by Dahlia Adler
“The motel.”
“Gross. Okay, let me find out some more info on where we can get one. I’m thinking leaving Charytan is in order.”
“Yes, definitely.” I take a deep breath. “Thank you.”
“Just to warn you, I heard Jane Huntley say that after she took it, she was puking her guts out the entire day. And I’m pretty sure she went all the way to Wichita for it.”
“Why the hell would she drive three hours for a pill?”
“Because no pharmacist west of there would give it to her. They don’t have to if they have a moral objection to it, or something.”
“Fantastic.”
“Should I not have told you that?”
I sigh. “Of course you should tell me that. Anything else?” A chill creeps over me. “How much does it cost?”
“I’m not sure,” she mumbles, and I guess she’s looking it up on her phone. “Varies,” she says a few moments later. “How much do you have?”
I curse inwardly for having just filled my tank and left a decent tip at Joe’s. “Five bucks? Maybe ten?”
“You’re definitely gonna need more,” she says sympathetically. “Where’s Dev?”
“Here. Asleep.”
“You haven’t even talked to him yet?”
I shift uncomfortably. This is not a conversation I want to have with Dev. It’s not even a conversation I really want to have with Vic. I just want it to be over already. “I don’t really have to, do I?”
“You sure as hell do if you want to be able to buy it,” Vic returns. “Anyway, it’s his problem too. Why didn’t you guys use a condom?”
“It wasn’t planned.” The understatement of the century. “It’s not like I carry one around.”
“Doesn’t he?”
The thought nauseates me even more than the thought of taking the morning-after pill does. I know he told me he isn’t dating Sara, but that doesn’t mean they haven’t hooked up. How many times has he loaded his wallet with condoms for nights with her? How many times has he used them with her?
How many times has he forgotten them with her?
“I’m gonna throw up,” I announce to Vic, a second before I lean over the toilet and do.
I can’t hear her response over the sound of my own retching, and I pray Dev’s managed to sleep through all of this as I flush the toilet and rinse out my mouth. Hell, at this point, I pray Dev has packed up his stuff and gone home. I don’t think I can stand the sight of him right now.
“I am so dumb,” I moan to Vic, sliding back against the bathroom wall.
“You made a mistake,” she says firmly. “But we need to focus. It’ll take us about three hours to get to Wichita. Do you want to wait until places open so we can see if somewhere closer will dispense it? Or just get in the car and go?”
The idea of not only waking up my best friend at 4:00 a.m. but making her bike over here to then sit in the car for nearly six straight hours is just too insane. Of course, I could just go without her…only I can’t. I know I can’t. I need my best friend. “I’ll wait. Maybe we’ll find a place closer. You should get some more sleep. I’m sorry I woke you up.” Then I pause. “I can wait, right? It won’t, like, implant in me or something?”
I can tell Vic’s smothering a laugh. “That’ll be fine,” she says, so confidently I believe it. “Maybe you can get a little more rest before then.”
“Yeah, right.”
“I’m sorry, Rae,” she says softly, and I know that somewhere in her sleep-addled brain she’s finally pieced together what a disaster this all is—not just the lack of condom but all of it. “It was inevitable though, wasn’t it?”
“If that were true, you’d think I’d have been more prepared,” I joke. And then I crumple into a mess of tears.
Vic stays on the phone with me for another few minutes, waiting until I’m all cried out, and then I thank her profusely and let her go back to sleep. I wash my face, which is ten different kinds of disgusting, and then sneak back into the bedroom. My stealth is pointless by then because the first thing I notice when I enter is that Dev has gotten dressed and is sitting on the edge of the bed.
“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice raw, and I know that he’s heard if not everything than a whole lot of my conversation with Vic. “I wish you’d woken me up.”
I shrug. “Not much you can do.”
He sets his jaw, as if bracing for an argument, but a moment later, he relaxes and stands up. “Let me just brush my teeth and then I’ll drive you, okay?”
“Drive me where?”
