“No. No water.” I shook my head. “I can drink water tomorrow.” And to prove it, I downed my glass (gin and soda) in three gulps. Jenny cheered, then we tried to high-five, but it didn’t go well because we had both had too much to drink, and we giggled as we walked back upstairs, arm in arm.
I should have stopped drinking then, but I had moved past the point of no return—my ability to be rational about my level of drunkenness gone with that last gin and soda. So I happily accepted a glass of prosecco from a passing tray once we got back to the party. I turned to tell Jenny how much I appreciated her making me come out tonight, but she was no longer beside me. Standing on my tiptoes, I peered over the few heads blocking my eye line to see if Jenny was nearby when someone touched my shoulder and I turned around.
“Lucy! I thought that was you.” She smiled, and though she looked different from how she used to, I recognized her instantly.
The half-full glass of prosecco dropped from my hand, shattering near our feet. “Oh! Are you okay?” Margot asked, holding on to my upper arm with her hand and moving us away from the broken glass. I nodded dumbly, staring at her.
Still holding my arm, Margot looked around quickly and made eye contact with a server working the room. She waved her over, and we moved another few feet away as someone else brought out a small dustpan and sweeper.
“Here,” Margot said, handing me another glass of bubbling booze. Then she leaned in and hugged me deeply, and I finally found my voice.
“Margot, it’s so great t-to see you,” I stammered, my words slow and ill-formed.Pull it together, Lucy, I thought. Embarrassingly I hiccuped right then, my hand quickly coming up to cover my mouth. “Sorry about that. So, how have you been?” Racing through my mind were a million questions. About Daniel, about whether she knew what had happened between us these past few weeks, what he may have told her about me. Then it occurred to me Daniel might be here with her, and my chest clenched. My eyes darted around the nearby milling crowds, but I couldn’t see him.
“I’ve been well,” she said, smiling. She seemed not to notice how much I’d had to drink. Maybe I was hiding it better than I thought. Or maybe she was being kind. “It has been such a long time, Lucy. You look gorgeous as ever.”
“Thanks. So do you.” Daniel hadn’t been kidding when he said Margot was different now. The Margot I had known in school was beautiful, but her edges weren’t smooth—she never wore makeup or anything that could be called “dressed up” and her short, choppy bob was often pulled back with elastic headbands. But this Margot...she was stunning. Her dark hair fell to her shoulders, sleek and straight. Her makeup was flawless, as was her outfit—a black pantsuit that billowed at the top and was tight through the leg—and glossy red nails perfectly matched to the large beaded choker around her neck.
“So what brings you here?” she asked, resting a hand and those red nails again on my arm. “I didn’t realize you were in the industry.” Her smile was warm and friendly—she seemed delighted to have run into me—and then I realized she had no clue Daniel and I had been spending time together recently. Probably had no idea we had run into each other at Jake’s party, or that we’d been texting and meeting up from time to time. Then I thought back to today, Daniel and me at the Maddy, drinking beer and kissing under the awning... I swayed again but managed to keep my balance.
“Oh, I’m not,” I said, wishing I hadn’t tossed back the last gin and soda so quickly—or the three (four?) drinks that preceded it. “I’m here with Jenny.”
Margot let out a happy squeal that made me jump, and started glancing about. “Jenny’s here? I haven’t seen her in ages. Not since I styled a set for her, maybe a year ago now? I would love to say hi.”
Jenny and Margot had worked together a year ago? Jenny told me she hadn’t seen Margot in years.Years, as in multiple. The heavy truth that Jenny had lied to me about Margot settled across my shoulders, and tried to push me to the ground, though I managed to resist the desire to lie down on the sticky bar floor and close my eyes.
“You know what? I’ll tell her you’re here,” I said, though I had no intention of telling Jenny any such thing. I had a new plan: hightail it out of this party as soon as I could extricate myself from this conversation with Margot. “Listen, I need to head out. I, uh, have a big work project to attack tomorrow.”
“I get it,” Margot said, leaning in with a smile. “I’m only here to make an appearance.” She held up her glass. “Water, sadly,” she said. Then she winked and turned ever so slightly sideways, flattening the billowy part of her outfit by running her hand down her stomach. And that was when I saw it. The tiny bump of her abdomen, which could mean only one thing because Margot was too thin everywhere else for it to be anything but. “We haven’t told a lot of people yet. But it won’t be long until I can’t hide it, you know?”
I nodded, though I didn’t know at all. Margot was pregnant. Daniel was going to be a dad, and he hadn’t said anything to me about it. A ball of shock hit me square in my center, and I knew I had to leave the party immediately or things were going to go bad, quick.
“Wow! Congratulations,” I said, trying to shift my face into a look that was more delighted versus distraught. “Wow, how exciting. Daniel must be...thrilled.”
“He is. We are!” she said, a grin on her pretty face. “It was nice to see you, Lucy. I’m glad we were able to, you know, have such a nice conversation. I know it’s been a long time, but, well...” She looked uncomfortable for a moment, glanced at her glass of water before looking back up at me and taking a deep breath. “Anyway, I’m glad we ran into one another.”
