Wrecked(25)

That had been her father’s suggestion. He’d called her. The night after her failed conversation with Mom.

“I understand you feel responsible for this girl,” he’d said. “But you need to look out for yourself as well. Set boundaries. Say what you need. Even if it feels awkward, you’re better off. You’ll avoid doing things you resent.”

Dad has always been big into boundaries. He claims most of the dysfunction in their family is the result of poor boundary--setting.

“I’m sorry,” Gail says immediately. “We’ll get out of your hair.” She and Carrie begin to pick up their stuff and make for the door.

“You don’t have to wait in the hall. I just don’t need some therapy session going on in here right now is all.” She sees Gail flash Carrie a look. But they don’t comment. Instead, they resettle on Jenny’s bed.

Her bed now vacant, Haley stretches out. She’ll shut the blinds once they leave. Sleep as long as she needs to. Right through dinner, if necessary.

Someone’s phone pings. Text. Not hers; she turned the sound off.

It’s Carrie’s. She hears her make this annoyed sound, a semigroan, when she reads it.

“Let me guess: lover boy? Still whining?” Gail asks.

Carrie laughs. “No. It’s Mona. They’ve rescheduled the house meeting again.”

Gail tsk--tsks in disappointment. “Too bad. I’ve missed those heartrending pleas for your forgiveness.”

“Yeah, you’re the only one.” Carrie snorts. “I was this close to reporting him for stalking.”

Gail winks at Haley. “Some women call them ‘admirers.’ Carrie calls them ‘stalkers.’”Carrie fake--punches her. “Give him a break,” Gail says. “You broke his heart.”

“Misogynists don’t have hearts.”

“Okay, if you two are going to keep me up, you at least have to tell me who you’re talking about,” Haley says. But she knows.

“This absolutely adorable young thang Carrie was sleeping with,” Gail says, barely able to conceal the glee in her voice.

“Please,” Carrie says. “I’m really not proud of this.”

“Two years younger and, ooh, hot,” Gail continues. “For a white boy, that is.” This makes Carrie laugh.

“I didn’t take you for a cougar, Carrie,” Haley says.

“Carrie the Coug!” Gail exclaims. “Oh, I like that!”

“Thanks, Haley,” Carrie mutters. “The last thing she needed was more ammunition.”

“Spill,” Haley persists.

“What can I tell you?” Gail says. “He was the latest on the Carrie Mason love--’em--and--leave--’em list. Seriously, Carrie, you will leave a trail of tears behind when you graduate.”

“Trail of mistakes, you mean.”

“I should have made your mistakes,” Gail says, sighing.

“I still don’t know what happened,” Haley says.

“I led with my libido is what happened,” Carrie says matter--of--factly. “Which usually isn’t a problem, unless the guy in question gets serious and wants a relationship. Which this guy did. Turns out he’s a complete Neanderthal. And a stalker. When I told him it was over, he started following me! Seriously, I saw him pop up in places I know were not part of his schedule. Plus he was texting me nonstop. Wanting to talk. I was one text away from going to campus security about him, but then he quit. Just bam, nothing. Finally got the message, I guess.”

“You are harsh, girl,” Gail says. “She doesn’t realize the effect she has on men, so she’s all surprised when they can’t let her go.”

Carrie sits up when Gail says this. The teasing expression has left her face, and she suddenly seems serious.

“Truth? An unwanted ‘admirer’ is like an unwanted pregnancy. I haven’t been busting my butt in college to get all entangled with some guy—I’m here for an education. If I were a man, people would call me career--focused. But instead, I’m, what? A tease? A heartbreaker?”

Before Gail can comment, the door opens. Jenny. Her face brightens when she finds them all in the room.

“Hey, sorry that took a while. The professor was there and we started talking. Hi, Haley.”

Carrie and Gail are already off the bed.

“Why don’t we head out? Give your roommate some privacy,” Carrie says.

Jenny nods, and the three of them walk out the door.

“See you, Haley,” Gail says.

Haley waves to them, closing her eyes in relief.

Although now, sleep isn’t really a possibility.





. . .


When his masterpiece nears the lip of the can, Exley tops it with a bag of ice. Then, he tests.

He dips a red cup, the ladle of the evening. He drinks. They watch, but he is unreadable as ever. He drinks again, a quenching pull that drains the cup. He looks at them.

“We’re in business,” he announces.

They fall upon it.

Cups brimming, cool and sweet. They drink, long and deep. It courses down their throats and spreads warmly: up their spines and across their shoulders, their necks, the backs of their heads. Behind their eyes. The room changes. Everything moves to a new rhythm.