“My boobs hurt more than my head, so it’s not that bad.”
“Did you bring your pump?”
“Yeah, it’s in my overnight bag by the door.”
To thank her for rushing to me in my time of need, I slither out of the covers. That’s when I remember that I’m not wearing a nightgown. At some point, Hana slipped on a blue sequin dress from my closet that fit her silhouette, and by the time we went to bed, we were both too drunk to change into something else. I broke one of the spaghetti straps in my sleep, a costly mistake.
Hana is sitting up when I return, and I hand her the pump before heading to the dressing room.
“As much as I regret it now,” she says from the bedroom while I take the dress off and make a mental note to have it fixed soon, “I’m glad we caught up.”
“Me too. You’ve been so busy lately with little Lucas.”
“Yeah, who knew having a child would be so time consuming.”
“Literally everybody, Hana.”
“Hmm… And you? How’s work going?”
I wince, slipping on a comfortable sweater while I think of my answer. “My boss is still a pain in the ass. But he’s retiring in a few months, so I’m biting my tongue and waiting.”
“You think you’ll get his position?”
“No one else is as qualified as I am, so I should.”
“That’s exciting!”
Once I have flannel shorts on, I pick a similar outfit for my girl suffering out there. “I know. In three months, I could be the head of NexaCorp’s legal department.”
“Worldwide?”
“Just the US.”
“Also impressive,” she approves with a lopsided grin.
“Worldwide will be the step after that.”
Her head is leaned back on the headboard when I return, her expression one of relief, while she holds the pump against her left breast. “Will you still remember me when you’re head of the world?”
“Always,” I promise with a chuckle.
“Good.”
I sit on the bed, and we recuperate in silence for a moment. The only sound that fills the room is the rhythmic sucking of the pump, and I welcome it as it anchors us in time. “Did you get any matches?” she randomly asks.
“For what?”
“The dating app.”
Oh.
Oh! Crap!
All the wine and vodka shots entirely wiped that part out of my memory. Full-on panicking, I seek my phone, fragments of what we did the night before resurfacing. Just how drunk was I to agree to this?! I find the iPhone lying face down by the foot of the bed and come back to sit next to Hana. I barely have any battery left, but enough to do a quick check. My teeth gnaw at my lower lip, anxiety wrenching and twisting my guts. Holy cow, I have over a hundred notifications, and they are all from that kinky dating app we drunkenly downloaded.
What a stupid thing to do.
I open the app, which leads me straight to my page. The profile picture I uploaded only shows my chin and the deep cleavage of my now-torn Dior dress. I vaguely remember telling Hana that I didn’t want to be recognizable on an app like this, and I thank my drunk self for that.