He stops on his walk to the bathroom. “To the pharmacy, obviously,” he says, then disappears inside.
I have no plans to go to the pharmacy yet, but I have nothing else to do, so I get dressed anyway. He emerges a few minutes later looking as lousy as I do. “Let’s go,” he says, hauling his duffel onto his back.
“I have to wait until pharmacies open so I can call and see who’ll dispense it. Might be a long drive.”
“Oh.” He drops the bag and goes to sit on the bed again. “So now what?”
I lean back against the wall, not willing to get too close again. “I wait here until Vic wakes back up and you either go back to sleep or go back home.”
“You’re kidding, right? You think I’m leaving before you take that thing?”
I narrow my eyes. “You seriously don’t trust me to take it?”
“No, I’m seriously not going to leave you alone to deal with it, when it took two of us to fuck this up,” he snaps. “I’m going to drive you, I’m going to pay for it, and I’m going to make sure you’re okay. Is that all right with you?”
It’s obvious he’s pissed, and I know it’s obvious I’m pissed. The only thing that’s not terribly clear is who we’re pissed at. Each other? Ourselves? Both?
I don’t feel like responding, so I slide to the floor and hug my knees, avoiding eye contact. My head is a mess of incoherent thoughts I have no desire to process. I think I might even be able to fall asleep sitting that way until Dev breaks the silence. “Can you say something?”
I open my eyes. “What do you want me to say?”
“Just…something. This was something that happened between you and me, and you went ahead and called Vic while I slept. Doesn’t that seem screwed up to you?”
“Would you have known what to do?” I challenge him.
“We would’ve figured it out together!”
“Oh, yeah, like we’ve done so fabulously with everything else. Because this”—I wave a hand angrily back and forth between us—“has gone so smoothly. Why are you even here?”
He winces, and I know I’m being overly cruel, but I can’t bring myself to take it back. I’m terrified of what comes next, and I don’t just mean the morning-after pill. It took me months to get over everything with Fitz, and even longer to move on with somebody else. And now that I have, all I can think about is how horribly we’ve screwed this up.
I see him wait for me to follow my last statement with an apology, and when he realizes none is forthcoming, he shrinks into himself, an obvious storm building within him.
“I have no fucking clue,” he spits when he finally answers, and I think the depth of hurt and anger in his voice shocks us both. “I had this crazy idea that I had to see you one more time, and I don’t even know why. Apparently, I turn into the world’s shittiest person when I’m around you. I drag my friends around for no reason, I lie to everyone about my plans this weekend, and I have sex with a girl I barely know and don’t even use a condom.”
He’s up on his feet now and shaking with rage, but so am I. Six hours earlier the guy standing in front of me made me feel like the most precious thing on earth, and suddenly I am dirt under his shoe. “I don’t know what the fuck is wrong with me, or how this happened, but you know what? You want to go by yourself? Fine. You want to be by yourself forever? Fine. That’s probably for the best.”
He hauls his duffel back onto his shoulder and starts to
storm out, but then, unbidden, one last question pops into my mind, and even though I know it’s probably the worst possible thing I can ask at that moment, I have no choice. “Dave,” I say loudly, stopping him in his tracks. “Are you clean?”
He turns slowly, and I swear there is actual hate emanating from those dark eyes. “Am I what?”
“Clean,” I say firmly, forcing myself to hold my ground. “Have you been tested for STIs?” Once the words are out, I swallow after them, hoping I won’t ever need to repeat them again. “I am, just so you know.” I got tested right after I found out what Fitz was doing to our condoms. It’s not an experience I’m anxious to repeat.
His entire face transforms, and I know that whatever he’s about to say will break me. And it does.
“I assume I am too, since last night was my first time.”
Then he slams the door, and he’s gone.
