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I go out into the living room, where Maggie and Ryan are dancing. “Come on, Carrie.” Maggie holds out her arms. What the hell, I think, and join them. Within minutes, though, Maggie and Ryan are making out.
“Hey, guys. Cut it out,” I scold.
“Cut what out?” Ryan laughs.
Maggie takes his hand, leading him to the bedroom. “Do you mind? We’ll be right out.”
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Have a drink,” Ryan chortles.
They go into the bedroom and close the door. The Blondie album is still playing. “Heart of Glass.” That’s me, I think. I pick up my vodka and sit at the tiny table in the corner. I light up a cigarette. I try Bernard again.
I know it’s wrong. But something alien has taken over my emotions. Having sunk this far, the only place to go is down.
The album stops playing, and from inside the bedroom, I hear panting and the occasional comment, like, “Oh, that’s good.”
I light another cigarette. Do Maggie and Ryan have any idea how inconsiderate they are? Or do they simply not care?
I ring Bernard once more. Smoke another cigarette. An hour has passed and they’re still going at it. Aren’t they tired? Then I tell myself to get over it. I shouldn’t be so judgmental. I know I’m not perfect. But I would never do what they’re doing. I just wouldn’t.
I may have suddenly learned something about myself after all. I have what Miranda would call “boundaries.”
I should probably bunk down on the futon. Maggie and Ryan don’t sound like they’re going to be finished anytime soon. But anger and frustration and fear are keeping me wide awake. I smoke yet another cigarette and dial Bernard.
This time he answers on the second ring. “Hello?” he asks, confused as to who could be calling him at two in the morning.
“It’s me,” I whisper, suddenly realizing what a bad idea it was to call him.
“Carrie?” he asks sleepily. “What are you doing up?”
“Maggie is having sex,” I hiss.
“And?”
“She’s doing it with some guy from my class.”
“Are they doing it in front of you?”
What a question! “They’re in the bedroom.”
“Ah,” he says.
“Can I come over?” I don’t want to sound like I’m begging, but I am.
“Poor thing. You’re having a lousy night, aren’t you?”
“The worst.”
“Coming over here probably won’t make it better,” he cautions. “I’m tired. I need to sleep. And so do you.”
“We could just sleep then. It’d be nice.”
“I can’t do it tonight, Carrie. I’m sorry. Some other time.”
&n
bsp; I swallow. “Okay,” I say, sounding like a little mouse.
