Content Warnings: drinking, mild swearing
I squint my eyes at the villainous thing that keeps playing Wham! in a cheery morning cadence. Normally, I could just push the big shape that snoozes the odious thing, but my fingers are not cooperating. I just slap my phone until Wham! shuts up. Rolling over, I settle into my bed to go back to sleep, and the darned thing just doesn't know it's been rejected because it starts another round of melodious morning nonsense. This time I'm awake, but be not fooled by how wide my eyes are; I am over this whole waking up thing already.
I look at the time and groan. I should normally be dressed for work right now and getting onto my computer for a morning meeting. Not today. I'm awake enough to find Jenny's contact. "Hey, Jen, I am really not feeling well today. I need some time to sleep it off. I will get all the designs to you as soon as I can." The three magical dots dance at the bottom of my screen, and before ten seconds have passed, she has already typed me an "Oh no! Feel better, Patty! I will be able to look over the designs later. Your health comes first." I smile and fall back into my bed, freed up for one day at least.
Glancing sideways at the tearstains on my pillowcase, I may not be sick, but I definitely need a day to process what happened last night. I get up and head to the kitchen, where my roommate Deyana has left half a pot. The coffee seems warm, so I pour it into a mug with some milk and sugar, when the idea hits me. This idea has a cactus label on it and says one of my favorite words. Before I can think better of it, I have poured a little into the coffee. I take a sip and am ready to pour this lack of sense down the sink, but the price tags of everything seem to jump into my head at once, and I bite down the instinct. "Past the teeth, past the gums, look out stomach, here it comes!" I say, and I take a big gulp of the mixture.
It burns in an awful way, and the sink is looking pretty dry; then that smooth, warm sensation blossoms in my chest, and it doesn't seem like such a horrible idea after all. A giggle escapes me at how ridiculous this is; the clock on the microwave doesn't even say 10 am, and I am downing tequila in my coffee. The ridiculous phrase was something my friend told me to use to build courage to take medicine, and for some reason, it works every time. I lean against the counter and scroll through Instagram as I sip the mug. Eventually, the mug is empty, and now I don't know what to do; it doesn't help that I didn't close the dang app.
Shawn has updated his Instagram already, and I know I shouldn't, but I look at his account. Every picture of the two of us together has been scrubbed from his page. I take a moment to thank tequila that he didn't post a picture of the other girl, but it is a very short one, as I see his story has a new post. Never before had I identified with arsonists, but we learn new things about ourselves all the time. I snort and close the app promptly, yet she stays in my mind. He didn't even post her face, and I still feel slighted.
It was a picture of a packed lunch he got after sleeping over. Her hands were delicately draped on his. That's all I saw, and I'm jealous of freaking manicured hands! No, I can't do this to myself. So, I put mine to work finding the shot glass. It materializes in my hand, and the tequila follows. See, while these hands aren't domestic, they are pretty convenient. No, not convenient, they're spirited, and soon I will be too.
The shot glass seems to empty itself, and the buzz that follows is nice, but I can still see the hand in my mind. So, I focus on mine as I pour out another shot. In the middle of the second, I glimpse the clock, which says 10:15 am, and I almost spit out the tequila in my surprise. The fog is settling in pretty quick now, I feel it in my legs, but I'm not drunk - I think...
An idea pops into my head, and I wonder why I didn't start the day like this. In the fridge is the beautiful box of orange juice, and I am pouring it into a new glass. I should eat something, I think, but I can't focus on food right now. The tequila jumps into my orange juice, and I am pleased with this stroke of genius. My stomach makes a weird noise, and now I can't ignore it, so I open the cabinets until I find something that sounds even remotely appetizing. Then I find a pack of Oreos, and I am plopped on the couch with the orange juice.
Somehow, Instagram is open on my phone again, so I jump over to a couple of other exes' accounts. Shawn's not supposed to be over me, but he also wasn't supposed to cheat... I look at Barry's, and he seems to be doing better, but he had a depressive streak and kept posting sad memes after. Good for him. I jump over to Dylan's, and I am not disappointed; he seems to still be single. Then there's Shawn...
Is Dylan single? Hmmm... It doesn't say expressly on his Instagram... If only I could call him and ask. I sip on the orange juice, and it hits me. I am scrolling through my contacts, but I can't find it. I slump back on the couch and am about to turn on the TV when I remember some line from Iliza Shlesinger about the blocked list just being a secret folder. I can't remember ever opening the blocked list before, but now I am mildly hopeful.
It's there. The smile that invades my face feels more right than the rightest right. I'm sure it's a pretty good smile. I take a selfie, and I look hot. I sip my orange juice as I send it to Deyana. She was mad about the situation, too. I just want her to know I feel fine this morning. My glass is empty, and on autopilot, I pour the rest of the orange juice. Dylan's number stares at me, then I get a reply, "?" and I scream. How did he know to text me right when I was thinking of him?!
