Naked, wet hair streaming down my back, a bruise already beginning to form on my thigh from my drunken spil …and puffy, kiss-swol en lips.
I wrapped my hair in a towel, and then leaned on the countertop, bringing my face within inches of the mirror.
“Caroline, my dear, you just got turned down by a man who once made a woman meow for thirty minutes straight. How do you feel?” the naked
woman in the mirror asked me, turning my thumb into a little microphone. She gestured toward me, holding out her thumb.
“Wel , I drank enough wine to sustain a smal Spanish vil age, I haven’t had an orgasm in a thousand years, and I wil probably die old and alone
in a beautiful y designed apartment with al of Clive’s il egitimate children swarming around me…How do you think I feel?” I asked back, offering
Mirror Caroline her thumb.
“Sil y Caroline, you had Clive neutered,” Mirror Caroline answered, shaking her head at me.
“Go fuck yourself, Mirror Caroline, since I can’t even do that,” I finished, ending the interview and taking my naked ass back into the bedroom.
Throwing on a T-shirt, I fel into bed, my drunk self exhausted from the hike and the dinner and the wine and the music and the best make-out
session I’d ever engaged in. The thought of it brought my tears to the surface again, and I rol ed over to grab some tissues, only to find an empty
box, which made me cry even harder.
Stupid Wal banger voodoo.
Could this night get any worse?
Then my phone rang.
“Pancakes, sweetie?”
“Love some. Thanks, babe.”
Jesus.
“Is there stil cream for the coffee?”
“I got your cream right here, honeybunch.”
Sweet Jesus.
Listening to a new couple, much less two new couples was sometimes vomit-worthy. Add that to a hangover, and this was going to be a long
morning.
After talking to James on the phone last night, I’d fal en into a deep sleep, aided, no doubt, by al the wine I’d consumed. I woke with a thick
tongue, a splitting headache, and a queasy stomach—made even more queasy by the knowledge that I’d have to see Simon this morning and have
that weird we-total y-made-out-last-night conversation.
James had made me feel better, though. He’d made me laugh, and I remembered how wel he took care of me back in the day. It was a nice
memory, and an even nicer feeling. He’d cal ed under the pretense of checking with me about a paint color, which I quickly cal ed as a bluff. Then
he’d admitted he just wanted to talk to me, and fresh off the Great Hot Tub Rejection, I was happy to talk to someone I knew wanted my attention.
Damn you, Simon. When James asked me to dinner next weekend, I agreed immediately. We’d have a great time…and since my O was back in
her hidey-hole, I might as wel enjoy a night on the town.
Now, I was seated at the breakfast table, surrounded by two new couples who were fil ing the kitchen with enough sexual satisfaction to make
me scream. I didn’t though. I kept it to myself as Mimi perched happily on Ryan’s lap, and Neil fed Sophia melon bal s as though he was put on the
earth for this reason and this reason alone.
“How was the rest of your evening, Ms. Caroline?” Mimi chirped, raising a knowing eyebrow. I pressed the tines of my fork into her hand and
told her to zip it.
“Wow, grumpy. Someone must have spent the night alone,” Sophia murmured to Neil.
I looked up at her in surprise. The casualness with which they were treating this was real y starting to bother me.
“Wel , of course I spent the night alone. Who the hel do you think I spent the night with? Huh?” I asked, slamming back from the table and
knocking my orange juice glass over. “Ah, fuck it al to hel ,” I muttered, stomping off toward the patio, tears threatening for the second time in less
than twelve hours.
I sat in one of the Adirondack chairs, looking out over the lake. The cool of the morning soothed my heated face, and I wiped clumsily at my
tears as I heard the girls footsteps fol ow me outside.
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” I instructed, as they took the seats opposite me.
“Okay…but you gotta give us something. I mean, I thought for sure when we left last night, I mean…you and Simon are just—” Mimi started, and
I stopped her.
“Me and Simon nothing. There is no me and Simon. What, you thought we’d pair off just because you four final y figured your shit out? You’re
welcome for that, by the way,” I snapped, pul ing my bal cap down lower on my face, hiding my continuing tears from my best friends.
“Caroline, we just thought—” Sophia began, and I cut her off as wel .
“You thought since we were the ones left over we’d just magical y become a couple? How storybook—three sets of perfectly matched couples,