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Lily
Nico is a fucking douchehat
I delete the message draft immediately. Worst case, my battery will expire soon, and I won’t be able to find the way back to the hotel. Someone needs to know where I am if I get lost. I send Avery my location instead.
Lily
Hey, my battery is about to die and Nico left me stranded. Love you. Don’t go easy on him
Right as I hit send, the device vibrates. Nico’s name flashes across my screen, I open the text.
Nico
hey, marcelo needed help moving a couch. Won’t be able to make it. c u at dinner?
Whack.
Just as I go to respond, a sharp pain attacks the bridge of my nose, shooting through my eyes and into my head. My phone and cup of tea tumble out of my hand. When I open my eyelids, I catch the remnants of my cell cascading down the stairs through a jungle of shoes.
“What the fuck?” I palm my nose, feeling a welt already forming.
“Oh, sorry.” A man holding an extended selfie stick glances over at me and flashes an innocent look. It takes everything in my power to not let the scream lodged at the base of my throat rip the poor bystander to shreds.
Why do bad things happen to decent—sometimes not great, but overall not bad—people?
“Ouch.” I rub my nose again.
I need to return to the hotel before I implode.
I can’t believe Nico waited an hour before texting me to cancel plans.How fucking inconsiderate.But should I even be surprised? Just a few weeks ago, he bailed on a date to spend more time with me.
My eyes scan the steps, spotting my phone a few feet down. I hurry toward it.
Please don’t be ruined.Pleasejust be a scratch.
I take a moment of silence and bend down, turning my cell over.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
The entire screen is demolished.
What did I do to deserve this?
Realization sets in, I have no phone in a country where I can barely understand the language, I don’t know anyone here, and I must be over a thirty-minute drive from the hotel.
Anxiety strums a knowing melody in my chest.
It’s fine.I’m fine.I don’t need Nico, and his total disregard for my time. I’ll just wave down a taxi.
Navigating is my strong suit. One time, I got Avery and I home from her coworker’s house in Connecticut after she’d chugged an entire bottle of champagne. I’d forgotten my purse on the subway on the way to the party, had to battle the remnants of a week-long stomach bug, and still got us home in one piece.
This is nothing.
The pain in my nose fades as I stumble onto the main street.
Wait, how much money do I have? Most drivers here only accept cash for fare. I dig into my crossbody for my wallet, but between an ancient stick of lip balm, two tampons, headphones, and an extra hair tie, my wallet’s nowhere to be found.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
