Ink & Interruptions

Author’s note: I hope this chapter was worth the wait! Thank you for sticking with me and Evie’s chaotic little world. Now… let’s talk about that Henry text.

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            My eyes felt glued shut, as if the night’s remnants had stitched my lashes to my cheeks. The crust that had built up over the hours pushed against the skin around my eyes, and I groaned quietly as I stretched out a hand, blindly searching for the bedside table. My hand skimmed across the surface of the fabric, each finger extending, exploring the space before it while my mind worked to catch up—the wine from the night before still clinging to my thoughts, coating everything in a layer of dust that felt cemented to my mind.

            I scrunched my eyebrows together, giving up on prying my eyes open for the moment and focusing all of my attention on finding the water bottle that should be on my bedside table. I have to be close. Finally, my hand brushed against something cool and smooth. Glass—not the rough edge of my bedside table. I froze as the sensation triggered a lightbulb in my brain, making the last few switches flip.

             I’m not in bed.

            As the thought crossed my mind, the rough fabric of my couch scraped against my skin again. Great. I fell asleep on the couch. This is going to do wonders for my neck. I groaned and stretched my legs out, feeling every sore muscle and tendon protest as I tried to convince my body that it was time to move. My legs were half-extended when my feet made contact with someone else. Jenna. My brain buzzed as fragments from last night began to push their way through the fog. The movies. The wine. Henry. And all of the talking. But the details were jumbled, as if we’d both just given up in the middle of a conversation and passed out.

            I groaned as I pulled my legs back, tucking them under myself as I rotated my body until I could push up into a sitting position. My brain thumped in a sporadic rhythm, each pulse beating itself against my skull. I pressed my fingers into my temples, moving them in a circular pattern as I tried to convince myself the faint light waiting behind my eyelids wouldn’t be that bad. I cracked my left eyelid, squeezing my right one tighter. The light that filtered in from the sheer curtains covering the living room windows felt like the sting of a tattoo gun—a thousand needle pricks in quick succession being dragged across my retina.

            Another groan escaped me as I pushed myself off the couch. My feet felt clumsy—heavy and filled with sand—as I shuffled around my couch. My eyes cracked open just enough to navigate my surroundings, but still shielding me from the light pouring through the blinds and cracks around the door. Even the lamp’s usual soft glow felt like a punishing beam as I moved toward my room.

            I just needed to make it to my shower. Freaking Jenna. What in the world was all that last night? I suppressed a shudder as I stepped into my bathroom, the cold tile sending a sharp pang up my legs. My need for warm water and space ramped up. I just need a moment. I can figure this out—figure her out.  I peeled my clothes from my skin, pausing long enough to turn the shower on before shuffling to my bathroom sink to brush my teeth.

            I managed to open my eyes all the way, but the light switch seemed to taunt me. It’s like a Band-Aid. I took a deep breath and then reached out and flipped the switch. The fluorescent light poured from the ceiling, and I winced as the beam coated my skin and worked to chase away the shadows that clung to my mind.

            The sound of water hitting tiles roared behind me as I leaned over and pulled my toothbrush from the rose shaped dish that was tucked beside the faucet. Each petal leaving space for a brush as they expanded out and up from the solid red core. I’d bought it at Goodwill at the last minute, completely captivated by the way the ceramic petals flared out and around each other. It wasn’t until I’d placed my toothbrush in it that I realized how sad it looked alone.

            It used to jostle against Kyle’s—the back of mine bumping his as tiny droplets of water splashed down around the crystal glass that used to rest between our apartment sinks. Now, well now, it rested between petals in full bloom—a solitary object protruding upward and alone, awkwardly set against the vibrant color.

            I shook my head. It’s just a stupid toothbrush. I continued to chastise myself as I smeared a line of toothpaste onto the bristles before shoving it into my mouth, allowing my muscle memory to take over and my mind to wander. The knock on the door. Jenna. The movie. Jenna. The wine. Jenna. What is her deal? One minute, it’s cutting remarks that make my skin burn and the next she’s sitting crossed legged on my couch, mouth full of Oreos and giggling like we’ve been best friends since first grade. I let out a soft growl as I lowered my head and spit into the sink.

            I rinsed my toothbrush, the water washing away the remaining toothpaste, and as I set the brush back between the petals of the rose, my reflection caught my attention. My hair sat in frayed lumps around my head, and the mascara from the day before flared out in rings around my eyes.

            “At least I’ve got clean teeth,” I muttered as I moved across the bathroom and slipped into the shower.

