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After dinner, we head back to the bar to continue the festivities. While Carter talks Frank’s ear off about his master’s program and all the hot women he’s banging—gross—Cash and I huddle close to really catch up.
“How are things with Mia?” he asks, concern swimming in his eyes. Cash is the only person who knows the details. About who she became to me. About how she broke my heart.
The annoying thing is that I can’t quantify the feelings I had for her. Did I love her? Or did I only think I did because she was my firsteverything?
We never discussed what we were doing or what it meant. For us or for ourselves individually. In hindsight, I can see how I assumed a lot of things. Things I never really questioned.
Did I love her? Was I attracted to women?
We went to an all-girls boarding school. I never questioned my feelings or our interactions because that’s just what happened there.
But then we left for college, and suddenly the woman I thought I knew turned out to be a stranger.
I thought what we had was real. That what we were doing went beyond experimenting.
Was it more for me? I still don’t know.
I don’t even notice one sex or another.
People are just people.
Or maybe I’m just screwed up from all the ways she fucked with my mind.
“Oh, she’s Mia,” I say with a laugh, downplaying my internal freak-out.
Cash puts an arm around my shoulders and pulls me to him, squeezing me tight. “Kit Cat, I’m sorry.”
I rest my head on his chest and blow out a breath. “Cash Money, let’s not get all emotional about things that literally don’t matter. I’m happy. I’m excited. I’m about to start at Jolie! Like…it’s a dream come true. I’m not letting anybody get in the way of that.”
5
CLOSING TIME BY SEMISONIC
CAT
“Good news, roomie, you got the job!” Mia exclaims, bouncing on my bed.
Pain slices through my head as I open one eye and glare at her. Why does my head feel like it’s splitting open?
“What time is it?” I croak.
“Four a.m. I brought a pizza home. Come eat with me.”
I groan as I pull the pillow over my head. “Go away.”
My asshole roommate drags the blankets to the floor and tugs on my arms until I’m practically falling off the bed. “Stop!” I shout, trying to right myself.
“God, don’t get your panties in a wad.” She smacks my ass and walks to the door. “Come on, you owe me. Pizza. Living room. Now!”
I close my eyes in defeat. My mouth feels like it’s stuffed with cotton balls, and I’m pretty sure it’s vodka’s fault. My brothers had whiskey after dinner, but I refused, instead choosing to down one vodka after another. And here I am, hours later, regretting that last one.
I grab my robe from the back of my door and follow her into the living room.
My brothers would lose it if they saw the size of this apartment. There are no high ceilings, no fireplaces or bars or big-screen televisions. A black futon—with a chenille throw that I splurged on at Home Goods—takes up a larger percentage of space in the tiny living room than it should. Teal boho style lamps brighten up the space from where they sit on black Ikea side tables. There is a small round kitchen table in our eat-in kitchen and a counter that seats two. Barely.
Before I join her, I shuffle to the light switch by the front door and turn down the lights. Mia, unsurprisingly, has every light in the living room on. “Hurts my head,” I groan.
The pizza box is open on the living room table, and Mia is perched on the couch, her legs tucked under her as she brings a greasy slice to her mouth. She motions to the box. “Come on, eat while it’s hot.”