VICTORIA
Rae picks me up at seven on the dot to drive to what does in fact end up being Wichita. By mutual silent agreement, we don’t stop for coffee at Joe’s, waiting until we’re fifteen minutes outside city limits to get some at a gas station. We don’t exchange more than ten words until we’re both halfway through our cups. Then Reagan breaks the silence.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice raw. “I’m sorry I dragged you out of bed for this, I’m sorry I fucked up, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Dev was coming to town, and I’m sorry I gave you shit for taking that class at CCC. You have every right to do what makes you happy. I just can’t stand the thought of losing you. I mean, hell.” The corner of her mouth lifts, just for a moment. “Who else would pick up the phone for me at 4:00 a.m. and sit with me on a long-ass ride halfway across the state?”
“Oh come on, you don’t think your mom would’ve—” I break off laughing, then feel bad about it because in reality that isn’t funny at all. But then she laughs too, and it sets me off again, and for a little while as we sip our gross coffee and Rae lets me blast Lilah Montgomery, everything feels normal.
And then we get to the pharmacy.
I wait in the car while she uses the cash Dev tucked into her windshield wiper to buy the pill. My hand rests on her back as she takes it, and for a quiet minute afterward. Then she sighs, puts her keys in my hand, and we switch seats. I drive the three hours back to my house, during which she alternates crying with chugging ginger ale to keep the nausea at bay.
She manages not to throw up even once until we get there, but as soon as we get inside, she rushes upstairs while I tell my mom we’re home from “studying at Joe’s,” attributing our early arrival from her full-day shift to bad tuna. Then I head upstairs to find Rae sprawled on the tile floor of my bathroom. “You don’t have to stay here with me,” she whimpers, as if I would even think about leaving her alone right now. As if, despite all the secrets she’s kept from me, I don’t at least know her better than that.
“Shh.” I hand her a glass of water I’ve just brought up from the kitchen, where my mother’s taking another stab at churros. It’s killing me to lie to her, and I think she suspects I am, but she knows not to pry right now and I appreciate it. At least the smell of frying pastry helps a little with the vomit-reek of the bathroom.
As if she knows exactly what I’m thinking, Rae mutters, “Does your mom know? How do you say ‘stupid fucking idiot’ in sign language?”
“I haven’t told her anything but that you’re not feeling well,” I assure her, motioning for her to drink. “She hasn’t asked anything else.”
She drinks it in gulps, then instantly takes a few deep breaths before scooting away from the toilet and resting her head against the rim of the porcelain tub.
“Better?”
“Yeah,” she says weakly, putting down the half-empty glass. “I feel awesome.”
I sit down beside her, stretching my legs out on the cool white tile, which makes the charms on my anklet jingle. “Does that mean you’re ready to spill about how the hell this happened?”
Her face twists up sourly. “I don’t even know what to say. It was so stupid.”
“Hey.” I sweep a curl out of her face, brush it back behind her ear. “It wasn’t that stupid. Not using a condom? That was stupid. But you and Dev are crazy about each other. Any idiot can see that. So you guys got a little carried away. It was bound to happen, with all that sexual tension you two have been carrying around.”
She groans and closes her eyes, and I wonder what it is she’s seeing behind her lids; the way everything in her face suddenly goes slack suggests the words “sexual tension” have been given a whole new meaning in the past twenty-four hours.
“Wow.” Even I can hear the awe in my voice, and her eyes fly open. “It was really good.”
“It was…” She bites her thumbnail while she thinks about how to finish the sentence. It’s not often I see Rae involuntarily at a loss for words, and I develop a whole new respect for the tall, skinny guy who apparently rocked my best friend’s world. “I can’t explain it.”
Orrrr maybe she just doesn’t want to tell me about it. Again. I look away, focusing at a tiny crack in the paint in the corner of the wall, up near the ceiling. Never mind that I picked up my phone at 4:00 a.m. on only two hours of sleep after a night of kissing and talking with Steve that I haven’t even gotten to tell her about yet. No matter how much I think I’ve earned in this friendship, I’m always a step behind somehow.
I glance back at her, about to impatiently tell her, “Never mind,” when I see that she’s leaned forward and pulled her knees up, squeezing her elbows between them, looking like she’s mentally preparing her answer, and then, she speaks.