            The water began to press into my skin, the heat and weight of it a boon to my frayed nerves and spiraling thoughts. This is some kind of game, right? First, she’s all over Henry, and practically pushing me out the door. And now? Now, she’s playing matchmaker for me? There’s just no way.

            I shifted the shampoo between my hands—the liquid beginning to foam and stick to my skin before I parted my fingers and rubbed the soap into my scalp. There’s a hidden camera. That’s it. I’m going to step out of the shower and some famous person with a stage crew will be standing there yelling “Gotcha.” A giggle slipped from my mouth. Oh, god. Can you imagine?

            “Talk about worse than standing around in pink underwear,” I said as another laugh worked its way up and out.

            I tilted my head back and started to work the soap from my roots. I just wish I knew which story was real. Mean, catty Jenna or this one. This kind of sweet, completely overbearing Jenna.

            I began to work through the night again as the water worked to wash away more than just the surface layer of dirt that clung to my skin, but by the time I was ready to turn the water off, I was no closer to parsing out what was real from not, and the water had gone from warming up my overtired bones to beginning to fuel the bubbling frustration that was working its way around my mind.

            I twisted the knob and let out a breath of air as the water vanished and the heat began to creep away, being chased by the chilled air that waited on the other side of the curtain. I curled my fingers around the edge of the fabric and allowed myself one more moment in the fleeting heat before pulling back the curtain and stepping out of the shower.

            The air rushed around me, causing goosebumps to race across my shoulders, down my back, and along every inch of my arms and legs. I snatched a towel from the rack, hurriedly covering as much of my body as I could. I moved the fabric back and forth, trying to battle the shivers that were quickly following the goosebumps still crawling across my skin. After I finished, I wrapped the towel around my body and reached for another, flipping my head over before capturing my hair in between the folds and quickly creating a makeshift turban to pile atop my head. Something in the process had settled my nerves—as if the friction between the fabric and me had ground down the frayed edges exposed in the shower. I took a deep breath, trying to ground myself, but as I stepped closer to the mirror, my reflection pulled me back.

            “Oh goody, my career as part raccoon still has promise,” I said, as I yanked a makeup wipe from the container on the counter and began rubbing at the black stains around my eyes. I was halfway around the base of my left eye when any hope of quiet processing vanished when the sound of singing weaved its way through the door—wedging itself between the noises of cabinet doors and the fridge being opened and shut.

            “You’ve got to be kidding me. She literally has zero boundaries.” I dragged the cleansing wipe the rest of the way around my eye before tossing it into the trashcan and stomping into my room—quickly finding a pair of pajama shorts and a loose shirt to slip into. I can’t do this again. She has to go. I straightened my shoulders and stopped in front of the bedroom mirror, taking a moment to pin my expression into something that resembled firm but friendly. My goal wasn’t to make her hate me, but she needed to go, now.

            I stepped out of the room and was blasted with a very loud rendition of “Don’t Cha” by the Pussycat dolls. I winced as the chorus took her voice up another level, almost as if her main audience were my neighbors. Has this woman never heard of a hangover? I crossed the space and leaned against the counter. Jenna was bent over, digging through my bottom cabinet. I couldn’t remember what I’d shoved in there when I moved in, so the prospect of her finding something made my nerves feel even more frayed than they already were.

            “Can I help you?” I said, raising my voice hoping she’d catch a word or two between breaths and the sporadic choreography that was beginning to take over her body.

            “OH!” She spun around; her eyes wide and eyebrows floating just below her hair line. “Evie, you scared the crap out of me! You really shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.” Um, what? She turned back around to close the cabinet door.

            “You do realize this is my kitchen, right?” I asked, trying to keep my voice flat.

            “That must be why there is absolutely nothing for breakfast.” She moved away from the cabinet and shimmied herself into the crook of the counter—her butt fitting perfectly in the small space between the toaster and sink. “Do you ever cook?”

            “Yes.” My pulse started to beat harder. “I cook.” Jenna cocked an eyebrow and glanced over at the fridge. “Well, sometimes. I bake more, but—”

            “Ah, that explains it then.” She nodded and began to kick her feet back and forth. “So, what are we doing today?”

            “Today?”

            “Oh, do you have plans?” She stopped swinging her legs, and I swore that her shoulders dropped an inch. I watched as she shifted around on the counter, her eyes firmly attached to her lap—steam threatening to form from where they were boring holes into her skin.

            “Jenna, listen. I’m just, well, I’m confused.”

            “About Henry?” Her head shot up as she took in my expression—hers hesitant as her eyes bounced from me, to her lap, to the fridge, and back.  

