Matty: You “just checked in” three times today. That’s not checking in, that’s surveillance.
Me: Fuckoff.
Matty: Love you too.
Was he lying? Did Dr. Kim really think he was getting better? How did none of us see it coming?
Another drink. The bottle’s getting lighter.
My phone buzzes again, but it’s not Marnie.
Dex
Answer your phone.
I know what today is.
Don’t do this alone.
I turn the phone face-down. Pour another glass.
The room is spinning slightlyby the time my phone rings for the tenth time.
I ignore it.
It rings again.
And again.
I’m reaching to silence it when I see the name. Marnie.
My finger hovers over the button. I should answer. Should tell her?—
I send it to voicemail but she calls back immediately.
I let it ring out.
A text appears.
Marnie
Dex says you’re not answering. Please pick up.
Roman. Please.
I stare at her name on my screen. At the proof that she’s checking on me even though she’s angry, even though I don’t deserve it.
The whiskey makes me sad. Makes me think about texting back. About calling her. About admitting I’m not okay and I need her.
Instead I reach for the bottle.
Marnie showsup at almost 7. I guess Dex made good on his promise after all.
I’m on the couch, bottle mostly empty, room tilting sickeningly when the front door swings open.
She’s standing there in jeans and one of my sweatshirts, hair pulled back, eyes finding the whiskey bottle immediately. Then me on the couch. Then back to the bottle.
The concern on her face nearly breaks me.
