14. Paper Bag
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
paper bag
ABI
EMERALD BAY WASHINGTON
PRESENT DAY
I wake up to the sound of a blaring alarm, my head thumping violently, with the distinct taste of cheap tequila and old lime juice completely coating my tongue.
“ Fuuuuuck my life…”
I lay there breathing, staring at my phone for some impossible amount of time as it trills happily on the nightstand. It’s plugged in; did I do that? Usually it ends up on the floor. One time it ended up in my toilet.
All I remember is bottomless margaritas.
“Why would they betray me?” I groan.
Margaritas are pure happiness in a glass, but somehow I never remember the part that comes after that. The consequences. Why did I drink so many?—
Oh.
Right.
I was messaging Brendan.
I shoot up out of bed, my arm flying to my phone and nearly knocking over a half-empty glass of water in the process.
It feels like my fingers can’t move fast enough as I punch my password in and pull up the dreaded exchange. The second I see the words fiancé I can feel my stomach sink as low as it can go, and all of that tequila and lime juice comes rushing back. I don’t even read the rest of it, tossing my phone down, sprinting for the bathroom and just barely making it to the toilet in time to puke my guts out like a civilized person.
Fiancé? I said I had a fiancé?!
My stomach takes another turn around the bend and I splash more vomit against the edge of the toilet bowl. And then I keep going, for quite some time, until there’s gotta be nothing left. And then I go just that tiny bit more, you know, for extra credit. Finally I manage to flush, my stomach slightly calming as I slump against the bowl, breathing hard as I feel the cold sweat pouring down my face.
I groan into the crook of my arm.
“Fuck you, Roman. I’m sure those margaritas were your idea.”
I’m really hoping I didn’t say or do anything stupid last night, but given the state of things I’m guessing that’s off the table.
After what may as well have been an eternity, I test the waters, slowly dragging myself to my feet. Shockingly, standing upright for a minute or so has no negative side-effects, and I’m filled with unearned confidence.
I strip off my pajamas and make for the shower.
I move slowly at first, not wanting to disrupt my stomach again, but soon I’m reveling in the brutal heat as it melts the knots in my shoulders and back. I use my favorite shampoo, the one that I usually just save for nights out, primarily because It’s something like $40 a bottle. Today though? We’re celebrating my stunning recovery.
I inhale deeply, closing my eyes and lathering up my hair. It smells like the strawberry compote my mom used to make when we had pancakes every Sunday, and once I rinse it out I always feel a little more human.
It’s hard to move through the day worrying if someone else can smell the booze you guzzled last night, so sometimes you just need to go those few extra steps to make sure you’re not completely repellent to your fellow man.
Fully rinsed and clean, I turn off the wonderful, gorgeous, scaldingly perfect water, dry off, and trudge back into my bedroom, carefully bending over to pick up my still lit-up phone.
There’s a missed text from Logan, but only from about an hour ago.
SUNSHINE
So how’s the hangover, party girl?
ME
Awful. Bring gun, please.
SUNSHINE
How about we don’t do violence today and I bring you some coffee and breakfast instead?
ME
Oh thank god, you’re actually coming over.
I stare at my phone for a moment, the anxiety starting to seep back in now that I’m away from the perfect mental defence of a hot shower.
SUNSHINE
Do you remember last night?
I try to parse out what I actually remember.
Being pissed at Brendan.
Shopping, with Imogen and Piper?
Roman’s suggestion of margaritas?—
It fucking was him, I knew it!
And then there’s waiting in the cool summer air.
Laughter.
Logan’s car.
Falling… on top of him.
“Nooo!” I whine, covering my face with my hands. “No, no, no!”
ME
Not really.
SUNSHINE
I think we should talk. I’ll be over in ten. Any food preference?
Okay, it’s not that bad. He’s not mad at me or he wouldn’t even be coming over. And if he’s not mad at me I must not have done anything too idiotic.
ME
No eggs and no tomatoes, please.
SUNSHINE
Yeah, you don’t like the texture right? How about a big New York bagel with lox and some cream cheese?
ME
That sounds incredible. BTW try not to scream when you see how haggard I look.
