Favorite Friend

Million Dollar Bills

When I wake up the next morning, there's a few hazy seconds during which I can't remember anything that happened last night. For a few moments, I just lie there and breathe as I listen to the usual Sunday morning racket throughout the house; the loud whirring of the coffee machine downstairs, Andrea and Isabel racing down the stairs, a vacuum being used in the hallway.

Then I open my eyes and the memories come crashing down over me like a tidal wave. Chloe in Aaron's arms at the party. Aaron against the night sky, a grin on his face, Want me to help you? His hand on the back of my head and his knuckles against my lips, the sweet smell of smoke, a heartbeat of silence.

And then the moment that ruined everything.

Immediately, the same shaky feeling settles in my stomach and I sit up, trying to breathe through it. Looking down at myself, I realize that I'm wearing nothing but my boxers. I think I can dimly remember Elena helping me get out of my clothes after hauling me off the bathroom floor and to my room last night. Next to my bed, there's a bucket that she probably placed there in case I had to throw up again and a glass of water on my nightstand.

Next to that glass is my phone.

I have to take several deep breaths before I can get myself to grab it it, only to stare down at the screen, dumbfounded, when there's not a single notification. I numbly click onto Aaron's contact, my throat tightening when I see that his last text was from before the party.

I thought I would be relieved if I didn't hear from him, but staring down at my phone, the only thing I feel is dread.

Aaron sends me a good morning text almost every day. Especially the morning after parties he always texts me something; a stupid photo of him hungover in bed, of the bruises he got falling off his bike on the ride back, of the chaos he left behind when he came home, even just of the fucking time he woke up on his alarm clock. It's never been like this. And it's not because he's still asleep either; at the top, it says that he was last online an hour ago.

It's already half past twelve; he's probably on the flight to France by now, getting farther away with every second.

Shakily, I type: i'm sorry about what happened. i didn't mean to. please forget about it until you leave for college, i promise i won't do it again. i just want things to stay how they are.

My fingers hover over the send button for a few seconds, but before I can bring myself to press it, there's a knock at the door.

"Yeah?" I croak, dropping the phone onto the mattress.

The door inches open and reveals mom. She's wearing a colorful dress and a small smile as she softly says, "Hey. Is it okay if I come in?"

I nod, the lump in my throat too large for me to answer, and watch as she crosses the room. She's carrying a bowl of soup in one hand which she sets down on the nightstand before she sinks down next to me on the bed.

Gently carding a hand through my hair, she asks, "Elena told me you weren't feeling well last night?"

"I threw up," I murmur.

She hums quietly. "Was it because you were anxious?"

I give another small nod.

"Was the party not good?"

"No," I whisper. "The party was alright."

"But...?"

Gulping, I stare down at my hands. "Nothing. I'm fine."

She's silent for a moment, studying me. Finally, she breathes a soft sigh and reaches for the bowl of soup on my nightstand. "Here," she says, carefully handing it to me. "Abuelita got up early and made menudo. Maybe it'll make you feel better."