I wake up the next morning and I’m in a bed. I don’t know where I am and I sit up and look around and I am in Stewart and Kirsten’s dirty apartment. I’m in their bed, in my panties and T-shirt.
Stewart is gone. Kirsten is sitting on the couch with a blanket over her; that’s where she spent the night. I see an army surplus sleeping bag on the floor, which is where Stewart must have slept.
My first thought is: Why didn’t they take me home? My parents are going to kill me.
“Hey,” Kirsten says to me in her timid voice.
“Where’s Stewart?” I say back. That’s when I feel the dull pain begin to invade my brain. My mouth too; it’s dry and sticky and parched.
“He went to get coffee.”
“Did anybody call my parents?” I ask.
Kirsten nods. “Stewart did.”
That’s a relief. I look around. My head is beginning to throb.
“Don’t you have coffee here?” I say, gazing blankly in the direction of the tiny kitchen area.
“He wanted to get something from Starbucks. He said you liked fancy coffee.”
“Oh,” I say.
She smiles politely at me from across the room. She is meek, odd, a mouse of a girl.
“Well, thanks for…letting me crash…” I say, looking around at the one-room apartment that is their home.
Kirsten remains where she is. This must not be fun for her. The old flame crashing at the house. Does she know that Stewart and I still love each other? She must.
The door opens. Stewart comes in. He’s got three Starbucks coffees stacked one on top of the other.
He gives one to me, one to Kirsten, takes one himself. He sits on the floor Indian style and takes a sip of it.
“Don’t you guys have a table or anything?” I say.
They don’t.
“I called your parents,” says Stewart.
“What did they say?”
“Nothing. I told them you had to sleep over.”
“Did you tell them I was drunk?”
“I told them you fell asleep. They seemed kind of worried, though.”
At that moment my phone rings. Stewart has it in his pocket and he hands it to me. It’s my mom.
“Hey, Mom,” I say.
“Honey! Thank God. Where are you? What happened? Paul called here last night and said he lost you.”
“Yeah. We got separated at that party.”
“And then Stewart called and said you weren’t feeling well.”
“I know. I got drunk.”
“I drank. I got drunk. I just…drank for some reason. Stewart came and got me.”
“Oh, Maddie! That’s terrible. Where are you now?”
“Stewart’s.”
“Your father and I will come get you. Don’t go anywhere. What’s the address there?”
“I’m fine, Mom. I’m just sitting here. This is probably the best place for me right now.”
“We’ll come get you.”
“Stewart is sober, Mom. He’s here. I’m fine. I’ll be home in an hour.”
“Honey, please, let us come get you.”
“No, Mom. Stewart can give me a ride home. Don’t do anything. I’m perfectly safe.”
“Oh, Madeline! Don’t drink any more. We can send you back to Spring Meadow. I’ll call Dr. Bernstein!”
“Mother, stop it! I’m fine. I’ll be home in an hour.”
“Why the hell were you by yourself, at a college party, in the first place?” Stewart says to me as we leave his building. Kirsten walks with us, though she hangs back slightly to let us talk.
“It was just a party,” I say. “There wasn’t anything wrong with it. I’m going to college in six weeks. I can’t not go to parties.”
We drive across town to my neighborhood. We don’t talk for a while. It’s a hot summer morning and Kirsten opens her window and lets the air blow through the backseat.
Stewart is pissed. He keeps starting to talk, then doesn’t. Finally, he clears his throat. “You know what you gotta do now, right?” he says to me.
“You gotta go to AA.”
I say nothing. I’ve never been a big fan of AA.
“I know you think it’s lame or whatever,” says Stewart.
“I never said that.”
“But you gotta go. And you gotta do all the crap they say. Make friends, get a sponsor, volunteer for stuff. Go to Sober Bowling.”
“Sober Bowling? Are you serious?”
“Hey, you weren’t too stuck-up for movie night.”
“Actually, I was. I went to movie night as a protest.”
“Then go to Sober Bowling as a protest. Do it all as a protest. It doesn’t matter. You have to go. Every day. Twice a day.”
“I can’t do that.”
He looks over at me. “If you don’t, you’re gonna lose everything. And you’ve got stuff to lose.”
“No, I don’t,” I say.
He says nothing back but he knows he’s right. I know he’s right too.