He shoots me a thinking emoji, followed by a picture. It’s him with his glasses askew, his eyes crossed, and his hair a complete mess.
ME
Wow, that is SEXY, Flynn. You got an Onlyfans?
SUNSHINE
The ladies love it, but you gotta pay the big bucks to get the real goods.
Fuck, you know what? Logan would be coming over even if I did something really bad. He’s just cool like that. Great, so I still have no clue how awful I was.
SUNSHINE
Make that 20 minutes, this old lady at the front of the line is acting like she’s never ordered food in her life.
ME
You’re a real speed demon, you know that?
I guess he was already out getting food, but I’m not complaining. I send him a heart before tossing my phone onto the bed and digging through my clothes for an outfit. I end up picking out my tattered oversized U of T sweater and a pair of buttery black leggings, and toss most of my hair into a claw clip, tucking the shorter pieces behind my ear. I look awful, and I feel even worse, but at least I’m not still shuddering on the floor. That said, who knows how long that’ll last. My stomach is in knots thinking about what Logan could possibly want to talk to me about.
What did I do? Did I try to kiss him? Was it Aspen all over again?
I can’t do this right now. I have to force myself out of the quickly-forming spiral, and step one is to convince myself to focus on feeling less like I want to curl into a ball and die of a hangxiety.
“The rats,” I murmur. “They always help.”
I head for Wednesday and Lydia’s cage, shaking out their morning kibble and giving them both a few quick little tickles. Lydia takes the opportunity to climb up my arm, totally uninterested in her breakfast, while her sister tries to fit as many pieces of food into her tiny mouth as possible before scurrying back into her house.
I give the more adventurous Lydia a little kiss on her head before letting her perch on my shoulder, feeling her go crazy on the tips of my wet hair.
“Thank you, baby,” I murmur. “Momma’s having a rough morning.”
She turns at the sound of my voice, giving me little kisses on my cheek.
I can’t help but giggle. She always seems to know when I’m feeling down, whereas Wednesday couldn’t really give a shit, especially if there’s food to hoard.
Honestly, given the way I feel right now? I can’t really blame her.
But then the sudden sound of my buzzer ringing through the house shifts the two of our priorities, sending Lydia into a little panic as she dashes down my outstretched arm back into her cage. She makes her way straight to Wednesday, who’s trying even harder than before to keep her food out of sight. I quickly grab a few little munchies and pass them right to Lydia through the gap in the cage, the first time she’s noticed the food’s existence all morning. Once she’s grabbed her fill I leave my sneaky little babies be, quickly head for the door and pressing the little button on the intercom.
“Hello?”
“Let me iiiinnn!” Logan whines. ”I think I’ve been out here for a whole minute!”
“Do you have bagels?”
“Of course, and coffee, what do you take me for?”
“My hero!”
I hit the button to unlock the front door, and in only a few seconds I can already hear the soft rhythmic sound of his shoes on the hardwood stairs. Moments later, his familiar knock reverberates through the apartment.
And there he is, a little scraggly but shockingly well put together. He’s holding a brown paper bag sitting on top of… two iced coffees and what looks like a little thermos.
“Aww, I get two of you?” I say, taking hold of the drinks without even making eye contact. “What a privilege!”
Logan isn’t even phased, fully in-sync with our playful bullshit, and just walks straight past me to the rat’s cage. I smile to myself as I watch him gently scritch Lydia, who sticks her nose out to investigate the newcomer. He waves at Wednesday, who completely ignores him as is tradition, before brushing past me, briefly placing a hand on my waist as he moves for the kitchen.
He’s dressed casually, as he so often is, in a Tales from the Crypt t-shirt and a pair of black and white striped dress pants which I’m almost certain are ones he bought at a costume shop. His bright green Converse just barely poke out from bottoms, further accentuating what could reasonably be called an already quirky outfit. His unruly dark blond waves are on full display, and he looks so fresh faced I’d swear I was looking at a man who was my age, and not 10 years my senior.
“Here.” He hands me my bagel and places the thermos on the counter. “Lox and cream cheese on a plain bagel. No poppy seeds, just in case. For the girls.”
When I first got Wednesday and Lydia, Logan researched everything there was to know about fancy rats and printed out a binder full of foods that they can and can’t eat, both for treats and major meals.
