The Quest for Fireworks

Sunday Mornin' Comin' Down

I'm home. In my bed. I have no memory of how I got here.
I can feel a body next to me and I'm instantly horrified. I can't even remember how I got home, who the hell came with me?
I sit up slowly, my head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds, and slink out of bed. I try to tiptoe out of the room and into the bathroom but a voice stops me.
"How do you feel?" The body in the bed asks but I recognize the voice immediately. It's Riley.
Relief washes over me and I turn to face her. "Like I got too drunk and threw up on the sidewalk."
"Good," Riley says, sitting up. "So you do remember some things."
"Did anyone see? What happened after that? It's completely blank for me."
"Deep breath, no one saw but Sierra, Aria and I. Oh and Pete."
"Who the fuck is Pete?"
Riley smiles. "The shot guy."
Right, some dude made me take two shots. "Well, fuck Pete. I blame him. Two shots was too many."
"I'd love to fuck Pete but I had to take care of your ass," she jokes.
"Not funny," I say, walking into the bathroom. I wash last night's makeup off and brush my teeth to get rid of the horrible taste.
"What else did I miss?" I ask, joining Riley in my kitchen where she's started making breakfast even though it's almost noon.
"I made out with Pete, Aria and Sierra helped me get you home, we lost Ben, Dakota left with someone, Jordan was worried about you and Megan went home with Corinne," she rattles off but the one thing that sticks out the most is Jordan.
"Did he see me puke?"
Riley rolls her eyes. "No, I told you, no one saw. But good to know where your priorities are."
"I just feel bad, I invited him and then basically ignored him. There was so much going on I couldn't focus on one thing."
"I'm sure he's not offended," she says, flipping omelets like she's a professional chef.
"Should I text him? Wait, I don't have his number," I say, realizing I don't even know where my phone is.
"Bedside table on the charger," Riley says, reading my mind again.
I go grab it and notice I have three unread texts. One from Dakota and two from Megan. I open my messages app and see that I did some texting last night that I don't remember.
At 2:03am I texted Dakota and said "where are you?" To which she replied at 2:45am "home".
At 2:04am I texted Megan and said "sloppy seconds". She replied at 3:00am and said "please don't be mad" and then at 3:04am she said "I love you".
Why, of all people, did I text Dakota? And how could I be so rude to Megan? Corinne is fair game, she's not mine and they're both single, attractive women, who am I to judge her?
I feel sick all over again and I run to the bathroom but nothing happens. The nausea doesn't go away and my head keeps pounding so I just sit there, in front of the toilet and cry.
A few minutes later, Riley comes in and sits next to me. "Talk it out," she says, rubbing her hand up and down my back.
"Everyone hates me," I say, my throat tight.
"No one hates you, Ave."
"I threw up on Sierra and Aria, I was straight up mean to Meg, I ruined everything you planned-,"
"You didn't ruin anything," she says, cutting me off. "It was actually a lot tamer than I thought it was going to be. And so what, you got drunk, no one blames you for that."
"I just feel like shit," I say, turning away from the toilet to lean my back against the tub. "And I don't think it's just the hangover."
"Everything will work out," she says. "Start with sending out a mass apology. I know it'll make you feel better and you'll see that no one is mad at you."
I nod, knowing it's something I was going to do anyway.
"And then you need to eat, the nausea won't go away until you get something in there."
"Yes, doctor," I say, jokingly.
"I have a lot more experience with this than you do," she says, standing up and extending her hand to me.
"Yeah, my hungover days are over. I never want to drink again," I say, following her out into the living room where I find my phone.
"We'll see about that," Riley says, going to the kitchen.
I open Instagram first and DM Jordan. For some reason, leaving him alone, knowing Dakota left without him, makes me the most upset.
"So sorry about last night, it wasn't supposed to be like that. I hope you can forgive me." I hit send and stare at the screen, hoping for an immediate response that doesn't come.
I text Aria and Sierra together and apologize for the vomit and thank them perfusely for helping me get home. I text Megan and tell her I don't remember even typing those words and I didn't mean them at all. She texts me back immediately and says she deserved it and that she regrets going home with Corinne. I tell her to come over whenever and we can talk about it.
I don't text Corinne or Dakota. Neither one of them had cared enough to ask me if I'm ok and I don't want to address the fact that I texted Dakota last night when I was blacked out.
I go back to my message app, feeling like I'm forgetting someone and that's when I finally hear the words.
"Wait, we lost Ben?" I shout as Riley comes into the living room with plates of food.
"Oh, yeah but we found him. He met up with someone he knew in the city and left with him," she says, nonchalantly.
"Of course he did, everyone went home with someone except me," I say, melodramatically.
"Hey, what am I, invisible?" Riley asks, pointing to herself with a fork.
I can't help it, I laugh. "You're right, you're the only person I'd want to share a bed with."
"Last night, at least. I don't think anyone else would've slept next to you with that breath."
We laugh and I playfully smack her in the arm. With a few bites of food and some laughter, I'm already starting to feel better.

We finish eating and Riley heads home. I'm standing in the kitchen, putting the dishes in the dishwasher when my phone screen lights up on the counter. It's an Instagram notification telling me I have a message.
It's from Jordan, of course, and it says, "No need to apologize, I had a great time." I feel like he's just trying to be nice.
I type out a reply without really thinking about it. "I'm really glad you were there. I wish I spent more time with you."
It's the truth but I can't believe I actually sent it. The little green dot by his profile picture tells me he's still online so I stare at the screen, waiting for his reply.
"Me too, maybe we can hang out again sometime," he types.
My heart clenches and I smile involuntarily. My fingers move with purpose as I type out my phone number. "Text me whenever," I add.
Less than a minute later, I'm still staring at our message thread when a text alert drops down at the top of the screen from a number I don't have saved.
"Does now count as whenever?" It says.
I giggle and type back, "it does." Then I say, "Hi."
He types back immediately, "Hi. How are you?"
"I've been better. You?" I reply.
"I'm good, spending time with my family."
"Oh shit, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bother you."
"It's ok. Technically I texted you first so if anything I'm bothering you," he says.
He seems different through text but then again, it's easier to say what you want when you're not face to face. Clearly, since I just gave him my number, something I would never do in person.
"Not at all," I say back.
I make my way back to the couch as I watch the three dots in a bubble blink. I haven't been this nervous just texting with someone since high school.
"So, how was your birthday," he asks.
"Well, my actual birthday is tomorrow but the party was fun," I say, sort of lying.
"Oh, well I hope tomorrow is fun too."
"I don't really have any plans."
"Maybe it'll be fun anyway."
And there it is, the inevitable end of the conversation. I don't know what else to say, I have nothing else to talk about. I lock my phone and put it down next to me.
I spend the rest of the day trying to think of something to say that isn't just a random statement that he probably doesn't care about. "I'm watching The Vampire Diaries for the fifth time." "I got Chipotle for dinner," but I don't want to sound as pathetic as I feel.
I get in bed disappointed. I should've asked a question, said something that would've kept the conversation going. I should've tried harder. But at least now we have each other's numbers. There's always another chance.