            “No, not Henry.” Breathe, Evie. This shouldn’t be so hard. Just say you need a nap. She spent the night, that’s not going to work. A headache? No, that’s too obvious… Hungover, maybe? “I’m just—”

            “Ooooooo, Kyle. Yeah, that makes more sense, you know, with all the family drama and stuff we talked about last night.” She jumped off the counter, landing softly on the floor before padding her way across the kitchen to lean over the counter towards me, essentially eating up every ounce of distance she could.

            “No, not Kyle.” I sighed. “Wait, what do you mean by family drama?” What did I say last night?

            “Well, not a lot, honestly, everything was ‘off limits.’” She leaned up to place air quotes around the phrase and rolled her eyes. “I’d think you were in witness protection if it wasn’t abundantly clear that you grew up here.” Her eyes dropped to her hands for just a moment as she settled back onto the counter, the energy draining from her posture as if she was holding something back. “It’s like you’re a freaking superstar. Everyone knows you.” Her voice was quieter now, almost wistful.

            I dug through her words, trying to find the judgment that labeled me as wrong, off, not quite like her—but I couldn’t find it. Her focus remained narrowed on her hands, tracing the shapes that swirled out from around them. Why is she suddenly so interested…in me? What am I missing?  I shook my head.

            I scoffed and moved around the counter, away from her and towards the fridge. “Everyone does not know me.”

            “Sure, superstar, you should have heard Dr. Montgomery when he saw you applied for the job.” She huffed out a breath and spun around to wiggle back onto the counter, this time scooting things out of her way. “Evelyn Mercer. You can close the application now. She’s our girl.” She lowered her voice, her eyebrows knitting together as she squared her shoulders and placed her hands on her hips. I watched her shift into character—a grin breaking out across my face as the image of Uncle George from Fourth of July flashed over her for a moment before vanishing.

            “Well,” she dropped the character, “that was until you started telling kids they could do whatever they wanted.” My smile faded as her laugh rang out around me, sharp and distant. “Gah, you should have seen his face when I told him Mrs. Hayes was on the phone for him.”

            I sucked in air through my nose, pushing it back out as I pressed my tongue into my cheek, working to control my temper.

            “It was probably one of my top ten days. It was perfect.”

            Her words felt like water being dumped across coals—steam rushing up, holding some of the heat, but burning nothing—just the memory of heat.

            “Best day? I thought you and Dr. Montgomery were best friends.” The words were supposed to sound light—flippant and unattached—but they were drenched in the memory of my conversation about Sam.

            “Oh, wow, ouch. That hurts.” She placed her hand over her heart—Uncle George appearing once more. “Have you met that man?” She laughed again, but it was brittle this time—her voice cracking at the edges. “What a piece of work.”

            “I know, right.” The words exploded out of me as though they had been sitting at the boundaries of my mind just waiting for the first sign of safety before launching into the sky.

            She started nodding her head. “He gets under my skin.” Her shoulders dropped a fraction—her playful energy slipping away as her voice lost its usual ease. “The way he moves people around like pieces on a chess board.” She huffed out another breath of air—her eyes shimmering, reminding me of a dragon from a childhood story. “People aren’t disposable. We matter, you know? You can’t just deposit us wherever’s best for you and then act surprised by the fallout, like your actions aren’t what caused it in the first place.”

            A lump formed in my throat as I pressed my palms into the side of my legs trying to steady myself as I worked to hold her gaze. There was something painfully familiar in her voice, and the more she spoke the further up the lump moved, the pressure working to choke me as I tried to process the words she was saying. I’d spent so many years thinking my life was set in motion by forces outside my control—whether it was my mom’s hopes and dreams or Aunt Julia’s master plan.

            Jenna’s words tumbled out around us, and I tried to say something—anything that would validate her feelings. This idea that we were characters to be written and re-written—adjusted for someone else’s gain—was suffocating. I’d adapted a long time ago to shallow breaths and conserving oxygen. Maybe Jenna had, too.

            “Well.” She slapped her hands on the counter, the loud noise, jarring me from my thoughts and pulling my attention back to her. Her energy shifted as she straightened and let out a long sigh. “I’d better get going.” She pushed herself off the counter. “You have plans, and I need food.” She glanced around the kitchen. “Something that is not offered here.” She let out a soft giggle, but it sounded different this time like something was missing.

            Let her go. I coached myself. This was my out. Jenna made her way around the counter and began to navigate her way back towards the living room, me trailing behind her as my mind waged war with itself. Tell her bye. You can even say you had fun. Just let her leave. I watched as she gathered up her things and slipped on her shoes, my eyes snagging on the snacks and the empty bottle from last night—her peace offering.

