Her eyes widened, metallic blue eyeliner meeting meticulous eyebrows. “Wow! Jules, when did you get pregnant?”
The familiarity didn’t seem to faze my mom. She rolled her eyes. “Kendra, I was so young. God… I was basicallyherage. Can you even?”
“Babies having babies,” Jeremy said with a disapproving cluck. Everyone cracked up, and the music thrummed through the night air, making everything feel funny and good and clever. Or maybe it was the champagne.
“Who’s the dad?” Kendra asked.
Mãe perched herself on the edge of an armchair, the twinklylights creating a soft halo around her. “He was my high school boyfriend, Adrian. Meu Deus, Adrian wasso hotback then.”
I groaned. “Grossss.”
She laughed and pulled me over to her. “Sorry, filha, but it’s true. He was good atbreak dancing.” Everyone laughed, but it wasn’t unkind. Like a nostalgic we-get-it kinda laugh. “Anyway, I got pregnant, and the rest is history. Adrian’s done a fantastic job helping raise this daughter of mine in LA.”
Helping raise?Something needed to be corrected there, but I felt like it would be awkward to react, so instead I took another sip.
And I continued to drink—people kept offering me shots and various frosty cupped drinks with fruit in them. At one point, my mom and I did a near-perfect choreographed dance to “Baby One More Time.” When Jeremy claimed that he was swim team captain in high school, I pushed him into the pool, only to dive in soon after. Soaking wet, I peeled off my shirt and wore it as a turban.
And I knew all this because people there recorded every single moment.
***
Sunlight streamed through the mosquito net, and I blinked. My mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, my head was throbbing, and there was something happening in my stomach that I had to stay very still to ignore.
There was a vibration near my leg. I grasped for my phone withthe most minimal movement possible.Do not barf. Do not barf. Do not barf.
When I peered at the screen, the clock said eleven a.m. And there were about a billion texts from Rose and Hamlet. Now a prisoner in my hungover body, I finally decided to read them. I opened the ones from Rose first.
Yesterday:
Adrian told me you left for Tulum. He’s kidding right?
HOLY CRAP YOU DID IT
How could you do this to your dad? TO US? The whole deal was we had to work all summer or get suspended when we get back. You BETTER not have messed this up for us.
Clearly we were never friends.
I hope you drown in the ocean.
This morning:
You know, for some reason I lost sleep over that last text to you. I don’t want you to die but I wouldn’t mind some severe injuries.
My head throbbed behind my eyes as if in response, but I still had to smile at these texts.
I wanted to read Hamlet’s next, but first I needed some water. There was a bottle of Perrier in a gift basket from the hotel and I chugged it, almost choking in the process. Stupid sparkling water. I managed to drag myself to the bathroom, splashing my face. When I glanced in the mirror, I startled. If a raccoon became a ghost and then dipped its head in grease, it would have looked like me.
Feeling like The Worst, I picked up my phone again to read Hamlet’s texts.
Yesterday:
I’m sorry about our fight. Can we talk?
Ok, I understand if you need time.
Wait. Adrian told me you went to TULUM???????
Because of our fight? Or your dad?
