9. Summer
Summer
M y mouth was putrid fruit and bitter chalk. I rose fourteen hours later to the unmistakable memories of my terrible decisions the day before. Had I really drunk that much? Eaten anything? I got that message from Nico checking in on me. There was the kiss, the feel of Van’s hands in my hair, the desire between us, then a blur. I had several drinks, then someone had passed out shots of something bright red and sweet. Might have been vodka-based, might have been rum. Was definitely a bad idea.
When I was eleven, I was recruited to walk in a fashion lineup at a wedding show. Along with a dozen other kids, I got to wear formal dresses from the local bridal store. I was thrilled to sport puffy pastel taffeta and strut down the runway alongside beauty queens. After three full-skirted flower-girl gowns, the owner placed me in a tight green dress, saying I was modeling for the junior bridesmaid line.
At the end of the catwalk, I performed my trademark twirl as the shrill of tearing fabric let in cold air that hit my bare back and butt.
So, up until last night, I would have said showing off my pink fairy princess underwear to a crowd of hundreds was the most embarrassing moment of my life.
I saw Van in passing as the fading afternoon sun waned in the sky. At one point, Devin found me, dragging me to her room, and demanded to know what had gotten into me. I told her everything. I expected reproach for either the naked pictures or the champagne-throwing incident, but instead, she just asked me what I was going to do about it.
With stumbling fingers, I had created a new note on my phone titled “Operation Super-Villain.” I couldn’t remember much after that.
I started walking home with a disgruntled Van.
Did I tell him he was too handsome to trust? Ugh, I did.
Flashes of me throwing up came and went, and I couldn’t remember if it was on Van. I hoped not. Then I was in bed, wearing my father’s old Perth Sailing shirt from his time in the navy.
Van stayed for a bit. I couldn’t even imagine what he must have thought about me after my disgraceful antics.
A quick inventory of my apartment showed my keys on the counter beside a hardened pretzel. My stomach grumbled, and I grabbed the solid snack and, with my front teeth, ripped off a section. The starchy carbohydrate was better than nothing.
After splashing water on my face and brushing the terrible tangles out, I picked up my phone to check that it was past my normal 8 a.m. alarm.
For years, even after a night of drinking until the late morning, my body would naturally wake at eight.
A text from Autumn was at the top of my notifications.
Autumn: Forget the day’s troubles, remember the day’s blessings.
I groaned and set my phone down.
My hangover was not conducive to my cousin’s mantras.
No one responded to Autumn’s mantra. We never did anything more than add a heart to it, anyway, but Devin and Wren had been planning for us all to meet at Sticky Cow Brewery in an hour.
Every cell in my aching head and screaming body wanted to skip it, but I hadn’t seen Wren in months since she moved an hour and a half away to Icicle Creek with her new boyfriend. And while I got to see Devin the night before, that was a complete wash after my shenanigans. Looks like I was going downtown again.
At the brewery, Devin was at the table, wearing her thick black-frame glasses, a graphic tee with a cartoon corgi that said Even baddies get saddies , and a little skirt.
Autumn waved as Wren and Adrian joined us.
He carried four full glasses as Wren walked beside him with her own. A small caramel-colored, wiry-haired dog padded alongside them. Wren must have given our orders at the bar because my normal strawberry wheat beer was placed in front of me.
Even their porters matched, alongside their red T-shirts and blue jeans. Wren’s dark curls were wilder than I had ever seen, but a calm happiness radiated from her. She and Adrian were so blissfully in love and glowing in the summer light that it made my stomach roll.
I couldn’t begrudge Wren for finding a nice guy who made her happy. She certainly had her share of shitty men in the past few years. But seeing the way he leaned into her and kissed a spot behind her ear was too much for my hungover state to handle.
They exchanged introductions, and I tried to keep up with their tales of their moving escapades.
Thankful that Autumn didn’t drink alcohol, I skipped my beer, grabbed Autumn’s ginger ale, and took a big gulp, hoping I wouldn’t spew all over the oyster shell firepit.
“You don’t like your beer? I thought the strawberry one was your favorite,” Wren asked.
“It is. But I overdid it at the party last night,” I admitted.
