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“Wow,” says Elaine, barely containing her laughter. “You look like hell.”
“I feel like hell,” I moan. “And you’re one to talk.” Her mouth looks like a purple duck’s bill. She sits at Lindsey’s vanity, straightening her hair.
“I didn’t want to disrupt your little lesbian spoonfest,” Elaine says, nodding to Daria, who’s still sleeping, her arm over my shoulder. “But the Darlings want y’all out of here by eight.”
It’s way too early to be awake, or even alive for that matter. I groan and fall back on the pillow. “Where is Lindsey?”
“She went to get coffee.”
Lindsey returns a minute later, already dressed in a pair of cream-colored skinny jeans and an oversized chenille sweater that looks cozy and chic on her waifish frame. I’d look like a frumpy scarecrow in the same outfit.
“Good, you’re up,” she says to me, handing Elaine a can of green coffee. “I didn’t want to wake you, but y’all better get going. We have to finish packing and catch a plane. Chase will be here any minute to take you home.”
Oh my good God, I have to see Chase this morning?
I’d rather die.
I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. When I’m done, I don’t even care enough to dry my hair. I can’t be still drunk, but I definitely don’t feel normal. I’ve never drank as much as I did last night, so this must be what a hangover feels like.
When I emerge from the ensuite bathroom, Daria is sitting on the bed, rubbing her hand and looking a lot better than I feel.
“Shower’s open,” I say, stuffing the last of my things into my backpack.
“Don’t need one,” she says. “I’m just going back to bed, anyway. Damn, Elaine, why’s your face so hard? I think I broke my knuckle. This shit’s swollen.”
“That’s what happens when you punch someone in the teeth, you big lush,” Elaine says.
I glance at her, surprised to hear something like affection coming out of her mouth. She looks like she’s about to smile, then stops, grimacing in pain. Her lips are so swollen her words come out slurred.
Chase sticks his head through the doorway, looking beautiful and freshly scrubbed, like he just stepped out of a cologne ad.
Catching sight of Elaine, he lets out a low whistle. “Nice.”
She scowls at him.
“Hey, babe,” he says to Lindsey, then turns to me and Daria. “Let’s go, ladies.”
We follow him down the stairs. Lindsey’s mom is waiting at the door, and she swings it wide when we approach, like she can’t wait to get rid of us. I want to apologize, but I don’t know what to say, so I just duck my head and mumble, “Sorry.”
The circular drive is wet as we head down the steps into the bright sunshine. The morning is damp and chilly, but the powdery drifts I hoped for are nowhere to be found. Instead, dead grass on the lawn shows through the thin layer of lumpy, melting snow left. It looks more like soggy cottage cheese than something you could play in.
A painful stab of longing for the bright white, sparkling magic of the first snow in Connecticut pierces my sternum. One year, Dad got stuck at the office during a blizzard, and he couldn’t get home for Christmas. Afterwards, to make it up to me, he built snow tunnels in the backyard. They were probably only ten feet long, but when I was a kid, they seemed magnificent. I crawled around in them with Megan for days.
I wish I still believed he was at the office that Christmas.
Chase opens the door for me, and I climb into the back of his Maserati. He’s laughing at something Daria said as he gets into the front seat. I wonder if that really happened with him last night, or if I dreamed the whole thing. I’m pretty sure it happened, but a dream seems like a better explanation.
He hands me a pair of sunglasses, grinning at me in the rearview. “How’re my favorite little drunks?” he asks. “Still sloshed?”
“I wish,” I say, slumping back in the seat, grateful for the sunglasses. “How late did we stay up, anyway?”
“Don’t tell me you don’t remember?” he asks, still watching me in the mirror. I can’t tell if which answer he’s hoping for.
“I remember.”
He drops off Daria first and then turns towards my house after I’ve moved to the passenger seat.
“I got something for you,” he says, reaching behind him and pulling a box wrapped in Christmas paper off the back seat.
