The Other Guys

Chapter 4

Thankfully, Noah doesn’t have time to ask more questions because we’re right in front of my house and I’ve never been any gladder to see it.

“Well,” I begin, turning my head to look up at him, “thanks for everything, Noah. You truly are a lifesaver,” I say gratefully, leaning over to give him an awkward hug that Noah half-heartedly returns.

“Anytime,” he replies distractedly, his eyebrows furrowed in thought as he stares at me with that intense look in his cerulean blue eyes that has the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

“Okay, so good night,” I say, smiling at him before I get out of the car and run up the stairs to my front door without looking back once. I softly shut the door behind my back as to not wake up my mom and then lean against it, breathing hard. I only fully relax after I hear Noah drive off into the night.  

Every Saturday morning (without a fail) the girls and I meet for brunch. The sky might be falling, but we’ll still be there at Starbucks, chitchatting over a cup of coffee. It’s a tradition that we started in our freshman year of high school and we’re very serious about it, even if we’re all too careless when it comes to everything else under the sun. We never dismiss our ritual no matter how sick, or busy, or sleep-deprived we are. We’d press pause on whatever it’s that we were doing, so that we can hang out and revisit everything that’s happened in the past week at school.

As expected, I’m the first one to arrive and I sit in our usual spot. I order a coffee, black with no sugar, and start reading a book as I wait for my friends to come, realizing they might be a while because whereas punctuality is crucial to me, it’s not to them. I actually hear CeCe before I see her as she stumbles into the coffee shop, almost hitting a middle-aged man on his way out, but he somehow manages to leave unscathed without losing a limb in the process. I stifle a smile as I watch CeCe apologize profusely to the man before she glances up and finally notices me. I put the book down as she drags her feet to our table and flops down into the seat across from me.

“Good morning, sunshine,” I chirp, trying not to smile as CeCe props herself up on her elbows and starts rubbing her temples, attempting to chase away the killer hangover she most likely is suffering from. She can’t even hold her head up. Her eyes are hidden behind vintage oversized sunglasses that cover most of her face. And with her naturally curly hair, which is a bitch to tame, or so she says, practically bigger than her head, I think it’s safe to say the term ‘a hot mess’ describes my best friend’s current state perfectly.

“Nothing good about it,” CeCe remarks, taking a greedy sip from my lukewarm coffee before she gags and nearly spews it out. She’ll order a caramel macchiato to get rid of the bitter aftertaste my black coffee left in her mouth.

“I don’t even know how you drink the stuff,” she says, still gagging and grimacing because she’s never liked her coffee strong, unlike me.

“It’s called coffee, CeCe,” I quip, unable to help myself from pointing out, “what you drink is sugar with lots of whipping cream and milk and just a drop of coffee.”

“Alright, Ms. Coffee Expert, you don’t have to yell,” she tells me in a voice so quiet, I pretty much have to read her lips to make sense of what she’s trying to say.

“I’m not yelling. Someone’s just hangover,” I say in a singsong voice and I lean back in my chair, both feeling sorry for CeCe, but mostly just amused because this is just another tradition that we have.

“Funny story, actually,” CeCe starts, her voice tinged with wonderment as she leans in closer to me and I caught a whiff of her breath, which still smells like distillery, “I woke up in my bed, but I really don’t remember going home.”