I open the thread, and I see the picture, and suddenly I see my mistake... Maybe I am drunk. Well, too late for regrets. I grab one of the cups on the counter and take a gulp; then I gasp, because I realize that I left the mug on the counter and poured straight tequila into it, and that's what I just drank... A sardonic laugh falls from my lips. "Hey, I was just thinking of you! I hope you are doing okay. I'm happy." I read it three times. I don't want him to think I'm drunk; that would be bad.
Looking back at the cacophony of cups on the counter, I pour the tequila into the orange juice glass and put the mug in the sink. 'Hydrate', my mom says in my head. This isn't my first choice, but it will do. I turn on the cold water and drink directly from the faucet, before returning to my orange-juice-Oreo oasis. These Oreos taste amazing. I check the contact carefully before messaging Deyana. "Hey, these Oreos are great! Sorry! I am eating them. Buy more.” I hit send and lean back. I’ll get her replacements. The orange juice cleanses my palate and my mind.
I want to hear his voice... Would he pick up? I'm not really sure, but there's only one way to find out. The dial tone goes on forever. I'm disappointed for some reason. It goes silent, and the disappointment sours into frustration. "He doesn't care." I message Deyana.
"I'm at work right now. Is this important?" Of course it's important. Well, I think it is. Deyana should know this.
Wait, she doesn't know I'm trying to call Dylan, "Dylan, it's important." Then I realize it sounds too mean, so I add, "I miss you."
Suddenly, Dylan's caller ID is on my phone, so on impulse I answer it, "Hey! You answered, I wasn't sure."
"Yeah, what's going on?" he sounds blunt, but I can hear some concern in his tone.
"Aww, you still care!" I am flopped on the couch and almost spill my orange juice, "Careful!"
His confusion is clear in his "What?"
So I clear it up, "I almost spilled my orange juice, but I told myself to be careful. Tequila is expensive."
"Patricia, are you drunk?" He sounds more confused. Oops...
"I mean, I'm a little bit drunk. Like, I think I see two TVs - we only have one - that doesn't matter though, it's in orange juice." I say, "And I haven't been to a club or anything, like not for a whole week."
His tone becomes serious, "Patricia, how much have you had?"
I roll over until I'm sitting, and I'm unsure. I stand up, wobbling and stumble to the kitchen to find the tequila bottle, "Umm, how many shots in an ounce?"
"Patri..." he sighs, it's sexy.
My filter is gone, and I blurt, "Say it again."
"Are you still friends with Charles?" he asks.
"Yeah? Why?" I ask. I just want to talk to him, not Charles.
He sighs, and I melt again, "I'm gonna ask Charles if he can check on you. Please go lie down, drink water, and don't go anywhere."
"Yessir." I think I slurred it, but if I did, he doesn't take note. He just hangs up.
Well, that wasn't as fun as I wanted it to be. Wait, he didn't tell me! I call him again, this time he picks up quickly, "What, Patri?"
"How many shots in an ounce?" I ask.
His voice comes out angry, and it's really funny, "I don't know, asking that question is already enough for me to know you've had enough. Go drink water. Shots, ounces, I don't care. I have to get to work."
He hangs up, and I'm disappointed again, but this time I feel kind of stupid. I drink the rest of the orange juice, unsure what I want to do next. Then I see Deyana's contact, and it is so clear what I must do.
"Hows you been? What's up?" I ask her.
"Oh my goodness, Patricia, what are you doing?" I can't tell if she's amused or upset... probably amused.
"Happy hour came early today. This week's been tough." I share, but she should know how I feel already.
"I'm going to call, Charles. You just hold tight," she says.
"Hey, why's everyone trying to call Charles? I'm right here. If you're disinterested too... Well, then... fuck... I wanna call people!" I'm so annoyed they keep trying to ignore me.
"Yeah? Maybe I should text him. Who are you calling?" She asks.
I shrug, "It could be Larry or the one that rhymes with villain. Or Shawn."
"Okay, no, we are staying on the phone until Charles gets there." She sounds disappointed or sad.
"I can't be blamed, this is fun... or it's supposed to be. I just want to know if he still me loves." I'm absentmindedly wandering back to the kitchen.
Deyana hums softly in thought. What's she thinking? The bottle of tequila pops into my hand out of nowhere, and I am sipping out of it when she responds. "How much tequila is left in that bottle?"
I stop, and then look at it... "It gone." I see the clock says 12:30 and realize it is her lunch break. "That's not relevant, eat your lunch. Bye, it's me!" and I hang up on her. Wait, what did I just say?
There's a knock on the door, and I am all of a sudden craving pizza. I go to the door hopeful, and there's Charles - pizzaless - but here in his beautiful, fruity self. I give him a big old hug, and he hugs me back. "I wanted pizza," I mumble.
He laughs, "Alright, drunkard. Go take a shower if you can first, and I will work on the pizza, okay?"
I nod into his chest and head off to shower and begin sobering up.
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This will have a part 2. See you next time!
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