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“No,” Mandy corrects, her smile growing. “You were all over the news last week.”
I glower at her, opening my mouth to reply but she’s right. It was all about me.
“Okay, how about we talk about something else,” Lou hastily interrupts, clearly trying to avoid this turning into a bitch fest in her living room—which is funny, because that’s usually the type of behavior she’d be encouraging.
She gives me a look, pleading with me to go along with it,. I sigh and reluctantly let her change the subject to what she’s got planned for her birthday next month. I listen to the two of them talk, but my mind keeps going back to Brix.
Would I find him as irritating if the hotel incident hadn’t happened? Probably. What happened in that hotel didn’t turn him into an ass. He managed that on his own.When I start to have trouble lifting the glass to my lips, I know it’s time to stop.
I call myself a cab, ignoring the pleas from Lou and Mandy for me to stay a little longer. No sooner than through the door of my apartment, my phone starts ringing. It’s after midnight, but it's Mom, so I have to answer. No doubt it has something to do with the fifteen missed calls I've had from Sara.
“Hi Mom,” I say, tossing my bag down on the counter.
I kick off my shoes, which sends me tumbling to the floor, flat on my ass. A little giggle escapes from my lips, followed by a louder one, until I’m ass down on the floor, in laughing hysterically. Speaking to Mom inebriated probably isn't the smartest thing I'll do today, but hanging up on her at this point is probably the worse option.
“Where have you been?” Mom gasps. “I've been trying to call you all night.”
“No, you’ve tried calling me twice,” I correct her. “Twice does not constitute as all night.”
“Well, maybe not me personally, but Sara has been trying all night.”
“I know,” I say. “I've been ignoring her calls.”
I slump down into the couch and swing my legs up over the arm. This is the other reason why I don’t drink. It makes me way too honest.
“Hannah, are you drunk?” Mom asks confused.
“What are you, the fun police?” I slur with a giggle. “I may have had one or two drinks. I didn’t realize I needed your permission.”
“God, please tell me that you didn't drive home in that condition,” she moans.
“Of course not. Give me some credit, Mother,” I scoff. “I hitchhiked.”
“Hannah,” Mom chastises.
“Jesus, Mother. I'm joking,” I mutter, shaking my head, “you can pick yourself up off the floor now.”
“Yes, well don't joke about things like that,” she says, “you know I worry about you, Hannah. I’m just waiting for that call to say they’ve found you tied to a block of cement, at the bottom of the river—”
“It’s always so uplifting speaking with you, Mom,” I cut in. “Is there a point to this phone call, other than to depress me?”
“Yes,” Mom frowns. “Your sister.”
“Right. And what did Sara want this time?” I query, with a roll of my eyes.
I already know I'm going to regret asking that one.
“She needs somewhere to stay.”
“Sorry, I don't have any room,” I reply.
The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them and all I can do is sit there and wait for them to backfire on me.
“What do you mean you don't have room?” Mom says with a laugh. “You had room last week. What’s changed since then?”
“I slept on the couch for weeks, remember?” I snap. “I’d hardly call that having room.”
“And Sara appreciated it—”
“Really? I wouldn't know if she appreciated it or not, since she never once thought to thank me.”
“Because you kicked her out,” Mom says with a laugh. “You want her to thank you after that?”
“For God’s sake, Mother, I did not kick her out. I told her to buy her own groceries. That’s it.” I protest. “All I wanted was for her to not treat me like her slave. For her to thank me once in a while—"
“Is that what this is about? She didn't thank you enough?” Mom asks. “I'm sorry she didn't stroke your ego—”
“It's not that at all,” I fire back. I sigh and close my eyes as a headache begins to set in. I’m not sure if the cause is the alcohol or my mother. “I don't have room because I’ve got company.”
“Who is more important than your own sister?”
“I’m seeing someone. A guy,’ I add, as if I needed to clarify.
“You’re seeing someone?” Mom gasps. I frown. Really? The idea of me dating someone is that fricking unbelievable? “It’s that man from the other day, isn’t it? How did you meet him?”
“He’s just a guy,” I say, rubbing my head. All the reasons why faking a boyfriend start floating through my head. God, I’m going to pay for this one. Why the hell didn’t I just say Lou was staying with me? “It’s really not a big deal,” I add weakly. But I know it is.
