“So this goes way beyond a sexual attraction thing,” Gretchen confirmed.
I nodded sullenly. I felt like a big wet blanket on her fun Saturday night. I don’t know why she invited me to stay over. She heard the way I sounded on the phone earlier. Dejected. Slightly bitchy.
“Well, you know what you’ve gotta do,” Gretchen said. “Go back over there and apologize.”
“I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for!” I argued.
“You’re apologizing for making him feel like a loser for not having kissed a girl in a year. That’s what,” Gretchen said.
“Fine.”
“Brookey, get rid of the ‘tude, okay? Tonight is about nails and Sex and the City reruns and Bacardi.” She plunged her hand into her purse and pulled out several airplane bottles.
“Where’d you get those?” I asked. I was in no mood to take care of Gretchen tonight.
“Why does it matter?” she replied, holding up the miniature bottles of rum.
“I’m not replaying that Friday night with you, Gretchen,” I warned.
“Oh, relax. I’m not drinking. You are,” she said.
“No way.”
“Uh, yeah you are. You need to loosen up and stop worrying about Ryan and have a little fun tonight,” Gretchen said. “We’re not going anywhere. We’re staying right here in my room. This is my ‘thank you’ for taking care of me after Tanner’s party.”
“I can’t drink straight liquor,” I said.
“Hello, Brooke. I’m totally aware. You act like I don’t have a clue who you are,” Gretchen huffed, and pointed to the Coke bottle sitting on her desk.
Thirty minutes later I was trashed.
“And I’m, like, what? What? What? A year? That’s, like, completely impossible because he’s sooo freaking hot,” I said, lying sprawled on Gretchen’s bedroom floor wearing only my bra and panties. I’ve no idea what happened to my clothes.
“Did you want to finish changing into your pajamas?” Gretchen asked, giggling.
Oh. So that’s what happened to my clothes.
I shook my head from side to side.
“Hey, don’t do that too hard. I don’t want you yakking on my rug,” Gretchen said.
“I just wanted to say, ‘Ryan, why are you so gorgeous and strange? What are your secrets? Your secrets, Ryan. I must know them.’” I rolled over onto my stomach. “God, will you just tell me!” I begged.
Gretchen laughed.
“Gretchy?” I asked.
“Don’t call me that,” she replied.
“I was ready to do him. I’m totally not joking right now,” I said. “I wanted to do things to him.”
I crawled towards my friend who sat in front of me leaning against her bed.
“Do you understand what I’m telling you? I wanted to do things. Lots of things,” I said, inches from her face.
“Like blow him?” she asked.
“Blow. Him. Up!” I replied, and Gretchen fell on the floor laughing. “What?” I asked, laughing, too, because Gretchen’s laugh was infectious.
“I love you,” she said between giggles. “Tell me more.”
“I want to swim in his eyes,” I said dreamily.
“Oh God.”
“And marry him and have his babies,” I finished.
“And blow him, too, right?”
“To Mars,” I sighed, leaning against the bed. Gretchen sat up and joined me. “All the way to Mars.”
I looked at my friend. She stared at me, grinning.
“Can I call him?” I asked.
“No.”
“I just wanna wish him a good night,” I said.
“No.”
“But I need to tell him a couple of things.”
“No, you don’t.”
“But I promised him I’d call him tonight.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“But I love him.”
“I know, Brookey.”
“I love him so much. I’ve never loved anyone as much as I love him.”
Gretchen put her arm around me, and I rested my head on her shoulder. “I know, Brooke.”
“Do you think he loves me?”
“I think he’s head-over-heels in love with you.”
I squealed. “Can I have another drink?”
“You drank it all,” Gretchen said.
I grunted and looked at the TV. “Charlotte just wanted to have a freakin’ baby, people! Is that too much to ask for?”
“I know,” Gretchen said. “They gave her a tough storyline.”
“So freaking unfair,” I said, and hiccupped.
I promptly fell asleep on Gretchen’s shoulder, my head bobbing up and down on tightly packed waves. I heard my friend’s voice in the distance before dozing off.
“You’re gonna have the worst headache tomorrow.”
Nine
Mother. Fucker.
I awoke in Gretchen’s bed with a raging headache. She sauntered out of the bathroom, hair wrapped in a towel, smile plastered on her face, looking chipper.
“Hi, sunshine,” she said, heading for her dresser.
“I hate you,” I mumbled.
“Hey now. I didn’t force you to drink all of it, Brooke,” she said.
“I still hate you.”
Gretchen pouted. “You know you had fun.”
My lips turned up in a painful smile. “How stupid did I get?”
“Well, I had to wrestle your cell phone from you,” Gretchen said.