            “Hey,” I said suddenly, the noise startling us both. “Before you go…um, how about brunch?” What am I doing? My voice wavered as my thoughts raced. She paused, raising an eyebrow, the strap of her bag halfway to her shoulder. “I mean, if you’re still hungry that is, and if you don’t have plans.” Why do I sound like I’m asking her out? Oh god, Evie, just shut up.

            “Are you sure?” Her voice was soft, but her shoulders were pulled back, her face blank—a shield crafted to hide whatever she was really feeling.

            I shrugged. “Yeah. It’s the least I can do since you provided dinner last night.” I gestured to the haphazard snacks still strewn across the table. “Well, a dinner of sorts.” A smile tugged at the corners of my mouth as I shifted my gaze back to her.

            Her face was still blank—the chink in her armor patched during the walk from the kitchen to here. After another moment, she pulled her bag to her shoulder. You tried. Honestly, that’s more than anyone can ask. I mean, it’s Jenna. I pulled my own shoulders back, mirroring her stance—bracing for the rejection, the door closing. This is a good thing. A gift.

            “Okay, but I have to shower and change first.” She whirled past me, a tiny tornado of red hair trailing behind her as she sauntered off toward my room.

            “Sure, you can totally do that,” I muttered under my breath as I rushed to follow her—hoping my nearness might keep her from crossing too many boundaries.

            I caught sight of Jenna’s clothes tumbling to the floor before she moved out of sight and into the bathroom. Go figure. I let out a sigh, the breath trailing behind me as I flopped onto my bed. Zero boundaries except when it comes to her own emotions.

            I draped my hand over my eyes, trying to block out the rising frustration as Jenna’s singing wafted in from the shower, the encore of “Don’t Cha” punctuated by the sound of her shuffling through my bathroom items and broken up with periodic pauses for commentary on my product choices. I’m in it now. Great job, Evie.

            “Hey,” she shouted as she switched the water off, and I heard the curtain pull back. “Have you picked out your outfit yet?”

            “What?”

            “Your outfit.” I could hear her digging around the cabinets for a towel.

            “Towels are on the bottom left shelf in the closet.”

            “Oh, thanks.” More shuffling sounds. “Anyway, your outfit?”

            “What about it?” I hadn’t moved from my bed, and to be honest, I was seriously considering wearing the clothes I had on, and using a very classy, messy bun to solidify the look.

            “You can’t wear that.” Her voice was much louder, which meant she was probably far closer than she should be—the thought causing my arm to feel heavier—the weight keeping it pressed tight across my eyes.

            “And why not?”

            “Because people will see you.”

            I let out a small laugh, almost to myself. “Ah, well at least now I know.”

            “Know what?” I could hear confusion lacing her words.

            “That water triggers your bitch side.” The words tumbled out. You’ve got to fix your filter. My mind screamed as I shot up straight, finding Jenna standing wrapped in a towel two feet in front of me. “Jenna, I’m—”

            She started laughing, the sound coming out in little huffs of air—the weight of it pulling her shoulders up as it filled the room. “I mean you’re not wrong.” She managed after a few more moments of laughter. “But that’s not why I’m telling you to change.”

            “Oh, yeah?” I felt a smile begin to pull at the corners of my mouth. “Then why?”

            Jenna’s laughter faded, and she took a step back, scanning me carefully. Her eyes narrowed slightly, “Do you really want Henry to see you like this?”

            My heart slammed against my ribcage. “What?” I worked to keep my mind focused, pinning my eyes to Jenna as hers sparkled, her grin spinning just enough to feel conspiratorial, the only problem being that I wasn’t part of the conspiracy. “Henry?” My voice felt off, caught between surprise and some other emotion I couldn’t quite place. “Why would Henry see me?”

            “Oh, probably because I texted him and invited him to brunch,” she said nonchalantly, tossing my phone down on the bed.

            “Are you kidding?” My hands shot towards my phone—fingers quickly typing out my password.

            “I can’t believe you use your birthday for your password.” She shrugged her shoulder. “Isn’t that like the first thing IT tells us not to do?” She started humming as she rustled around in her bag

            “Jenna, please tell me you’re kidding,” I said again as I clicked into my message app.

            “Nope.” She pulled out a dress.

            What in the world? The sight of the floral spaghetti strap dress snagged my attention. “Is that a dress?”

            “Yeah?” She held the fabric up to herself as she stepped in front of the mirror.
            “Who packs a dress for an impromptu sleepover?”

