6
Raven
Music blaresthrough the speaker next to my bed, and I internally curse myself for setting an alarm on one of my last days off.
Not that I’m too upset. I still managed to sleep in. It’s eight, and my internal clock is typically set at six o’clock on the dot.
It’s been a nuisance on the weekend for years, but today, my body cooperated.
My pounding head brings awareness to why I was able to make it to eight. From the copious amounts of champagne and far too many shots consumed last night, I’m lucky I didn’t get sick. It’s been a very long time since I’ve had that much to drink.
After being locked in the closet and almost losing my mind by way of a kiss with a stranger, I found Asher and Lily, ordered two shots of shitty tequila, and chugged them both back, one after the other.
My friends looked at me like I’d sprouted a second head, but I didn’t utter a word of what occurred in that closet, and neither one of them asked me why I was guzzling tequila like it was water.
Thankfully for me, they were both three sheets to the wind themselves and oblivious to my shame. Not that I had any real reason to be ashamed. I hadn’t had sex with the guy. We simply kissed. It was mind-blowing and earth-shattering, but it ended right before everything got out of hand.
Saved by Paxton.
I should probably look the guy up and send him that fruit basket.
The phone on my nightstand begins to ring, and I don’t even need to look to know it’s my mother. The fact that she hasn’t heard from me already this morning likely has her in a panic.
She knew I was going out with Asher and Lily, and there’s no doubt she’s afraid I didn’t make it home last night. She’s a worrywart. Always has been, but even more so now that it’s just her and me.
“Hey, Mom,” I say, cringing a bit at the volume of my voice.
There’s a reason I typically don’t drink that much. The hangovers are not worth it.
“Hi, darling. I was starting to worry. You typically call me before seven.”
My mother is the master of managing to make me feel guilty without even trying. She’s a wonderful, loving mom, but knowing she’s alone, I have this self-imposed guilt every time I feel I’ve let her down.
Her worried tone causes the guilt to kick in.
“I’m sorry. I’m just waking up.” I rub at my temples, trying desperately to rid myself of the jackhammer taking up residence in my skull. “It was a long night. Didn’t get home until late.” I’ve reverted to talking in clipped phrases because my aching head can’t take full sentences right now.
“Hmm,” she drones. “I’m not surprised. Youwereout with Asher after all.”
“Mom,” I scold. “We’ve discussed this. He’s my best friend.”
It’s not that she doesn’t like Asher. She’s just always thought his motives for hanging around me weren’t in line with mine. He’s my best friend. The one I count on. The person I tell every secret to.
He’s never been quite like that with me in return.
He always holds a piece of himself back, and Mom believes it’s because his feelings go far beyond friendship, and he’s not being honest with me.
Yet another person in my life who’s hell-bent on ruining my relationship with Asher. Because him having feelings for me like that would ruin everything. They’d never be reciprocated. Ever.
“I know. You trust him,” she drawls. “I just worry he’ll break your heart.”
“He’s not going to break my heart because it’s not his to break.”
She sighs. “My darling, friends can break us just as easily. Sometimes, it even hurts more.”
I know she remembers how her own friends managed to break her, and it makes me sad. She and my dad had a very active social life and a group of friends who were more like family. When my dad was diagnosed with cancer, they all rallied around her.
They gave her strength when she needed it the most. Their husbands were my dad’s best friends, and his death came fast. Rocking all of us to the core. It was a blow that none of us would’ve ever been prepared for.