The Sea of Tranquility(17)
Author: Katja Millay

“You really want to tell me to f**k off right now don’t you, Sunshine?” He’s not done playing with me yet. I narrow my eyes when he calls me Sunshine again, which is a tactical error; because now he knows it annoys me and I have a feeling he’s enjoying annoying me. “What? Sunshine fits you. It’s bright and warm and happy. Just. Like. You.” And that’s when I lose it. I can’t help it. As shitty as I feel right now, as stupid as I look, as angry as I am at myself, at Drew, at Josh Fucking Bennett and drinks that taste deceptively like cherry Kool-Aid and nothing else. The ridiculousness of this whole situation slams into me all at once, and for the first time in forever, I laugh. Maybe it’s not even real laughter. Maybe it’s just the deranged cackling of a very unstable girl, but I don’t care, because it feels good and I don’t think I could control it now if I tried. Now the smile is gone from his face. Moved from his to mine, and he’s wearing my confusion. He’s looking at me like the insane girl I am. I may have actually surprised him. You win, Josh Bennett. You earned it.

When my hysterics subside, he takes the vodka-laden towel from me and goes back into the kitchen. I study the room for the first time. It’s simple. There isn’t much in it that’s modern. Almost everything in here, except for the couch, is made out of wood, which shouldn’t surprise me. None of it goes together. I don’t think any two pieces of furniture in this room match in any way. Every piece is a different style, a different type of wood, a different finish. I wonder if he built any of it. The oddest thing is that there are no fewer than three coffee tables in here. The one in front of the couch I’m sitting on is really nothing to look at. It’s all square edges and plain and the finish is wearing off across the surface where people probably spent years putting down glasses without using coasters. It might not seem out of place, if not for the fact that there are two more across the room, and they are anything but plain. The two of them are from another world and I walk over to get a closer look at them. They don’t even appear to be coffee tables in the traditional sense, but I don’t know what else to call them. They look old. Ornate and understated at the same time. I have no idea why they would be shoved, unceremoniously, against the wall on the far side of the room. I kneel down and reach out to run my fingers along one of the curved legs of the table closest to me, but then I hear Josh coming and I head back over to the couch. I don’t need him thinking I’m, thinking I’m what? Fondling his furniture? I don’t know. I just don’t want him thinking anything.

When Josh comes back, he’s carrying one of those huge plastic hospital mugs. I have a whole collection of them at home. Mine are white with teal lettering. The one he’s holding is red on white. He hands the mug to me. “Water.” I look at him skeptically. “For real this time. I promise.”

I manage to get all of the water down in addition to the ibuprofen he hands me with it. Then he takes the mug, without a word, and goes back into the kitchen, returning a moment later with it refilled. He makes me drink that one, too, which I’m none too happy about, because I really just want to get out of here. I look like crap; I feel like crap; and I have no idea how all of this is going to play out on Monday. But I’ll deal with that thought later, when my head isn’t exploding and I’m not on Josh Bennett’s couch.

I stand up to leave, looking down at myself and wondering if I should even ask.

“It’s on the bathroom floor.” He’s smiling at the carpet, not at me, when he says it. “You seemed really disgusted by it for some reason. Ripped it out from under your shirt, through your sleeve, in one fluid motion and flung it across the room. It was pretty impressive.” Wonderful. Last night’s dinner, the charred remains of my dignity, and apparently, now, my undergarments, too. What else did I leave on Josh Bennett’s bathroom floor? I have to admit that, even in the midst of such utter degradation, I think it’s funny that he can’t seem to say the word bra.

He points me in the direction of the bathroom and I walk as gingerly as I can. Every step sends shockwaves rippling from my feet up into my brain. When I get there, my bra mocks me from the tile floor in the corner between the bathtub and the toilet. At least it was a cute black lacy one, because ugly underwear is the only thing that could make this morning any worse. I kneel down to retrieve it, and in the process, wonder if I can possibly scrape up the discarded dregs of my self-respect. I may need them.

***

Josh doesn’t need any directions this time. He says nothing at all on the way home and I can’t decide if I’m grateful for that or not. He drops me off at Margot’s with thirty minutes to spare before she gets home from work. It’s just enough time for me to shower and change and pretend all is well before she walks in the door.

“Feel better, Sunshine.” He’s not looking at me, but I can still see one side of his mouth turned up when I shut the door.

I think about the fact that he let me sleep on his couch when Drew obviously dumped me there. He held back my hair, cleaned up massive amounts of puke, brought me painkillers and stood over me while he forced me to drink a half-gallon of water so I wouldn’t get dehydrated. There’s nothing sunny or shiny about me, but after last night, he’s earned the right to mock me this morning. So yes, I think, at least for a little while, Josh Bennett can call me whatever the hell he likes.

CHAPTER 11

Josh

At 4:00 on Sunday the doorbell rings. When I open it, I find Drew’s mom on my porch with a plastic container in her hands.

“It’s Sunday. I made sauce. Drew said you weren’t coming for dinner so I wanted to drop it by.” She knows I can’t make spaghetti sauce to save my life and it pisses me off, so she always brings me some.

“Thanks.” I step aside and push the door open so she can come in. “You could have had Drew bring it to me. You didn’t have to come all the way over here.”

“Drew disappeared somewhere this afternoon. Probably to see whichever girl he’s chasing now.” She raises her eyebrows questioningly at me and I keep my expression blank, wondering if I know exactly which girl that is. I take the container from her and turn to put it in the refrigerator, while she sits down on a barstool at the kitchen counter, in front of the plate of cookies that appeared at my front door earlier today. “Besides, you know I like to check on you and interrogate you on your life every now and then. Even if I know you won’t answer.” She smiles, picking up a cookie.