The truth was, halfway through Saturday I had finally found the courage to turn my phone back on. After scrolling past the tons of texts I’d gotten from Lila, Audrey, Diane, and Gavin (which I was too embarrassed to read, afraid of what I’d find out about my drunken behavior), I opened Stefan’s, bracing myself for an angry barrage of messages that he would have sent the night before when I hadn’t shown up for dinner.
But there was only one from him, right around 7:30.
Where are you?he had asked. And that was it.
I’d been shocked to see that he hadn’t followed up. That, combined with his oddly solicitous behavior on Saturday, still had me on edge. Stefan was acting differently. Strangely. And I didn’t know why. I had no idea what his intentions were, when the other shoe would drop.
Compared to Stefan’s radio silence, it had been nice to see the torrent of texts from my other friends. At leasttheyseemed to care. And yet…besides the multiple “Where are you?” and “are u ok?” texts that I’d gotten on Friday night—and never responded to—no one had bothered to check in on me. For the rest of the weekend, I didn’t get any more texts. Apparently once I was out of sight, I was out of mind. Some friends.
And here I had thought that school and my colleagues would be a substitute for the attention and love I had been missing in my private life.
It was my turn to order, so I asked for a tall mocha and then stood off to the side with my girlfriends as the barista whipped up our drinks.
Just then, Diane rushed up in a cloud of patchouli oil. “Tori! You’re safe! Where did you go on Friday? I’ve been on a personal media ban all weekend so I could meditate in harmony on midterms, but then I realized this morning that I never heard back from you.”
“She lost her phone,” Lila said breezily, slurping her frappuccino. “But actually, Tori, you never answered us. Howdidyou get home? You seemed pretty wasted.”
Now three pairs of eyes were focused on me as I tried to wrack my brain for the memory—any memory—of that night. But I was still drawing a blank. Except for the blurry hallucination of Stefan. There was no doubt in my mind: someone had drugged my drink.
“That’s right,” Diane said, peering at me curiously. “We did those shots with Gavin and then I went to go dance and then you were justgone. I figured maybe you’d left with someone.”
Lila’s mouth dropped open. “Tori,” she hissed. “Did you go home with a sexy stranger?! Is that why you’re being so coy? Tell me his name!”
“No,” I protested. “I didn’t—”
“Scandal!” Audrey crowed, taking a joyful swig of her espresso. “I bet he’s friggin’ hot.”
“Guys. We’re not here to judge anybody,” Diane scolded, plucking Lila’s frap out of her hand to steal a few sips. Then she smiled sweetly at me. “But you can tell us anything.”
I was offended and horrified. Not only did my friends—who knew I was married—think I was the kind of person who’d just walk out of a club with a complete stranger (and try to keep it a secret later), but they didn’t seem at all worried about how dangerous that could have been.
“I really didn’t,” I said, my voice tight. “I didn’t leave with anyone.”
“Huh,” Lila said, tapping a neon fingernail on her cup as if she didn’t quite believe me.
“To be honest, I don’t remember anything that happened after those shots I took,” I admitted, blushing hotly. “I have no idea how I got home. But I did make it home that night.”
Diane’s eyes widened. “Have you talked to Gavin? He was stuck to you like glue the whole time. He said he was babysitting since he’s the one who got you that new fake ID—but he didn’t seem worried at all when I asked about you later. In fact, he insisted you were fine.”
Gavin.
I remembered being with Gavin on Friday night. Joking with him, flirting a little. The warmth between us. I even remembered briefly considering what it would be like to date him. Wondering if maybe, once my marriage was officially over, we could try it. If he’d wait for me.
Now I didn’t know how to feel.
He showed up late to Latin class that afternoon, so I had to wait over an hour before I could finally talk to him. By the time the bell rang, I was practically vibrating with nervous energy. Surely he had an idea of what had happened to me that night. He’d been my self-appointed official babysitter. And he was the one who’d gotten me home, hadn’t he?
“Gavin,” I said, rushing over to grab his arm before he could leave class.
That was unusual. Usually he came to my desk and waited for me to pack up my things after Latin was over, so we could walk to the library together to study.
But then he turned and smiled at me, his usual, friendly, handsome smile, and I felt some of my worry ease. Gavin was a good guy. I liked him. I trusted him. He would tell me the truth.
“Tori. How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice kind and gentle.
“I’m okay,” I told him carefully, pulling him off to the side a little. “But to be honest, most of Friday evening is a bit of a blank. Do you think you could…fill me in?”
Every time I had to admit my alcohol-fueled amnesia out loud, I felt a surge of embarrassment. I wasn’t that kind of girl. The kind who got so drunk that she couldn’t remember what happened later, who blacked out in the middle of a club. I was sure something had been slipped into my drink, but even so, I’d never been the kind of girl to put myself in situations where that could happen. I’d messed up. And I didn’t want Gavin to think less of me.
