The Way You Make Me Feel(64)

She looked up with the glass and her eyes met mine. “Clara! Finally!” she exclaimed. “Everyone, meet my perfect daughter. I mean, look at her.”

Gazes zeroed in on me. You could see some faces registering my age and doing the math. Others skimmed over me, head to toe, trying to figure out what I was trying to do with my outfit. Some smiled warmly at me.

“Cool intro, M?e,” I said drily before smiling at everyone. “Hi, I’m Clara.”

Here’s the thing: when you act confident, even when you’re nervous, people relax and stop scrutinizing you.

“I didn’t know you had a child, Jules!” A Latino man wearing the tightest shorts I’d ever seen pushed my mom playfully on the shoulder.

She handed me the drink, and I happily accepted it. “Well, I do, Jeremy. She’s my one and only.” Pouring another drink for herself, she looked up at the mini crowd held in her thrall with a huge grin. “And Clara is amazing. She flew out here and surprised me!”

“Get out!” This time Jeremy pushed me, and I had to laugh.

“It’s not a big deal,” I said before taking a sip of the drink, the fizziness pleasantly traveling down my throat.

A blond white woman wearing a tropical-print romper pointed her drink at me. “Said like a true cool teenager. How old are you?”

I glanced at my mom before answering. “Sixteen. Seventeen in a couple months.”

Her eyes widened, metallic blue eyeliner meeting meticulous eyebrows. “Wow! Jules, when did you get pregnant?”

The familiarity didn’t seem to faze my mom. She rolled her eyes. “Kendra, I was so young. God … I was basically her age. Can you even?”

“Babies having babies,” Jeremy said with a disapproving cluck. Everyone cracked up, and the music thrummed through the night air, making everything feel funny and good and clever. Or maybe it was the champagne.

“Who’s the dad?” Kendra asked.

M?e perched herself on the edge of an armchair, the twinkly lights creating a soft halo around her. “He was my high school boyfriend, Adrian. Meu Deus, Adrian was so hot back then.”

I groaned. “Grossss.”

She laughed and pulled me over to her. “Sorry, filha, but it’s true. He was good at break dancing.” Everyone laughed, but it wasn’t unkind. Like a nostalgic we-get-it kinda laugh. “Anyway, I got pregnant, and the rest is history. Adrian’s done a fantastic job helping raise this daughter of mine in LA.”

Helping raise? Something needed to be corrected there, but I felt like it would be awkward to react, so instead I took another sip.

And I continued to drink—people kept offering me shots and various frosty cupped drinks with fruit in them. At one point, my mom and I did a near-perfect choreographed dance to “Baby One More Time.” When Jeremy claimed that he was swim team captain in high school, I pushed him into the pool, only to dive in soon after. Soaking wet, I peeled off my shirt and wore it as a turban.

And I knew all this because people there recorded every single moment.

*

Sunlight streamed through the mosquito net, and I blinked. My mouth felt like it was filled with cotton, my head was throbbing, and there was something happening in my stomach that I had to stay very still to ignore.

There was a vibration near my leg. I grasped for my phone with the most minimal movement possible. Do not barf. Do not barf. Do not barf.

When I peered at the screen, the clock said eleven a.m. And there were about a billion texts from Rose and Hamlet. Now a prisoner in my hungover body, I finally decided to read them. I opened the ones from Rose first.

Yesterday:

Adrian told me you left for Tulum. He’s kidding right?





HOLY CRAP YOU DID IT


How could you do this to your dad? TO US? The whole deal was we had to work all summer or get suspended when we get back. You BETTER not have messed this up for us.

Clearly we were never friends.

I hope you drown in the ocean.

This morning:

You know, for some reason I lost sleep over that last text to you. I don’t want you to die but I wouldn’t mind some severe injuries.

My head throbbed behind my eyes as if in response, but I still had to smile at these texts.

I wanted to read Hamlet’s next, but first I needed some water. There was a bottle of Perrier in a gift basket from the hotel and I chugged it, almost choking in the process. Stupid sparkling water. I managed to drag myself to the bathroom, splashing my face. When I glanced in the mirror, I startled. If a raccoon became a ghost and then dipped its head in grease, it would have looked like me.

Feeling like The Worst, I picked up my phone again to read Hamlet’s texts.

Yesterday:

I’m sorry about our fight. Can we talk?

Ok, I understand if you need time.

Wait. Adrian told me you went to TULUM???????

Because of our fight? Or your dad?

Either way, WTF CLARA! Can you please text me when you land? I just checked the weather for Tulum and there’s a storm coming??

All right looks like there were no plane crashes today. But I also checked to see if anyone was abducted or murdered in Cancun and its surrounding areas and looks like no. So that means you’re alive. I guess I’m relieved.

Today:

Uh. Have you seen your mom’s IG? Who is that guy in the tight shorts?