She nods, her mouth full and her fingertips fuzzy with Cheeto dust. “Want me to come with?” she says in a muffled voice.
I shake my head. “I’ll be fine.”
When I stand everything seems to spin a little. The ground underneath me feels like it’s swaying on a pendulum, so I grip my hand to the back of my chair. Grace hasn’t noticed and neither has Josh or Mina. But I catch Everett’s gaze watching my footing and how it’s uneven and teetering.
I ignore him, rounding the beach blankets to the parking lot where there’s a public bathroom. Of all public bathrooms in existence—shopping malls, restaurants, grocery stores—my second least favorite ones are the bathrooms at the beach. First would obviously be porta-potties. I brace myself for the acrid odor of urine that lingers in the wet cement of every beach bathroom and make my way to relieve myself. When I hit the sidewalk, a man—or a woman, I don’t know—whizzes by at full speed on their bike. They nearly miss me by an inch, and it causes me to tumble backward. I expect to fall into the cool sand, but I’m caught by warm hands and a strong grip on my shoulders. When I look up at whoever it is that came to my rescue, I see Everett.
“Are you okay?”
I jerk my shoulder away from him. “I’m fine,” I hiss in his direction.
I stomp to one of the individual stalls, reaching for the door, and let it swing open with excessive force. Once inside, I close it. I catch a glimpse of Everett standing where I’d left him with his hands shoved into his pockets.
Once I’m finished, I adjust my bottoms and swing open the door. It must have been the too fast sitting to standing motion or the overpowering smell in the small stall. Or even—most likely—the alcohol churning in my stomach, but as soon as I open the door, I feel everything rising up my throat. I turn around, heaving everything into the toilet I’d just used, not even having the time or thought to close the door behind me. So, whoever is outside of the stall can see my ass peeking out of my cover-up and the retching in real time.
Everything starts to burn. My throat, my nose, my eyes. I start coughing up what feels like my entire insides as a shiver runs up my spine. All of it, the cold, the chills, the sensation that my stomach is going to flip inside out, is all soothed by a hand pressed to my back. Specifically Everett’s. I can tell it’s him by the comforting strokes and the even pressure he applies when he massages his fingers between my shoulder blades. A touch I’d never forget.
“Mhh!” I exclaim, pushing my hand at Everett. “I-I’m. I’m…okay,” I sputter.
He ignores my protest and reaches for my hair, brushing it out of my face and into a loose ponytail at my nape. “It’s okay, Teeny. I got you,” Everett’s warm voice coos.
I don’t have the energy to fight him. Everett can hold up my hair and pat my back. He can stand by my side until I start vomiting the inside of my stomach. I don’t care at this point. I continue to heave and heave until I feel like there’s nothing left to empty out of me. I reach for a small square of toilet paper to wipe my face—the vomit, the snot, the tears—before I turn around to face Everett.
I stumble off the step and Everett catches me once again to avoid a face plant onto cement. Everything starts to grow blurry. Even Everett’s face. It looks a little distorted and wonky in the fading daylight lining the sidewalks.
“Come on,” I hear him groan.
Next thing I know, I’m being transported through air, large arms lifting me like I’m on a big fluffy cloud. I don’t know which direction I’m going. I could be headed for the moon, and I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.
My body continues to float, and my head feels heavy, causing it to fall against hard muscle. All I want to do is just sleep, to drift off into a dreamland where my life isn’t in shambles.
Everything comes to a stop when I hear the sound of a car door open. I’m placed atop leather so gently I feel like I’m a coronation egg on a silk pillow. When the door shuts again and every sound is muted, I feel myself drift off into a thoughtless, worriless sleep.
* * *
“Teeny?”
“Hmm…”
“Teeny. We’re home.”
The drive from my parents’ house was quick, only twenty minutes to get back home. I’d fallen asleep in the passenger seat with Sadie buckled into her car seat behind me. She was just as sleepy as I was, popping her thumb into her mouth and dozing off as soon as Leo buckled her in. I thought about waking her so she didn’t fall asleep until we got home, but I was sleepy too. And when Leo backed out of my parents’ driveway, waving a hand at my parents standing in front of their doorstep, my lids were already growing heavy off the three glasses of wine I had during dinner. And now, as he gently woke me from that alcohol induced sleep, I wanted to just stay in the car.
“Teeny?”
My eyes finally pop open. This isn’t Leo’s Volvo. Sadie isn’t buckled in the back seat. There isn’t even a car seat there. And when I look over to the driver’s seat, it isn’t Leo sitting there. It’s Everett.
“Where am I?”
“I drove you home.”
“What?”
“I told everyone you weren’t feeling too well, and your friend gave me the keys to your car.”
“She what?!”Holy shit!I can’t believe I let myself get this drunk. And Grace. A wave of frustration starts to surge inside me as I map out a“What the fuck!”text intended for my best friend. Maybe even middle-naming her to stamp how deeply embarrassed I am right now.
“Is anyone home?” he asks cautiously.