“Honestly, you look great for someone who moved to Margaritaville last night.”
“You can blame Roman for the suggestion,” I mutter, taking a bite of my bagel and walking over to offer the rats a little piece of salmon. “I know I am.”
Logan grins as he sips his coffee, but his eyes are doing that thing they do when he wants to say something, but is still working out how to put the words in the right order. Normally I’d let him take his time, but the way it’s been eating at me I know I just have to tear off that band-aid as quickly as I can.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
He gestures to the thermos sitting on the counter, taking a bite of his own bagel.
“That first.”
I roll my eyes. Hangovers make me impatient, and more than a little petulant; I frequently have to remind myself that I’m a 26-year-old woman, and not a high-school student fighting with her mom after stumbling home from a party.
“Logan, please. Just tell me what I did so I can apologize and we can get this weirdness over with!”
He snorts, nearly choking on his food.
“Trust me, it’ll make you feel better. Then we can chat, I promise.”
“Fine.”
I set my bagel down and snatch up the thermos, cracking it open. Immediately I’m hit with the rich scent of pumpkin, mixed with nutmeg and vanilla. The little satisfied groan that slips from my lips is entirely involuntary, but that doesn’t make it any less humiliating. That said, I don’t give a shit. I fucking love pumpkin spice. I don’t care what people say, that stuff is pure comfort in a cup.
“It’s the pumpkin creamer from Déjà Brew!” I whisper. “Where did you get this?! It’s Summer!”
Logan beams, puffing his chest out as he walks a little closer.
“I actually made it from scratch! You remember Ashley?”
“The old manager? Yeah.”
“I managed to get in contact before she bailed, and convinced her to send me the recipe! I’ve got it all saved into my notes app and—” He pauses dipping his head slightly with a smile. “Doesn’t matter, Anyway, I figured you might be needing a pick-me-up this morning after how I left you, so I whipped it up last night.”
I could actually fucking cry.
“This is so sweet, Logan. Thank you.”
This is exactly what I needed this morning, he has no idea.
“No problem.” He pours some of the creamer into my coffee and slides it over to me. “Besides, I need the world’s harshest pumpkin creamer critic to judge it. I thought it was pretty good when I did the taste-test last night, but things might have changed.”
I grin at him, picking up my coffee and giving it a little swirl. The first sip? Heaven. I let out another groan and immediately take a significantly bigger gulp. Somehow it’s still perfect. It’s almost exactly right, I think it might have just a splash more vanilla.
“This is just what I needed, I actually think I might like this more.”
“Well, you’re very welcome! That’s high praise coming from you. Oh, hey, did you know the biggest pumpkin in the world weighs approximately 2,750 pounds and it’s owned by a guy in Minnesota?”
Logan’s full of these strange facts, has been since the first night I met him. Even back then when we were just in it for a whirlwind night of sex, he was still telling me tiny little details of things that fascinated him at some point in his life, and then somehow just stuck there in his brain. This is a guy who will scroll through Wikipedia for hours on end and edit sections he knows are wrong. He’s come into work furious that some ‘moron’ rejected his edits, or tried to change them.
I think it’s one of the things so many people are attracted to.
I lift the thermos, a little surprised by how full it is. For some reason I just sort of assumed he’d made enough for a couple days or something.
“That’s a lot of pumpkin creamer.”
“At least a couple months’ supply,” he replies with a wink. “Well, for you maybe two weeks.”
I laugh, taking another long swig of my now-perfect coffee before setting it down, and putting on the most serious face I can muster.
“Okay, you’ve improved my day ten-fold. Now rip the band-aid off and tell me about the stupid shit I did last night.”
Logan sighs.
“You can’t keep that anxiety down for even a little bit, can you, Shortcake?”
“Nope.” I make a come hither motion with my fingers. “If I had to guess… you’re gonna tell me I tried to make out with you, so just tell me so I can promise to do your laundry for a week. Lay it on me.”
“First of all, I do my own laundry, thank you. I might be a single man, but I’m certainly capable of sorting my darks and lights.” He grins, stealing a piece of smoked salmon from my bagel and popping it into his mouth. “Second, it’s not something you did so much as something you said. You really don’t remember what you told me last night?”
