I try not to wonder what bar they’ll go to after this. Or whether he’ll come up to her hotel room or she’ll go over to his place. (Ordinarily I’d predict the former, but this woman didn’t bat an eye at the Treehouse bathroom.) Actually, I hope she has to experience Hal’s floor futon. It’s what both of them deserve.
My phone lights up with a notification, and for one pathetic second I think it must be Hal, texting me from the other room. Clarifying. Asking for forgiveness.
I close my eyes and summon the strength to ignore his apologies, pay my tab, and walk directly out of Treehouse in order to find a usable restroom.
I look down at my phone.
waterwingluna16
if a virgin is someone who has not done it, are babies virgins???
I burst out laughing. Someone from the other room has the nerve to shushme.
Well, I still intend to pay my tab and walk out of here in search of a bathroom. Fueled by resentment and, well, gin, I open Discord and manage to type what my inebriated brain believes to be a thoughtful response to Kira’s message.
samanthuh
You know who is a baby?MEn
Men are babbbiesss
They are garbage!!!!
Abostlue trash
I think I feel better? Aside from the fact that 90 percent of my brain is occupied with the need to pee, a sense of clarity comes over me. I reread my own words—which poses a challenge because holy shit I’m really drunk and the clarity does not apply to my ability to read tiny text on a phone. I say them under my breath like a mantra as I open the Lyft app and take one last hearty swig of my G&T.
18
I can’t hold it. I can’thold it. I can’t hold it. Think about the desert. Think aboutDune.Think about those silica gel packets you’re not supposed to eat.
Instead, I think about kidney stones. UTIs. I picture the irrevocable harm I’m doing to my internal organs by holdingit.
The app says we’re still sixteen minutes from my mom’s apartment and the rain pounding on the Lyft is doing nothing to help me think dry thoughts.
Try to breathe. Do the calming exercises. You’re safe in your body. Except something in my body is about to burst.
And then…sweet merciful Goddess: on the next block I see a sign. A glow that’s like a beacon of heavenly light against the dark skies. A magnificent red pepper shining like the Bat-Signal. Chili’s. On 3rd Avenue.
I’m drunk (so drunk, so drunk, too drunk), but I think this is Nick’s Chili’s. I’m, like, 87 percent sure. Good enough.
“Can you pull over to this parking lot, sir?” I yell. “Right here. Please. It’s an emergency.”
The driver heaves a heavy, annoyed sigh and I’m sure my passenger rating will plummet after this.
I rip open the door of his Chevy Volt and throw myself out, stepping directly into a puddle. Sheets of rain pound the parking lot pavement as I run for the entrance. My feet squelch in my boots with each step and I hate it so much, but all I can think about is the warm interior glowof—
Actually, there aren’t that many lights on. And most of the chairs are upside down on top of the tables for floor sweeping. I have no idea what time it is, but it must be well past Chili’s bedtime.
I bang the side of my fist on the glass door. Why didn’t I wear some kind of jacket over my T-shirt? Check the weather? Brave the restroom before I left the bar?
Someone approaches the door and I have to wipe off my glasses to make sure it’s Nick squinting at me from the warm and dry side of the glass and not some random employee who’s already on the phone to report an intruder.
Nick tucks a clipboard under his arm and unlocks the door. Grabbing his arms, I shove him aside to get out of the rain before he has the chance to ask any questions.
“Thankyouthankyou. Thank. You. Sir.” I almost give him a giant kiss on the cheek, but I need to keep it moving for the sake of my bladder. “CanIuseyourbathroom?”
Nick, clearly baffled, points down a corridor and I sprint forit.
