also, I love you. Sorry about your job. But remember, you’re a rock star.
Ugh. My job. I hadn’t forgotten that trainwreck. But a rock star? She’d never called me that before. I was sure there was context there, but again, my brain wasn’t filling me in. My phone started buzzing in my hand even though I didn’t recall picking it up.
Mom. I hadn’t talked to her since the T-ball game a week ago.
The clock on the microwave said it was just after noon.
Before I answered the phone, I opened the bottle of aspirinand took three. An open bag of potato chips was also on the counter, probably another way Sloane was trying to smother her hangover. I stuffed a couple in my mouth, begging the grease to ease the nausea in my stomach. My phone stopped buzzing, but before I could even finish chewing another chip, it sprang back to life.
“Hey, Mom,” I said.
“Honey, hi! Congratulations! I’m having something sent over. Did you get it?”
I cringed at the volume of her voice. “What? Did I get what? Why?”
“Bill!” Mom called to my dad, yelling in my ear. “Did you send it? Did it work?” Back to me she said, “I thought the bugs were finally ironed out.”
“Bugs?”
“On the food app.”
“You sent me food?” Did she somehow know I’d need food this morning? Had I drunk-texted mymomthe night before?