Oh god.
What the hell did margarita-brained me say?
I shake my head slowly and Logan clears his throat.
Even I have no idea what that woman might do.
“Well, you said you had some sort of altercation with Brendan, and that in the end you…told him that I was your fiancé. Probably more importantly, you also told him we would, and I quote, see him at the reunion .”
I can feel my entire body tighten up.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You did.”
“There is no fucking way.”
“Where are you going?!” Logan yells after me, as I rush back into my room.
I find my phone, snatching it up off the bed, and scrolling back through my messages at lightning speed, my mouth dropping open when I make it back to the last thing I sent.
ME
I’ll see you at the reunion. Right along with my fiancé. Maybe you can learn how a real man’s supposed to act.
I can feel the room begin to spin, and I sink down into the mattress, my body equal parts hot and cold at the same time. All I can manage is to stare at the words on the screen while my heart thunders away in my chest. I can’t even bring myself to look at the rest of the conversation. Is context even important after a finale like that? And.besides that, why the hell don’t I remember it? Was I wasted that early? Did I block it out?
“Logan, I think I’m gonna be sick again.”
“On it!”
He scurries into the living room as I jam my head between my legs and try to focus on just breathing. I hear him murmuring something to the rats from the other room. Then there’s the sink, and the clattering of the cupboard doors before he comes barrelling back in with a damp cloth in his hand.
“Here.” He gently hands it over to me. “Iggy does this for panic attacks, she says it helps ground her, and that it gets her nervous system regulated. Or something.”
“Where do I put it?” I ask.
Logan bites his lip in thought for a moment, looking a little unsure before he takes a seat beside me. He gently moves my damp hair aside and presses the cloth against the back of my neck. It’s such a sweet act, so quiet and soft, a strangely effective balm on my escalating nausea. I exhale slowly, focusing on calming my racing heart.
Logan goes to move his hand, but I shake my head.
“Keep it there?” I ask, briefly looking him in the eyes. “It helps.”
He stays completely silent, but he doesn’t take his hand away, instead starting to caress my neck with the wet cloth. The slow, repetitive movements help to anchor me, keeping me calm as I begin to bring myself back on my own terms.
I keep breathing. In for four, hold for four, out for four.
Imogen taught me that.
“I am never drinking again,” I rasp after a long silence. “That’s my new year's resolution.”
“Well, you’re a little late for that one,” he chuckles.
I let out a long, shaky breath.
The worst part is how easy it was for me to slip. Why was my first thought, the minute I had a couple drinks in me, to immediately green-light the plan we were absolutely mocking just a day or two ago? Maybe part of me really wanted it to be real, even if just in the moment. Even if it was just to show Brendan how bad he fucked up.
“I wouldn't worry too much about all of this, Abi. You’re not locked into it or anything, you can just not show up if it makes you feel this way.”
I shake my head.
“I can’t, or he’s going to know I was lying.”
“Right, maybe, but like… who cares what he thinks?”
“I do!” I squeak. “I care, because he’s an asshole, and I need him to see that he’s not better than me!”
“I mean, obviously he’s not,” Logan chuckles. “Have you seen his Facebook posts?”
“I don’t mean as a human being,” I grumble. “I mean I want to show up at that reunion and rub my amazing job and awesome fiancé right in his stupid face! I need him to know that he fucked up. That I’m worth something!”
I can practically see it: the defeat in Brendan’s eyes when he sees how much taller Logan is than him. How much more handsome he is. How much smarter he is. I want him to squirm when he hears about how many papers each of us have published, and how I’m such a huge asset we are to the school.
I don’t want to be a better person than Brendan, I want to crush him like a roach.
I turn to Logan to see him smirking at me.
“What?!” I growl, a little more aggressively than I intended, but he doesn’t even flinch.
“So… are you gonna go?” He asks, his eyes practically gleaming.
I stare at him in disbelief. I know that Logan goes out of his way for me sometimes, but this feels like way too big of an ask, even for us.
But even still, I ask it anyway.
“Logan, do you… do you wanna be my fake fiancé?”
“Nothing would make me happier, Dr. King.”