My Heart Insists It Can’t Take Bad News
I’m staring at the shot of tequila on the kitchen counter and wondering why I thought it was a good idea to go there. Dr. B would ask me to consider my choice and its context. So I do. I’m emotional. My dad has a serious form of cancer. I shouldn’t have googled it. I miss Hannah and want to talk to her but feel like I need to give her space, and her ex-boyfriend just mind-fucked me. I’m not in a good headspace. I shouldn’t take that drink.
Trace tips his first shot back, scrunches up his face, chasing it with a lime. “Fuck,” he says. “Tequila isn’t my drink of choice, bro.”
“Mine either,” I say. “Why do you have it then?”
“It’s what was left over after the last party we had here.” He glances at my still full shot and tilts his head toward it. “You were supposed to do that with me.”
I look up from the shot glass and meet Trace’s gaze. “I don’t think I can.”
His brow scrunches together. “What’s up with you?”
“My dad’s an alcoholic.” I don’t filter myself. I don’t think I can anymore, as if a switch inside me was flipped and all I’ve got is brutal honesty.
“Oh shit. That’s heavy.”
“He’s sick.” I look back at the shot and reach out to turn the glass so that the picture is facing me. “Just found out. It’s cancer.”
Trace sinks onto a stool. “Bruh. I’m sorry.”
“Full disclosure?”
He nods.
“He used to beat me up until I was about seventeen. He’s been on the wagon since then. I don’t usually talk about him because he’s a prick, so I’m not sure how to feel about this”
“That’s why you don’t party.”
I look up at him again and nod.
“You don’t drink ever?”
I shake my head. “Used to. But not anymore. Unhealthy cycles. All that–” I wave my hand around, as if that’s all the explanation that’s necessary.
Trace nods. “I get it. We’ve all got shit sliding around in our family trees we try to stuff in boxes, you know?”
I turn the shot glass again, the picture facing Trace. “I think I thought having a drink would make me feel… less, but I’m looking at it, and I don’t want to feel less.”
“What do you want?”
The first thing that comes to my mind is Hannah. I want to talk to Hannah. I want to share with her the ugliness of what’s moving through me. She’ll put her arms around me and say, “It’s okay. I’m here.” But I don’t tell Trace that, unsure how to navigate the complicated way we have to be. But when I think about it and realize Trace has chosen me every time. When I told him about Hannah. Tonight with Sebastian. He’s here now.
So I commit to being real with him. “I want to talk to Hannah.”
“She doesn’t know?”
“She’s hanging with her roommate tonight.”
“Why’s that stopping you?”
“I don’t want to intrude on her girls’ night, you know?”
“I feel you, but if the shoe was on the other foot, and she found out something important that she was upset about, would you want to know?”
I nod and meet his gaze. “You’re right. I would.”
“Damn straight, I’m right. Learn it, son.” He grins. “How about if I take this?” He grabs the shot glass and slides it toward him.
“Yes. You go.”
He throws it back, groans, and scrunches up his face. “Fuck tequila!”
I laugh and stand, patting down my pockets for my phone. But I don’t have it. “I have to find my phone.”
“Maybe we should go over there?”
“Where?” I ask as I walk down the hall.
“Hannah’s.”
“Okay. We?”
“Yeah. I’ll run interference with the roommate.”
“She’s not into dudes.” I look in my room, through my backpack.
“That’s cool, but I’ll bet she’s into laughing with a bro. I got mad comic timing. Then she won’t be mad at us crashing.”
The phone isn’t in there. I straighten and think back through where I’ve been. I walk into the bathroom, flipping on the light. The phone is on the counter. I check my notifications as I walk back through the hallway. None. I open my messenger and text Hannah: Hey. Is it okay if I crash girls’ night? then erase it and sit down at the bar. “I’m not sure what to say. It sounds sketchy.”
Trace looks over my shoulder. “No sense trying to sound cool. Tell her the truth.”
I glance at him as he carries the bottle of tequila across the kitchen to the pantry, where he stashes it.
I text her: I need you.
I hit send and wait. I figure she’ll need a bit of time, especially if they’re having a good time, but once she reads it, she’ll probably call.
“Game while we wait?” Trace asks.
I follow him into the living room. He boots up the console, and we set up our teams, talking stats. I’m glad I know shit about football even if soccer was my sport. I check my phone. When I check my phone, there’s no answer. I reread my text again and wonder if she thinks I mean sex. Shit. So I text her again: I didn’t mean to make it sound like I needed sex. Not that I don’t want sex with you. Totally do. I mean, I need to talk to you.
Then I realize it sounds like I need to talk, which has a sketchy sound too. Like maybe I want to break up. Fuck.
“Dude. Your play.”
“Sorry.” I pick the play and run it. Trace gets an interception and hollers about it. I laugh but dial Hannah. It rings through to voicemail. Would she have turned off her phone? That seems weird. After what happened with her dad and how that haunts her, I can’t imagine she would do that. I don’t leave a message, but I feel tension starting to creep into my muscles and roll my neck to work it out.
I attempt to stay in tune with the video game, but ten minutes later, I still haven’t heard from Hannah, and she always texts me back right back.
Ten minutes! It’s only been 10 minutes, I tell myself. Stop acting like a lunatic.
But something feels off. Hannah always texts me back. I wish I had Jewel’s number, but I don’t. Maybe that’s a good thing. Her roommate would think I’m a lunatic.
“Want to just go over there?”
I glance at Trace. “Sorry. I’m distracted.”
“It’s okay, dude. You’re freaking out about shit. Bad day.”
I nod and take a deep breath. That’s it. That’s why I’m all kinds of insecure. A bad day.
When my phone rings, however, I dive for it, nearly dropping it. “Hello?”
“Bro–”
It’s Gabe.
I pull the phone away from my ear to double check. Yes. Gabe. “Wow. You’re calling. Everything okay?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please. I can’t take any more bad news today.”
“What? Bad news? What’s going on?”
“My dad. But you didn’t call about that. Or did you?”
“No. Bro. Abby called me.”
“Oh, shit. What?!” That makes me happy for him, but I don’t know how he feels about it. “That’s–”
“No. Listen.”
My internal mechanism that’s been waving red flags at me for the last twenty minutes sounds the alarm.
“She said she was on the phone with Hannah, and some guy showed up at her apartment. Who’s Sebastian?”
I shoot off the couch. “What do you mean? Sebastian is her ex–”
Trace looks at me, eyes wide, the game still running without either of us.
“Abby said she called the police for a wellness check because something was wrong. Hannah answered the door while they were on the phone, thinking it was her roommate, then told that Sebastian guy to leave. Then Abby says the call got cut off. She called me because she was freaking out and didn’t have your number anymore, hoping I did.”
“I’ve got to go. I’ve got to go,” I chant.
“Call me, okay?” Gabe says. “Let me know everything’s alright.”
Trace stands, tossing the remote into his chair. “What’s up?”
“Okay. Thanks,” I say and end the call. “Sebastian,” I tell Trace. “He’s at Hannah’s.”
“I thought he was with Marco and them.”
I shake my head.
“Isn’t she with her roommates?”
“I thought so, but–” I turn and rush down the hall to collect my wallet and car keys.
When I get back to the living room, shrugging into a sweatshirt, Trace is putting on his jacket. “Let’s go.”
“I can’t fucking take any more bad news today.”