My mind whirred, but I couldn’t hang on to a single thought. Then Margot leaned in and hugged me tightly. “Please say hi to Jenny for me if I don’t see her later.”
“I will,” I said, smiling as best I could, the gin perilously close to the back of my throat. “Okay, well, I should get out of here while I can.” I took a step back from her so she couldn’t hug me again. “Great to see you, too, Margot.”
“Same. Good luck with your project tomorrow.”
“Thanks,” I said, already half-turned away from her. “Bye.” I waved one last time before pushing my way frantically through the tightly knit crowd, beelining for the front door and praying I got out of there before I decorated the party with all those drinks. I made it outside and around the corner of the restaurant’s building before I threw up, my hand clutching the brick for stability as the heaves moved through me and my stomach emptied. Then I wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my blouse, shivered violently as I realized my coat was still inside—no way was I going back in there—before stumbling into the first taxi I could find.
38
After leaving the party, I had to ask the driver to pull over once so I could throw up again, then promised a large tip for him to make a stop at Jenny’s. As quickly as I could, I retrieved my overnight bag and left Jenny a note apologizing for bailing early on her. Alex had called, I jotted down, begging me to house-sit for a few days. I suspected Jenny wouldn’t believe my excuse—the most expensive thing Alex owned, the only thing of value, really, was her camera and it was always with her—but I no longer cared. I wanted to be alone. Somewhere I couldn’t disappoint people...or where they couldn’t disappoint me.
I texted Alex once I got back into the cab, asking if I could crash at her place for a couple of nights.As long as you want, she responded right away. She’d decided to extend the trip she was on by a few days (something about another photographer with an all-access pass and killer legs) so wouldn’t be back until Thursday, Friday at the latest. Relieved for the buffer time, I figured by then I’d be able to come up with another plan for where to stay.
It was hard to believe only a couple of months ago my life looked completely different—I’d had a boyfriend whom I adored, a great job, a best friend I could count on and zero desire to have anything to do with Daniel London. Using Alex’s extra key on my chain, I let myself into her place and chugged a large glass of water before crashing into bed.
When I woke Sunday morning, I was expectedly hungover. A disheveled, sick and sweaty mess on Alex’s bed—which was directly in front of a floor-to-ceiling window that let in far too much light so early in the morning. She lived in a converted loft in Parkdale, half a block from a strip club Alex liked for the “gritty realness” it brought to her neighborhood. Though with a new Starbucks and a trendy bakery that made only incredibly expensive (but delicious) doughnuts across the road, signs of gentrification were popping up, which Alex hated. She loved the neighborhood as it was, said there was endless inspiration for her photography living in such an eclectic part of town.
Once I was certain moving wasn’t going to make me throw up, I padded into the kitchen, which was only five steps from the small ladder that led to the platform and bed. Opening the fridge, I found a couple of past-their-prime oranges, a small bag of apples, a can of coconut whipped cream, a few take-out containers I didn’t dare open and a half wheel of Brie cheese. Grabbing the cheese and a knife, I unearthed a box of crackers at the very back of a narrow cupboard by the sink, and a jar of strawberry jam, and sat on the bed eating over my lap while I watched the flow of both human and automobile traffic outside the front window. After polishing off half the cheese, I brushed the cracker crumbs from my lap and stood, stretching my arms high over my head. My muscles contracted and complained, and I realized how out of shape I was. I had a sudden urge to go for a run, and after digging around Alex’s clothes, I pulled together a pair of black leggings that could work as running tights, a long-sleeved cotton T-shirt over which I threw on a too-large sweatshirt. Luckily Alex and I wore the same-size shoes, so I shoved my feet into a pair of her running shoes and went outside.
It was still early and the sun wasn’t at full strength yet, so my ears and fingertips were somewhat chilly. But the wind invigorated me as I ran, and I started to sweat as I pushed back against the effects of my hangover. My body seemed to know what to do, and my legs pumped harder and faster as I turned down a side street full of dilapidated gingerbread-roofed houses, all lined up in a row. They had probably been pristine and beautiful in their prime, and I felt a sense of solidarity as I ran past them. I think I used to be like those houses—once new and fresh and holding great promise—but was now much more like the current versions. Run-down and imperfect but somehow still functioning if not sagging a little to the left.
I knew I had been a runner, before the accident. Both Matt and Jenny had told me how I always, regardless of weather or schedule, squeezed in a seven-miler on Sundays. But despite my memory telling me I hadn’t jogged a lap since high school gym class, as I turned down another side street, the houses on this one in much better shape than the last, I noted I wasn’t out of breath. My legs, which I had expected to cramp up not long after I started running, felt strong. My gait was surprisingly smooth as I ran one street, then another, then another. Even if my mind didn’t remember me being a runner, my feet and muscles and lungs sure did.