Devin snorted into her huckleberry cider. “That’s an understatement. She told my neighbor that he looked like Fred from Scooby-Doo and then stole his drink.”
I didn’t remember doing that but couldn’t deny it.
“Whatever. You know I’m right about him. All he needs is an ascot.”
“I never said you were wrong, but you still can’t say it to my grandparent’s podiatrist neighbor.”
I feigned a smile, holding onto Autumn’s ginger ale.
She grumbled but left and returned a minute later with her own and a small plate of crackers and smoked salmon.
The conversation flowed around me. Autumn updated everyone about the new geoduck exhibit at the Marine Science Center, where she worked. Devin shared that her company would use her graphics for the next orange-kale-matcha tea to debut in the fall. Adrian told us that his students had accidentally set an orange on fire and then dumped it into a trash can in the back of his classroom.
“The room smelled pretty good, actually.”
The beers in their glasses went down and then it was time for a second round. Adrian offered to treat us again, and after a few exchanges, we let him.
The moment he was out of earshot, Wren leaned in close to me and hissed, “Okay, what is going on with you? I know you can’t be upset about not being with that Conan guy.”
“Cory.” I shook my head, wondering why. “And it’s not about not being with him anymore.”
“Tell her,” Devin said.
I shot daggers at Devin, who returned my look with equal ferocity.
“It’s a long story, and I really don’t think your new boyfriend wants to hear it.”
Wren nodded, then got up and disappeared into the brewery. A minute later, she came back, holding the new round of drinks but without her boyfriend. “Adrian is going down to the food stands and is getting everyone a Viking burger—”
Devin opened her mouth to say something.
“I know except for you, Devin. He’ll grab you a veggie burger.” Wren turned to me. “Now, give it to me. What’s going on? You barely said a word, look like you’re going to be sick, and didn’t make an inappropriate comment about the penis fish when Autumn was talking.”
Autumn rolled her eyes. “They’re not fish. Geoducks are a mollusk, which is the second larges—”
“Aut. Not important right now,” Devin teased.
Wren bored her eyes into mine. “Something is very wrong, and you need to spill it.”
Same as the night before, I spared no detail, giving my friends the worst of what had occurred. Autumn’s face paled when I mentioned seeing Nico and what he had told me.
Wren’s cheeks flared red.
I sat back and allowed my friends to process.
Devin was the first to speak, likely because she had a twenty-hour head start on the information.
“Like I asked her last night. What are you going to do about it? Show them the list.”
I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the bulleted note from the day before. In the sober light, the spelling mistakes and gibberish entries sprang to life.
Wren studied them, tapping her bottom lip. “Okay, well, as funny as placing glitter inside his showerhead would be, you’d have to get into his house to do that, and I don’t think you have it in you for breaking and entering just yet.”
“Agreed,” Autumn chimed.
I hadn’t told them about me walking into Van’s house. Not that I didn’t think they would support me but because the entire story was bad enough.
“You don’t need to maim him. Just make his life a little more miserable,” Devin said.
“You could always talk to him, ask him to delete the photos,” Autumn offered. “I bet if you asked, he would.”
We stared Autumn down in incredulity and humor.
We all loved Autumn’s positive spin on the world, but sometimes, she was too na?ve.
“Uh, no. Pass,” I responded. “I don’t want that man to have the satisfaction of knowing he’s affected me at all.”
As we looked over the list again, the plotting became more concrete.
Wren vetoed my idea of placing valerian root in the vents of his car, citing that if I got caught, it was a class two felony in Washington. Buzzkill.
Devin suggested scattering dried mashed potatoes on his lawn, which, while funny, was more of a harmless prank my cousins used to do to one another, and it was not the vengeance I wanted.
Autumn reminded me that a life well lived was the best revenge, which was not the vibe I was going for.
By the time Adrian returned with a bag of burgers, we had gathered ideas of some semi-legal ways I could make Cory suffer.
I was feeling slightly better once I got the greasy meat and cheese into my system and was able to drink half of my beer before we parted ways.
Autumn and I walked back to the apartments together. She lived on the first floor, while I was in the back corner on the third.
When we got to her door, she turned to me, her face drawn. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
“No. Of course not. But I can’t sit back while that man terrorizes me.”
