Page 59 of How to Date a Younger Man
“Goddammit.”
There’s more where that came from in the kitchen. If I can stand up.
I squint at the silver clock face, both of our hands wobbling with the effort. It’s 7:56 p.m.? Fuck.
Since Layne gave me her unwanted blessing, I really jumped the gun on this whole New York City move. I sent off my acceptance email to Milos within the hour, packed some of my more necessary shit in whatever boxes I had lying around, and argued with my shitty landlord about breaking my lease. I got everything more or less taken care of in record time. I even booked a last-minute flight—the 8:15 p.m. flight to La Guardia airport that I’m about to miss. Isn’t that just spectacular?
I fumble with my phone, finally managing to find the webpage I need to cancel this ill-advised flight. I’ll take care of rescheduling it in the morning. Or better yet, I’ll still be drunk in the morning, and getting on an airplane will be the very last thing on my mind.
The drinking started when I made the all-too-familiar mistake of getting too fucking sentimental. I scrolled through old texts between Layne and me, ultimately landing on photo albums. There we were, moving her into her new place, basking in the sunlight on that fateful beach day, arm in arm with Kristen at her engagement party . . .
That last picture was the one that did me in. The glowing flush on Layne’s cheeks was evidence of her happiness for her best friend. It was also evidence of the secret we’d just shared in the bathroom, moments before. The whole time we’d been sneaking around, I thought we were simply having fun while we got our bearings in our relationship. I guess I was wrong.
“I just don’t want you to sacrifice everything for a woman that doesn’t even care about you.”
Now it’s Wren’s sharp voice that’s digging hooks into my brain. I totally fucked things up with her too, didn’t I?
I reach for my phone again, debating for a moment. Is it worth it? Whatever, she’s gonna figure out that I’m wasted one way or another. Hiding anything from Wren is a pointless and juvenile game at this point in our friendship.
“What do you want?” Her voice is angry, crackling across the line with a rawness I’m far too drunk to even begin to navigate.
“Hey . . . you,” I say. I lay my head against the wall, trying to steady myself. I’m gonna puke within the next fifteen minutes, and that’s a bet I could win money on. Or I’m gonna pass out.
“What do you want?”
“Mmm. Would you come over? I’m on the floor.” Or maybe I’ll just pass out and puke in the morning.
“Why are you on the floor?”
“You have a key?” My eyelids feel so heavy. When did I get so tired?
“Yeah, I do. Griffin, are you okay?”
“Oh, not great. See ya soon, crescent moon . . .”
The hand holding my phone to my ear drops listlessly to the floor. I can faintly hear Wren’s voice in the background, calling for me, but the darkness is already taking me.
When I come to, there’s a trash can inches from my face.
“Come on.”
A woman’s voice softly coaxes me, distant in my ears. Before I can understand what’s happening, I feel a warm, wet washcloth blotting my hands and face.
I open my eyes, focusing them the best I can. “Layne?”
A strawberry-blond braid brushes against my shoulder.
“No, you idiot.” Wren.
“Sorry.” I let out a chuckle. If I can’t laugh at what a pathetic schmuck I’ve turned into, then I’ll end up crying. And I’m not about to cry in front of Wren.
Jesus. The thought alone is terrifying.
“What’s wrong with you?” she demands, holding my chin with an icy, claw-like hand, and I shiver.
“I’m cold,” I say with a yawn.
In moments, Wren is back with a throw blanket from my bed, tucking it tight around my hunched shoulders and rubbing my biceps aggressively.
Her eyes meet mine. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”
“I’m on a plane,” I explain slowly, hearing the slur in my voice. “I’m on my way to the Big Apple. The greatest city in the world.” That last bit sounded a bit more like greatest shitty in the world.
“Okay, so, no, you’re not. You’re on the floor of your trashed apartment. What’s going on?” She hands me a cold glass of water.
I take a long, satisfying gulp. I could drink the whole glass, but Wren snatches it from me, willing me to respond.
“I should be on a plane,” I mutter. “But I missed it. Whoops.”
“You took the job?”
“Yeah.” I sigh.
“Good. You should,” she says with a definitive nod.
I close my eyes. “Layne thought so too.”
“Oh . . . you talked to Layne. That explains this.”
I don’t need to open my eyes to know Wren’s gesturing at the mess that is me at the moment.
