I’m never going to hear the end of it.
It will probably end my peaceful time away in Holly Ridge, that much is for sure, and even if I’m incredibly hungover and embarrassed from a night out, I don’twantto leave Holly Ridge right now.
But relief washes through me when I read the actual message.
Jackie
Good morning! Hope you’re having a great time.
I know you’re on break, but I spoke to New Hits Magazine, and they wanted to know if you could do a phone interview sometime next week. I think it would be a great branding opportunity! You could drop hints about the new album and possibly about being ready to start dating again!
I decide I don’t want to reply while hungover, and mark it as unread before moving back to the girls’ messages. Wren is double-checking that I got home okay, Hallie is telling me she had fun and insisting we do it again once she gets back from her week in Seaside Point, and Nat is asking how I feel and if anything interesting happened last night, accompanied by a line of emojis that has me questioning her sanity.
The final text is from my mom, which is a surprise, since she only really reaches out if she needs something, but with her gala coming up, I suppose it makes sense.
Mom
Hello, darling.
She does this, speaking as if she’s some New England socialite instead of someone who was once borderline white trash and hit the lottery with a talented kid.
Now, where did that bitterness come from?I think to myself, brushing it off. This hangover is really something strong, it seems.
I haven’t seen anything in the magazines lately, and wanted to check in. Is everything okay? I spoke with Jacqueline, and she says you’re lying low from appearances—will you still be able to attend the gala in October? Lots of people are looking forward to seeing you.
I’m sure they are.
I don’t think too hard about the fact that she didn’t saysheis excited to see me, or that she speaks to my manager more than she speaks to me. With a sigh, I decide that, too, can wait to be answered when I get home, long after I eat something and get about a gallon of coffee in my system and scrub every inch of my skin in the shower.
I reply to Wren, apologizing for not replying last night and thanking her for a fun night out, then tell Hallie I’m in, but I won’t be drinking next time. I decide to also leave Nat’s messages to answer when the pounding fades a bit more from my mind, then stand and reach for my pile of clothes. Staring at the small top from last night, I decide to just put on my bra and shorts, and claim Leo’s shirt for my own before heading to the bathroom. When there, I contemplate using Leo’s toothbrushes, but decide against it, instead doing three rounds of finger toothbrushing to get the gross taste out of my mouth. I borrow his face wash to get the makeup off my face, then use my fingersto brush out my hair a bit, undo the small braids at my temples, and grab a claw clip from my purse to pin up my blonde locks.
When I look in the mirror next, there’s a human-adjacent being staring back at me, and I know I can’t put off the inevitable any longer. Finally, I take in a deep breath and make my way out of Leo’s bedroom. I don’t find him in the living room, despite the rumpled pile of blankets there that makes guilt curl in my gut. The sound of a power tool comes from outside, so I follow the noise into his home. Clearly, he’d be in the middle of a bunch of different renovations, with various walls taped, others patched with drywall, and outlets removed and waiting to be replaced. When I’m on the road, I love watching home improvement shows and social media accounts, though I’ve never had the need or opportunity to do anything myself. Suddenly, I’m itching to explore this place, to see all of what he's doing and find out his plans for each and every room. It’s a bit rough, but anyone can see that the potential is there.
I continue moving down the hall to the kitchen and step into a sunken living room, where a set of sliding glass doors is open to the outside, where Leo stands, working with some kind of loud power tool, the sound drilling into my mind. As I approach, I notice he has what looks like cabinet doors on a stand, and he’s taking a sander to it. I lean in the doorway and watch, in awe of his ease with the tool and the way the wood slowly transforms beneath his clearly knowledgeable hands.
I don’t know how long I stand there, but eventually I must move and catch his eye; his head lifts to look at me. Instantly, he turns off the tool, letting it sit there as he stands upright and steps in my direction.
“Ahh, she lives,” he says, a smile in his voice, though I can’t see his face because the sun is too glaringly bright. “How ya feeling, champ?”
“I don’t think I’m going to drink again for a long, long time,” I say through a groan, based more in embarrassment than illness, though I don’t tell him that.
“Probably for the best.” He stares at me for long moments, and another flash from the night before comes back to me: touching myself in his fuckingbed.
While thinking ofhim.
For the first time this morning, my stomach roils, and I take in a deep breath, desperate to change the subject.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Making cabinets.”
I blink at him, confused.
“Makingthem?” He nods but doesn’t add anything. “You’remaking cabinets?” Finally, I step onto the sunny patio and take in the wood slab before him, a perfect recessed panel carved into it. I blink at him with awe, and an embarrassed look crosses his face before he lifts a shoulder.
“My dad was a carpenter. I spent all of my summers helping him. Turns out, you don’t forget that kind of skill, even if you don’t use it for a long time.”
I blink at him, then look behind him at where four other finished doors lie.