“The first time I slept with Fitz, he went all out. We’re talking candles, rose petals all over the place, sparkling cider, cheesy music—everything. Granted, it was still in the bedroom he usually shared with Sean, but his parents were away, and he’d gotten Sean and the rest of his brothers to sleep over at friends’ houses, and the whole thing was just basically magic.”
“Sounds…nice?” I don’t mean to sound skeptical, but it just sounds so…not Reagan.
She laughs. “I know. Cliché to end all clichés, right? But it was nice. It was nice that he thought he should do that. It was nice that he cared enough to. It was nice that he wanted it to be perfect.”
“But…”
“But it wasn’t perfect. I’m not candles. I’m not roses. I’m sure as hell not cheesy music. I hated doing something that big while feeling like I was somebody else.”
“And last night? Was that perfect?”
She shifts, obviously uncomfortable. “Sort of, yeah. I mean, not in the way you normally think of perfect. We were in a gross motel, and the blanket was scratchy, and we definitely didn’t always know what we were doing, and obviously we kind of forgot an important part, and we’re not even dating! But in the moment, I swear, I wouldn’t have changed a damn thing.”
I sigh. “You need to talk to him. You know that, right?”
She nibbles at a thumbnail that’s already bitten down to the quick. “Trust me, he doesn’t want to hear anything I have to say.”
“He left you money,” I point out.
“Yeah, because he’s not a complete and total asshole. Or maybe he is. I don’t know.” She exhales sharply. “He didn’t want to kiss me because we have no future, but then he lost his fucking virginity to me. What does that even mean? And how slutty does it make me that I just slept with someone I’ll probably never even see again?”
“Slutty is a BS concept, and you know it. Besides, he slept with you knowing the same thing, and Jamie will probably, like, high-five him for it. No one ever calls the guy slutty.”
“Whatever,” she grumbles. “This is all beside the point. I should’ve known better, after everything.” But even as she says it I know she’s angry with him, too, for the fact that he didn’t stop her, that his conscience didn’t take over. And I am too, because there’s something there. We all know it. After everything, Reagan
deserves to be happy, and she came so close, only to have it come crashing down at the first sign of hardship. It’s like we keep having to hit some sort of ground zero before we can get to any truth.
And it’s terrible timing, I know, but I can’t contribute to that anymore. I need to be honest now, before it’s too late. “This is probably the worst time to say this,” I hedge, “but I’m going to schedule a visit to KU, and I think you should come with me.”
She narrows those huge brown eyes. “I’m not following Dev to school just because I had sex with him, Victoria.”
“This isn’t about Dev. Forget Dev. KU is enormous. You can probably go the whole four years without even seeing him there.”
I expect my words to be somewhat encouraging, maybe inspire two seconds of contemplation on her part, but instead, her shoulders slump and her face falls even further, as if she’s slowly breaking down. I’ve seen this routine before, during similar discussions, and still, I just don’t get it. Only this time, I’m not backing down to give her space to be moody.
“What?” I demand. “What is it about that idea that bothers you so much? Isn’t getting out of Charytan and becoming someone new the whole point? Don’t you want to get lost in a sea of people you don’t know? It’s like you’re attached to this small-town life you supposedly hate with a passion, like for all your big talk about wanting to get out you really just want to make sure someone can pick you up and take you back at any…” I clap a hand over my mouth, watching her bite her lips and widen her shining eyes as much as possible, a superhero effort to keep from crying.
My hand falls into my lap. “Oh my God. That’s what this is about. Him. Still.”
She’s shaking now, silent, her eyes fixed so hard on a point on the floor that I think they might explode out of her skull. One tear is sliding down her cheek, but she’s too frozen to swipe it away. I reach out and sweep it from her skin as gently as humanly possible, afraid to disturb her more than I already have.
“Rae,” I say gently. “He’s not coming back for you. He’s not—” I take a deep breath, because saying these words sucks, even though I’ve never met John Fitzpatrick and I know I never will. “He’s not…coming back here at all. You know that, right?”