“And you’re sure you can’t talk to him? I’m sure if he knew how upset you are, he’d . . .”
I put up my hand to silence her. “No. Definitely not. Babes, I love your big heart and endless empathy, but men who show off pictures of their naked exes are not the type you can talk to. I’m already the crazy ex to him. What do you think he’d do if he found out I know?”
“It was one bad day.”
I laughed. “Yeah, it was. But when is the ex-girlfriend allowed bad days? No, he deserves nothing but torment for this.”
Autumn dragged a hand through her auburn hair, then pulled it from her face. “Promise me you won’t let this anger fester in you.”
Fester.
What a great word.
Autumn knew me too well for me to argue. I had a tendency to take things too far at times. But I’ve never struck at a person who didn’t burn me first. I wouldn’t start fights, but I sure knew how to end them.
“You know me. If I went over there and tried talking, I’d start running my mouth, call him names, maybe make him cry—and, yeah, that would be hilarious. But he’d know he had power over me. No way.”
Autumn slid her key into her door, her lower lip between her teeth, letting out a resigned sigh. “Just be—careful, okay?”
“Cross my heart, hope to die. I will be.”
The trek up the cement and metal stairs to my apartment had my knees aching. I may have twisted them a bit in my drunken stumbling.
Once home, I flopped back on the couch and stared at my reflection in the hand-me-down TV from my dad. Despite showering the night before, my hair somehow looked lank, and my skin was sallow. My cheeks were puffy and eyes bloodshot.
I looked like shit, but that wasn’t my concern in the sweet reprieve of my apartment.
At the brewery, we wrote the broad strokes of a plan, but writing was different from action. I suspected my friends only thought I was joking about this revenge idea. But I was completely serious.
The first ones, I could do at home. All I needed was my internet, a VPN, and his number. I made a fake email address to send all this to [email protected]. It was a quick search to find multiple companies where I could input his information.
Years before, my father had put his number down for a home warranty service, and he was still getting a barrage of messages from the company, who had even shown up at his door a few times. Cory would get incessant calls about roof repair, life insurance, as well as religious organizations. I only subscribed him to the ones I knew to be the most tenacious. The companies who keep calling and emailing until you send a notarized letter asking for them to stop.
For about fifteen minutes, I worked on a photo editing site, creating haphazard graphics with his profile picture. Then I went on an online classified ad page, posting about free goats. I posted on the dating section, seeking a couple looking to add a third. Free scrap metal and lawn-mowing services for a fraction of the price.
After logging out of my social media accounts, I typed in his email address in the username field. He told me once his passwords were all the same, his birth year and his childhood cat’s name. I tried not to dwell on the fact that I knew Fudgie’s name the entire time but had no idea about his long-term girlfriend.
One try, and I was in.
From there, I could schedule three weeks worth of posts. I started out with slightly embarrassing things, cartoon memes that our grandparents love and updates about his upset stomach. Every other day, I posted updates of incriminating things he had told me. The time he shit his pants while waiting in line for concert tickets. The way he still called his father “Daddy.” The hair plugs he tried to pass off as real. The time he threw a rock through his middle school teacher’s window and hit her husband. How he shoplifts candy from convenience stores.
While I was in London, he shared so much of his life with me, and I was able to use it all. Was there a chance he would suspect it was me? It was a possibility. But something told me if he was so flippant with me, he was the same with others. I was likely one of many who had this information on him. Judging by the way he thought I’d still be interested when he stopped by, he had severely underestimated me and what I was capable of.
I changed his password and contact email address, sending it to a fake account I had set up a while back. Knowing what I did about Cory, it would take him a while to notice the updates and even longer to check his email.
I used to tease him about the astronomical notifications he had on his phone, which would work in my favor.
Remaining precautious, I tried to get into his email and found it wide open. Logging into his socials was one thing, but his email could’ve been another.
Once in, I skimmed his emails but didn’t read anything. I’d save my ability to log in just in case I needed it later. I then deleted Meta’s and password change emails.
He had no two-party authentication. No security questions. For being such a deceitful man, he was far too trusting.
After setting the laptop aside, I pulled the basket beside the couch over to me. Knitting needles and the Aran yarn in hand, I set to work. Counting the stitches, I brainstormed my next move.