Tommy and I exchange dubious looks, but Becca is unconcerned. She grabs my hand, and we start to dance.
I try and let Becca’s excitement and energy rub off on me, but it’s not easy. I can’t stop thinking about Nate.
I wish I had never gone to this party. I wish I was curled up on his couch, watching a movie while he kissed my neck.
I shouldn’t have forced myself to attend, just because I feel mixed-up about Nate and guilty about my friends.
I check my watch. I’ve only been at the party for thirty minutes. I have to stick it out a little while longer, for Becca’s sake. then I’ll go home. If Nate’s already asleep, I’ll just reach out to him tomorrow. If his light happens to be on, I might swing by.
So we can talk. Or do other things. I don’t really care anymore, I just know I miss him.
In between songs, while Becca is distracted by a cute guy from her chem class, I wander to the bathroom just to get some quiet. I splash cool water on my face to try and bring down the heat on my cheeks. I forgot how gross and sweaty these crowded parties could be.
I wonder if there will be parties in med school and if they will be different. I imagine there’s way more options for a night out in New York City.
I should be looking forward to my exciting new life in the big city, but instead, I just feel sad. The idea of any sort of life without Nate is depressing.
I want to move onto the next phase of my life. I’m ready for it. I just also want it to include Nate. It feels like he should fit. He’s not some college fling. He belongs in a longer and more important chapter of my story.
He has to feel that way as well though. If it were up to me, Nate would be by my side as I progressed into the next part of my journey. He would be something I could come home to. It’s so strange how quickly I’ve come to consider him “home,” but I suppose some things don’t grow at a rational rate.
I have to go to medical school. There’s no way I’m giving that up, and I’m pretty sure Nate wouldn’t let me if I tried. But is he willing to stick by my side as I pursue my studies? That’s the million dollar question.
The small amount of beer I drank churns in my stomach, and I turn to push my way into a stall. I fall to my knees and vomit.
It’s quick and mostly painless, but I am a bit disturbed. I barely touched my beer. I’ve never thrown up from alcohol (I’m far from a raging partier), but I’m pretty sure alcohol-induced illness would require a lot more drinks.
I pull myself up until I’m sitting on the toilet, and I wipe my mouth with some toilet paper. Becca will be upset. She spent almost fifteen minutes debating which lipstick to let me use before deciding on the classic red. It’s ruined now.
I catch my breath for a bit and contemplate. I don’t usually get sick like this. I’ve never had a delicate stomach, and I’m not queasy. No one with a weak stomach gets serious about medical school. In a few months, I’ll be observing a professor cut open a cadaver, and I don’t expect to gag over that.
And yet all this angst with Nate has made me sick to my stomach. It’s not good. Not good at all. I need to get it resolved, one way or another.
I emerge from the stall and return to this sink where I rinse my mouth with water until I can no longer taste the bile.
Then I head back out to the party. I decide I’ve been here long enough. I’ll find Becca and Tommy, tell them I don’t feel well, and then I’ll make a swift exit.
As I’m searching the dark room, a guy approaches with a grin on his face.
“Looking for someone?” he asks.
I glance at him. He looks vaguely familiar. We probably shared a class at some point, but I can’t quite place him.
“I’m just finding my friends,” I say.
He snaps his fingers and points at me. “Hey, weren’t you in my anthropology class? Like two years ago?”
“Maybe.” I shrug and look away.
He’s not exactly being rude, but I can tell he wants me to flirt with him. Well, it’s not happening. I’m taken. Sort of.
“Well, you wanna dance? Or perhaps just get out of here?”
I raise my brows. I forgot how to the point college hook-ups could be. I suppose Nate was blunt with me, when it finally happened, but there was still that hint of danger and excitement. We had the spark. And we had the tentative flirting as a build-up. This dude hasn’t even asked for my name or given me his.
“Look,” I stop scanning the room and give the guy a firm gaze. “I’m not really interested.”
He seems to get my point because he lifts his hands and nods. “Got it. Enjoy your night.”
Then he turns on his heels and strides away. I let out a sigh of relief. I knew he wasn’t going to get too pushy, not in a room full of people, but I can tell he’s a bit miffed. Some boys have such delicate egos. He’s probably going to deal with my rejection by telling all his friends I’m a frigid bitch. Whatever.
I feel a light touch on my arm and turn to see Becca and Tommy. Becca is flushed from the beer and grinning in a sloppy manner, but Tommy is stone-faced. He’s glaring after the retreating back of the guy who just came onto me.
“He was kinda cute,” Becca says.
“I wasn’t into it,” I say. “I actually think I’m gonna head home, I don’t feel great.”
Becca sighs, but she doesn’t seem all that bothered or surprised. “I
