So the Season's Changed Your Face

These are definitely not my sheets, I thought the second my eyes opened and saw the navy blue flannel sheets underneath me. And this is definitely not my pillow.

I groaned and rolled over, seeing a Mike-sized lump on the ground next to the bed. I suddenly realized where I was – I am in Mike’s room...again. Sleeping in his bed again. Wearing his clothing again.

My head was pounding and a wave of nausea bubbled in my throat. Oh, fuck.

I bolted out of bed, jumped over Mike, ran down the hall, and burst into the bathroom. I had barely lifted the toilet seat before I puked. Lovely way to start the New Year.

“Oh, good,” came Mrs. Carden’s voice from the hallway. “You’re awake.”

Shit.

“Good morning, Mrs. Carden,” I said, somewhat guiltily. And there goes any respect she had for me.

She came into the bathroom and put what sounded like a can of soda and a bottle of Advil on the counter. “Here’s some Ginger Ale and Advil, if you need it.”

I smiled, my head still in the toilet, ashamed of myself. “Thanks, Mrs. Carden.”

“Oh, and Vivi,” she started, her voice dangerously sweet. “Can you tell Mike he’s grounded?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding, mortified. “I’ll tell him.”

“Thanks,”

I waited for her to leave before I spit out any excess bile and flushed the toilet. I greedily popped three Advil into my mouth and downed the Ginger Ale in two swallows, seeing as I had severe cotton-mouth.

I went back to Mike’s room to find he was awake and massaging his eyeballs. “Here’s some Advil,” I said, tossing the bottle onto his stomach.

I rolled back into his bed, and stretched for the water bottle that was perpetually on his nightstand. I tossed that at him too, though I made sure it didn’t hit any part of his body.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice thick with sleep. “Happy New Year,” he added sarcastically.

“Happy fucking New Year,” I agreed, placing my arm over my eyes to block out the light that was peeking through his curtains. “Oh, and your mom says you’re grounded.”

“Figures,” he said, shrugging. “Did she make breakfast?”

“I don’t think so. I mean, she didn’t say anything about breakfast.”

“Oh,”

“Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“How did we get home?”

Mike propped himself up on his elbows before answering. “I drove.”

“You drove, Mike?” I asked, incredulously. “Are you serious? We could have gotten hurt. We could have gotten arrested!”

“I know where the sobriety checkpoints are-” he said under his breath, though this did not make me feel better.

“Mike, you were drinking last night! You could have wrecked my car! It was fucking snowing!”

“Vivi, to be honest, we left at like, three in the morning,” he said, rubbing his temples. “I was pretty much sobered up by then and was able to navigate the snowy roadways just fine. You on the other hand…”

“Mike, I had a one o’clock curfew!” I said loudly. “Shit! I forgot. My mom’s going to be so pissed,” I added, as an afterthought.

“I tried to get you home by one,” Mike said, “But you, uh, you wouldn’t cooperate. I practically had to carry you out of the house. We’re lucky we got home at all.”

“Okay, okay,” I started, “So I was unruly. That’s my fault. But why didn’t you just take me home?”

Mike hesitated. “Do you want an honest answer or a partially honest answer?”

“Honesty is the best policy, Mike,” I said sharply, irritated with him.

“I didn’t think you would be safe at home with your mom,” he answered quietly, not meeting my eyes.

I nodded. “Okay, I can accept that answer. Um…uh, another thing.”

“Yeah?”

“We didn’t do anything, right?”

Mike looked at me, his brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, anything, Mike. Did we do anything?”

“No, not at all,” he answered, without hesitation. “We came home and you asked for a pair of pajamas, I left the room while you changed, and then we fell asleep. You in my bed, me on the floor.”

“Are you absolutely positive, Mike?”

“What kind of person do you think I am, Vivi?” Mike asked, joking. “I wouldn’t ever do that, no, I would never take advantage of you. You were so drunk. I would never, ever do that to you. No way.”

I smiled, grateful for his chivalry, and knew he was being completely sincere. “Thanks, Mike. It’s good to know that I can actually trust you with my drunk ass.”

“I would hope you could trust me by now,” he said, grinning. “I mean, we have been friends since ninth grade.”

Silence passed between us. It wasn’t the usual silence, however. It was tense, just like Mike’s shoulders and jaw last night in the basement.

“Hey, Mike?”

“Uh-huh?”

“Why’d you sleep in here? I mean, you usually sleep out on the couch so your mom doesn’t think things,”

“Oh,” he started, taken aback, “I guess I must have fallen asleep before I could get to the, uh, to the couch. Yeah. Yeah, that's what must have happened.”

He was lying, but I didn’t call him out. To be honest, I didn’t want to start with him this early in the morning and while I was this hungover.

“Thanks, Mike,” I said, staring up at his ceiling. “You know, for getting me out of there. I probably would have done something…regrettable.”

Mike said nothing yet again, being the good friend he was.

“Don’t let me drink, Mike,” I finally said, breaking the silence. And while I said it in a joking manner, a big part of me completely meant it, and I’m sure Mike heard that loud and clear. “It makes me desperate.”

I reached across the bed and grabbed the house phone from its cradle. “I’m going to call my mom.”


Mike and I were at the kitchen table eating Eggos with banana slices (“Apparently bananas can cure hangovers”) and nursing our headaches. Mrs. Carden had left to pick up Lucas, giving Mike a very stern look that clearly read, “We’re going to have a nice, long talk the second Vivi leaves”.

“You know,” Mike said while cutting his waffles, “You made out with Sean last night.”

“Sean?!” I said loudly, almost overturning my plate. “Sean Van Vleet?”

“The Sean Thomas Van Vleet, yes,” Mike confirmed, focusing very hard on cutting his waffles into perfect, little isosceles triangles. “Twice.”

“Twice?” I shouted. “Twice, Mike? Why do you let me do these things?”

“I do recall saying that we shouldn’t play Spin the Bottle,” Mike said, still very intent on his waffles. “I also recall saying we should stay home and play Mario Kart.”

“That is a very nice way of saying, ‘I told you so’, Mike,” I commented, rolling my eyes. “Oh, God, we fucking have US History with Sean! He sits behind me!”

Mike chuckled for the first time this morning. “Well, knowing Sean, he probably won’t remember. I think he drank enough to kill an elephant last night. We’ll be lucky if he’s even alive!”

Despite my hangover and my embarrassment, I laughed.