“Chrissie, thanks for a great night. Go home,” I say softly, shaking my head when she tries to argue. When her door slams shut I turn to Gregory and give him a scornful onceover from head to toe and back again. “You can go home too, thank you.”
At least I’m stone cold sober now. Being confronted by him like this is like cold water to the face. Not invigorating, just painfully sobering.
“Go home,'” I hiss, adding a ‘go screw yourself’ under my breath.
With that I march to my door, determined to have the last word if it kills me. Look, I may not be from the Upper sides, and I may not wear designer labels — except for that one time with Margery’s dress, but I’ve prayed on it and asked forgiveness — but I am most certainly not deserving of his treatment.
Anyway, we’ve had sex, I know what that’s like — wonderful — and I’ve promised myself I won’t go looking for anything more. He’s done me a favor by being such an ass, really he has, because if he weren’t I may have started liking him more than is wise.
“Hannah. I need to—”
“Get your ass off my doorstep,” I finish, swinging my door open and turning back.
He stays where he is, staring at me with a look I cannot define, and that makes me angrier than I already am.
“Please just listen. I need to explain,” he says softly.
“Nope. You had your chance to act like a human being, and you blew it. I wasn’t looking for anything more than what you were offering anyway, so we can call it done and move on. I don’t want to see you again.”
I close the door and collapse back, waiting for his footsteps to recede. A moment later I hear him stalk away, and then the elevator doors closing with a ding.
Good riddance. If I never see that man’s too-handsome face again, it’ll be way too soon.
Chapter Twelve
Saturday morning I wake to sewer breath and jack hammers in my skull, feeling more miserable than I’ve ever felt. This is all Gregory’s fault, and I’d tell him so if not for the fact that I never intend to see him again.
I mean, who does that to people?
When the jack hammer doesn’t stop, I sit up with a groan. Someone’s at the door, and the thought of getting vertical and answering it makes my stomach turn.
“Hannah! Open the damn door! I know you’re in there, and I’m not leaving.
Freaking Amber. I should have known she wouldn’t crack it for long, but I’d expected more from her than one night.
“What?” I whisper after throwing on a robe and opening the door.
She glares at me and shoves a suitcase my way, stepping aside to reveal Nana behind her, a huge grin on her wrinkled face.
“She’s soft, this one, Hannah girl, and I wouldn’t leave her to care for a rattlesnake. She hasn’t even given me breakfast. I have low blood sugar. I need my breakfast.”
I tilt my head back and groan before grabbing the suitcase and waving Nana in.
“Come on, Nana, let’s leave Amber to get back to her super important life,” I say, glaring at my sister as Nana shuffles in and makes a beeline for the kitchen. “You’re such an idiot. Jesus, you can’t look after a defenseless old lady for a few days without trying to starve her?”
“I found her in the kitchen smearing peanut butter on her face! She poured vinegar in my petunias, and she stays up until two in the goddamned morning singing Sinatra!”
“Oh, poor baby.”
“The peanut butter is for my wrinkles, and your petunias were already dead. I was trying to get rid of the decaying plant smell. And if you don’t like Sinatra, there’s something wrong with you!” Nana yells from the kitchen, making me smile despite the pounding headache in my eyeballs.
“Just go home, Amber. Oh, and I want my fucking money back,” I say, slamming the door in her shocked face.
“That girl is a menace, I tell ya,” Nana says, bustling around in the kitchen as I slump over the tiny kitchenette and pray for death. “Here, Hannah darling, have some water, and then Nana will make you a nice hangover cure,” she croons, stroking my hair softly.
I down the water with a smile and watch her cook breakfast and join me.
“I’m sorry, Nana, I should never have left you with Amber,” I say ten minutes later, when the grease has started sucking up some of the booze and the Godawful concoction she’s poured down my throat starts working.
“That’s all right, baby, I understand. You’ve got a lot on your mind right now.”
It’s a feeble excuse and I know it, but I appreciate it anyway.
“Sooo, want to tell me why you were smearing peanut butter all over your beautiful face?”