            “Someone who is always prepared.” Her gaze shifted to mine in the mirror before returning to the dress she was still holding. “Not being prepared can cost more than you think.”

            The final sentence hung in the air—something flashing behind her eyes before she blinked, drowning whatever it was in the green pools that surrounded her pupils. She turned away from the mirror, crossed the room, and plopped down beside me, the bed shifting beneath us, jostling me in the process.

            “So, what are you going to wear?”

            “I can’t believe you are acting like what you did is normal.” I exploded from the bed, my mind racing back to the text that was waiting for Henry on the other side of my phone. “You texted Henry. From my phone!”

            She blinked, my outburst somehow a surprise to her. “Well, would you have done it?”

            “What?”

            “Would you have done it?” She punctuated each word, challenging my anger with each poke.

            “Would I have randomly invited a man I just reconnected with to brunch out of the blue after having left him on read the night before?” I was ten words from full hysterics. “No, Jenna. I would not have done that because that’s something a crazy person does.”

            She cocked her head to the side. “You and I have very different definitions of crazy.”

            I stared at her—frozen by her unwavering calmness. This is what I get for allowing her to stay. She offered to leave, was practically at the door, but no. I had to go and befriend the psycho.

            “I don’t understand why you are so worked up.” Her words cut through my thoughts. “I was very subtle.”

            I sighed, giving up and sinking back down on the bed beside her. “I don’t think subtle is part of your skill set.”

            She laughed, the intended insult bouncing off of her and clattering to the floor—doing more damage to me than her. “You’d be surprised.” She hopped off the bed and shuffled back into the bathroom with her dress in tow.

            I rolled my eyes and pulled my phone into my lap, swiping the screen before typing in my password again and opening my message center.

Me: Hey, sorry for leaving you on read last night. My best friend came over and we got carried away watching movies and bonding.

            Yep. I’m going to kill her. Friend was a stretch, let alone best friend.

Me: Anyway, let me make it up to you. Brunch?

            My heart was hammering against my chest—the vibrations causing my hands to shake as I read the last message over and over again.

            “Please let this be a dream,” I whispered as I closed my eyes and began to work to steady my heart and breathing.

            “Did he text back?” Jenna re-emerged from the bathroom in her dress, my brush in her hand. “Do you mind?” Oh, she’ll ask to use my brush. Unbelievable.

            I rolled my eyes. “Sure.” All my energy was still firmly attached to the last three minutes.

            “So?”

            “What?”

            “Did he reply?”

            I looked down at the message. “Nope. He hasn’t even—” but before I could finish the sentence the word ‘read’ blinked underneath the messages, and three dots appeared. My heart skipped a beat. He was typing, and suddenly the phone felt like it was made of lead—the weight of his incoming words dragging my hands down into my lap and exposing the little screen.

            “Ooo, he’s typing!” Jenna squealed as she bent over my phone and ran the brush through her hair.

            The little dots blinked back at me, a silent countdown. My chest tightened, and I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding when the text finally appeared.

Henry: I’m down. What time?

Another buzz.

Henry: Also, best friend? I thought that was me. But I definitely don’t remember being in your bed last night.

            Heat raced up my legs and arms, coating my face in a blanket of red in seconds. Jenna pretended to faint beside me, fanning herself as she muttered something about romance. I tried to focus on her words, but all I could see—hear, even—was Henry’s message. Wait, what? Did he just—no, that’s not right. He’s just being goofy. Right? My mind whirled out in a thousand directions as I worked to control my breathing and heart rate.

            “Evie!” Jenna’s voice snaked around me, pulling me back and tethering me to the moment again. “What are you going to say?”

            “I don’t know,” I whispered as I stared back down at the screen.

            “Ooo, I know!” Jenna reached for my phone.

            “Absolutely not!” I flipped to my side, making sure my butt landed squarely on my phone.

            “Fine.” Jenna pushed her lips out. It was the same pout she’d given me in the hallway at school when she’d asked me to come to the bar with Henry, but instead of feeling that wave of annoyance, I just…felt amused. Oh no. Is she growing on me? “At least let me pick out your outfit.” She jumped off the bed and ran toward my closet.

            “Please, no,” I grumbled as I propped myself up on my elbows, grabbing the phone from where it had been tucked underneath me.

            “Oh, hush.” She waved her hand over her shoulder at me. “My methods get results.” She spun halfway around, giving me a smirk before shifting her gaze to the phone resting in my hands.

            I collapsed back onto the bed as another wave of heat ran through my body. Well, this should be fun.