“You let me fall asleep on top of a bag of chocolate chips is what happened.”
Luanne’s voice is deafening to my heavy skull. I pull myself into a sitting position and assess last night’s damage. Sure enough, chocolate chips are scattered across the floor along with pictures of Luanne’s old boyfriends and a pitcher I know once contained about 32 ounces of iced tea and 20 ounces of vodka.
“Yeah,” I say, my voice sounding raspy, “sorry about that.”
Luanne sets her disapproving ‘mother eyes’ on me as she saunters out of the kitchen with two mugs in one hand and a small container in the other.
“Here,” she says, shaking the container at me, “take some aspirin and drink this.”
I shake out the aspirin but eye the mug suspiciously.
“Don’t worry, it’s just coffee. I swear.” Luanne forces the mug into my lazy hands and I take in a deep breath. The coffee smells rich, dark and liquor free, so I pop the pills into my mouth and offer up a small prayer for the health and safety of Juan Valdez. I wonder if he’s single…
I twist onto my knees, too unsteady to walk, and use my free hand to crawl my way over to the sofa. Luanne is sitting at the far end, one tanned leg thrown over the other and looking no worse for wear.
“That helping, sunshine?” she asks, smiling. “It’s clear to me now that we haven’t been spending enough time together lately. You sure can’t hold your liquor anymore.”
“Tim only drank red wine,” I say, finally making it into a sitting position on the sofa.
“Of course he did. Never trust a man who can’t handle hard liquor. That’s how I was raised.”
“Noted.” I take another healthy sip of the coffee and look down at my wrinkled clothes. “Do you think I can borrow something to wear? I don’t want to go back to the apartment and I have to work today.”
“Well, of course you can. Mi casa es tu casa. I think I can find something appropriate enough for the Bath Shop, but you better jump in the shower. It’s already eight o’clock.”
“Great.” I get to my feet, which remain miraculously steady beneath me, and hobble to the bathroom. The space is compact and I can’t escape the reflection leering back at me from over the sink. The evidence of yesterday’s crying jag is smeared in black mascara across my cheeks, and my hair is matted against my head. I look like shit run over, scraped off the pavement, put in a brown paper bag and set on fire. Getting presentable for work is going to take a gallon of cold cream. Maybe a blowtorch.
I step into the shower and close my eyes against the spray. The heat makes my head feel a little less fuzzy, but my heart’s still a big ol’ heavy mess. I can’t stop the tears from spilling out beneath my closed eyelids. Why does heartache make your stomach hurt? It feels like someone’s torn away at my insides. I feel bruised. A sob escapes my throat and makes my legs shake from the effort to stand. I place a hand against the wall in front of me and lean forward, submerging my face beneath the steady stream. Does it count if you cry in the shower? Isn’t it a little like a tree falling in the woods?
I drop my head forward, allowing the water to cascade over my shoulders. Dragging a deep breath in then out, I focus on pulling myself together. It doesn’t seem fair that I’m the one in pain when it was Tim’s cheating penis that destroyed my fantasy of a life with him. Alright, fine, I’m a big enough girl to admit that I share in some of the blame. I find unconditional trust…complicated. Maybe I didn’t defile our living room furniture with the Fed Ex guy, but I did my part to run that relationship straight into the ground.
I step out of the shower and wrap one of Luanne’s pink fuzzy robes around me. I definitely feel less vomit-y now. I hear Luanne yelling at someone on the phone so I sneak down the hallway and make my way to the bedroom. There’s a selection of dresses laid out on the bed and I try to choose the least provocative one. Luanne likes to dress sexy at all times. She says it’s a part of her Southern charm.
I slip on a white and pink polka-dot dress that’s a little