She doesn’t tell me to stop.
“So weird,” I say, unable to keep from teasing her. “Just yesterday, I was in the company of a woman who claimed her appendages never fell asleep.”
“This is me not telling you I hate you right now.”
Wish I could say I didn’t hate myself a little right now. But I’m in that spot where I love where I am and know I’m setting myself up for acolossalfall when I get home and she goes back to her normal life.
I could tell myself this is closure on an old crush, but that’s a stretch.
There’s nothingoldabout how I’m starting to feel about her after yesterday.
“What time is it?” she asks. “Where are we supposed to be?”
“It’s seven-thirty.”
“At night?”
“In the morning. Why are you awake? First rule of hangovers: Sleep until at least noon the next day.”
“My body won’tletme.”
“Your arm’s still asleep. Clearly parts of you are capable.”
She moves her head to the side and pries one eyeball open with another whimper. “Was I a total idiot last night?”
“You were fun.”
“Oh, no. Did I cry? I did. Oh, god, I cried. I was fine if I did. I swear. It’s like—”
I cut her off with a finger to her lips. “You’re so repressed that the only time emotion comes out of you is when alcohol lowers all of your inhibitions enough to let you?”
She cringes. And then cringes again like cringing hurts. “What are you, a therapist?”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
“I’m sorry I cried. I didn’t mean to put that on you. Or to drink that much. It was…a long and unexpected day. I’ll be much better today.”
I stare at her.
She watches me out of one eye for a minute, and then she closes it again.
It’s like we’re playingif I can’t see you, then you can’t see me.
“The world won’t fall apart if you’re not perfect, Laney.”
“It’s so easy for you to say that whenperfecthas never been your standard.”
I should roll out of bed. Shower. Go in search of coffee and other hangover foods. Bet fried poi balls would be fascinating on a hangover stomach.
But instead, I lie in that bed while she scrunches her eyelids tightly shut.
“Believe it or not,” I tell her quietly, “living down to expectations sucks too.”
One lid cracks open a smidge. “How?”
“World sees what it wants to see, even when you try. So when you quit trying, when you give in to the belief that you might as well play the nobody they expect, you start to believe youarethe nobody. You, however, have always known you’re somebody. Even if it’s not the somebody you want to be either.”
Both eyelids are cracked now. “This is a lot on a hangover,” she whispers.
