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‘I suppose it’s only fair to tell a humiliating story considering what’s happening right now to you. You know, to make you feel better.’ I take a breath, prepping myself to tell the story I cringe at when my dad tells it. ‘I once puked on the classmate standing before me during our school spring sing.’
River scrunches his face.
‘Yep. I threw up in her hair and continued singing as if it had never happened. I didn’t address it, didn’t help, and definitely didn’t stop the show because once I’d puked I felt fine again. There are multiple home videos of it too. Eventually, once the music teacher noticed a kid bawling, the whole show screeched to a halt, and I felt terrible. When my parents asked why I didn’t run off stage to vomit, I had no answer because I was eight, and all I wanted was for the floor to open up and suck me in. Then they asked why I didn’t help?’ I sigh heavily as I always do when I tell this story. Am I really the person who damages someone then ignores it? I didn’t want to be that girl so now I’m overly caring. Fall on the sidewalk in front of me, I’m stopping to help and I’ve got Band-Aids in my purse.
He laughs to himself. ‘That is bad.’
I nod. ‘Even though that girl and I had multiple classes together through the end of high school, she never spoke to me again, and no one ever spoke of it. It was my take-it-to-the-grave secret, but now you know. I can’t know you’re sick and not help, that was the lesson I learned that day.’
‘But you were sick,’ River says.
‘I felt better after and should have helped her, the girl in front of me trying not to throw up on everyone around her once she realized what had happened.’
River’s jolly laugh makes him groan then rub his hand across his stomach like it still hurts with any movement. ‘Does Corndog know this story?’
I shake my head. ‘No way. He’s in school to be a doctor, I can’t ever tell him I ignored a girl who needed help after I caused a situation. That’s like the essence of his business – helping people. I ran away, and I’ll never do that again.’
Laney appears in the hallway with us; her phone is lit in her hand. ‘I hate to break up this little love fest, but I’ve got an Uber on the way. I’m going to grab our ex boxes and a few other things I need, then I’ll be back.’
‘Lane, maybe tonight’s not the night to cleanse our souls?’ I suggest, noticing River’s pale complexion again.
‘It has to be the night, full moon and all. It’s in the rules.’
River glances between us, still leaning on the bathroom door frame with the door only cracked about a foot. ‘Is your sister a witch?’
‘Sometimes,’ I joke.
‘I’ll be back,’ Laney says, not caring that this is the very wrong moment. ‘Find his burn box,’ she says, exiting his apartment without a response that this is even alright to do.
‘Since your stuck here until we summon whatever demon your sister is inhabited by and I am so embarrassed I may avoid you for the rest of my life after this, I need to ask you a favor?’
‘What?’ I ask.
‘Can you please go into my top dresser drawer and grab me pretty much any bottoms you see. Mine are uh—’ He glances back into bathroom with a grimace. ‘This is quickly becoming the most humiliating night of my life. Mine are… compromised,’ he says apologetically. ‘Questions aren’t allowed at this time, literally, grab anything.’
‘Okey-dokey,’ I chirp, hoping to put him at ease that he hasn’t ruined my night and save him from any more embarrassment. If I pretend everything is normal, maybe this moment won’t become a core memory for either of us. Actually, I kind of hope it does. I could use some more crazy stories and I haven’t had a night this exciting for a long time.
I head towards the one dark room I haven’t glanced into yet, assuming it is his room.
The room lights up as I flip the switch. It’s mostly clean and organized, resembling a twenty-something bachelor’s bedroom. Impressively, he has a bedframe, not just a mattress on the floor. A wall of those expensive ‘adult’ lightsabers (the ‘collectors’ editions that aren’t considered ‘toys’ and cost hundreds of dollars) tells me everything I need to know about River. Deep down, he’s still his teenage self and perhaps even dorkier than I thought despite his casual, cool exterior. Which is something I think I like. Life is already sucky; why make it worse by being too serious about everything?
On the wall facing his bed is another colossal TV above the dresser I’m looking for. Things are strewn about as if he actually lives here, and I wouldn’t want to eat a meal off the floor or anything, but I’ve been in worse. I once dated a guy who lived in his parents’ basement (which I’ve got zero problems with – live with whoever you want). But this guy had fifteen gerbils. You can imagine how it smelled. We didn’t last long.
On the other hand, Conner is one of those sparkling clean, don’t move anything, he washes his sheets after I sleep over, kind of guy. I once laid his toothbrush on the bathroom counter, and he lost his shit. In a Ross Geller-type rage, he threw the toothbrush into the toilet with a live demonstration of how much bacteria lives on the counter. That should have been a red flag, but I was lovestruck. If only Laney had been there to announce the flag on the field.
Not one piece of art (besides the light sabers he probably considers art) is on River’s walls, but he does have a lovely collection of colorful Post-it notes, all with things jotted onto them – NYE, Crystal Ballroom, Rico/Rehab, mother of the bride dress, best man speech, bachelor party (epic), hula girl. Hula girl? Is that me? I glance up at a line of bright orange Post-its with the words ‘WALL OF IMPORTANT SHIT’. I laugh to myself. I’m on his wall of important shit? That’s interesting.
A hamper in one corner proves laundry is not his favorite chore. His bed is partially made like he quickly threw the gray comforter over it before leaving this morning. A few shirts, still on hangers, are set on the bed. Did he question what to wear tonight? If so, that makes me feel better about the pile of rejected outfits I went through before settling on the one I’m in. From the looks of my room when I left, you’d have thought this was a date date.
Bottoms, Jade, that’s what you’re here for. Hurry. He’s in his bathroom, Donald Ducking it.
I pull open the top drawer and grab the first thing that catches my eye, Day-Glo zebra print. I take a better look, laughing to myself when I notice they’re boxer briefs, in adult man size. I glance at the others. Floral print. Colorful leopard skin. Polka dot. A green and red ‘Christmas’ themed pair with a ‘present’ pictured in the groin. And so many more.
He’s as weird as I am with clothes, and I love that. I may or may not have a thing for obnoxious thongs. I’ve got sexy ones, comfy ones, lacey ones, and even a pair of crotchless ones that the gerbil guy gifted me on our second date, which happened to fall on Valentine’s. I’ll never wear those, so I don’t know why I don’t just throw them away, but I don’t.
The next pair I grab is black with a magenta-colored heart positioned over where his manhood will go. I know in my gut these are the ones I’ll be bringing him. They’re absolutely perfect.
To the far right of the drawer, I spot a stack of neatly folded sweats in three colors: black, navy, and gray. I’m sure these are the bottoms he hoped for, not the underwear in my hand, but I’m going with both.
