looked genuinely puzzled. "I got to catch up with my best friend, we got drunk, and I guess I passed out." She handed me a steaming mug of dark liquid. The divine odor of chocolate and tea pleasured my nose. I preferred something without so much sweetness in the morning, but over the years Isabel had slowly converted me to the dark side.
Men I could live without. Tea, not so much. If only I could marry the marvelous drink. I took a sip, resisting the urge to call her out on her bald-faced lie. The tea was a flimsy attempt to make me forget she'd gone off with a guy I'd expressly told her was bad news. Unfortunately, I could only resist for a few seconds.
"If you think for one bloody minute chocolate-flavored tea is going to make me forget about last night, you've got another think coming, Iz." I took another cautious sip of the hot liquid while I judged her reaction. Warmth and chocolately goodness trailed down my throat.
Her eyes went wide. "Oh God, did I do something stupid? Did I throw up in someone's purse again?"
"Don't give me that rubbish," I said, my conscious attempts at maintaining an American accent falling away completely. "I went to the bathroom for all of five minutes, only to come back and find out you left with that creepy asshole, Stephen."
Her mouth fell open. "No I didn't—Em, what are you talking about? I remember you going to the bathroom. Our drinks came." She wrinkled her forehead as if straining to remember. "I think someone tapped me on the shoulder." Pressing a hand to her forehead, she stared at the counter for a few seconds. "Good God, girl. I can't remember anything after that."
The tea mug trembled in my hand. I set it down before I spilled it. Anger swallowed my insides and I felt the urge to yell, "You're a bloody liar!" at her. But her confusion and concern looked genuine. Isabel always wore her emotions on her sleeve. And while I knew for a fact she wasn't always upfront about some things, she was terrible at hiding her secrets from me. Mainly because I was ruthless at digging them out of her.
My anger faded, replaced by my own sense of confusion. "Look me in the eye and tell me this is the truth. What happened last night is not something you can just gloss over and think I'll forget."
She looked up from the counter to me, her head shaking. "Did someone slip me roofies?" Her mouth opened in horror. "Oh no, please don't tell me I had sex with some random dude who drugged me."
I paused to take another sip of tea, my mind flipping through the possibilities. Had her mind blocked out the trauma? I'd heard of people's minds doing crazy things to purge painful memories, but Isabel's reaction seemed too extreme to be true. Then again, her expression looked too genuine to be false.
So which was it?
"You don't remember making out with that guy in the alley?" I said, taking in every iota of body language she offered up.
She almost dropped her drink. "I did what ?"
"Stephen. The Creepazoid from Gronsky's. You left with him while I was in the bathroom. I found you in the alley making out."
Setting her mug on the counter, Isabel put a hand over her heart and leaned back against the wall. "I—I really don't remember that, Em. I swear I'm not lying." Her eyes narrowed and she gave me a look. "You're not messing with me are you?"
"Do you think I'd be so pissed if I was messing with you?"
She shook her head. Took a breath. "Oh, geez. I don't think I had that much to drink. And you know me. I always remember everything, unlike Angela. That girl either lies about not remembering the shit she does while she's drunk, or liquor just blanks her brain."
The remaining anger melted away, replaced in equal measure by confusion and doubt. How Isabel couldn't remember, I had absolutely no idea. But as far as I could tell, she really didn't have a clue about last night. By the time I finished recounting the story, Isabel dashed frantically to the mirror to check her neck.
"It looks like the mother of all
Men I could live without. Tea, not so much. If only I could marry the marvelous drink. I took a sip, resisting the urge to call her out on her bald-faced lie. The tea was a flimsy attempt to make me forget she'd gone off with a guy I'd expressly told her was bad news. Unfortunately, I could only resist for a few seconds.
"If you think for one bloody minute chocolate-flavored tea is going to make me forget about last night, you've got another think coming, Iz." I took another cautious sip of the hot liquid while I judged her reaction. Warmth and chocolately goodness trailed down my throat.
Her eyes went wide. "Oh God, did I do something stupid? Did I throw up in someone's purse again?"
"Don't give me that rubbish," I said, my conscious attempts at maintaining an American accent falling away completely. "I went to the bathroom for all of five minutes, only to come back and find out you left with that creepy asshole, Stephen."
Her mouth fell open. "No I didn't—Em, what are you talking about? I remember you going to the bathroom. Our drinks came." She wrinkled her forehead as if straining to remember. "I think someone tapped me on the shoulder." Pressing a hand to her forehead, she stared at the counter for a few seconds. "Good God, girl. I can't remember anything after that."
The tea mug trembled in my hand. I set it down before I spilled it. Anger swallowed my insides and I felt the urge to yell, "You're a bloody liar!" at her. But her confusion and concern looked genuine. Isabel always wore her emotions on her sleeve. And while I knew for a fact she wasn't always upfront about some things, she was terrible at hiding her secrets from me. Mainly because I was ruthless at digging them out of her.
My anger faded, replaced by my own sense of confusion. "Look me in the eye and tell me this is the truth. What happened last night is not something you can just gloss over and think I'll forget."
She looked up from the counter to me, her head shaking. "Did someone slip me roofies?" Her mouth opened in horror. "Oh no, please don't tell me I had sex with some random dude who drugged me."
I paused to take another sip of tea, my mind flipping through the possibilities. Had her mind blocked out the trauma? I'd heard of people's minds doing crazy things to purge painful memories, but Isabel's reaction seemed too extreme to be true. Then again, her expression looked too genuine to be false.
So which was it?
"You don't remember making out with that guy in the alley?" I said, taking in every iota of body language she offered up.
She almost dropped her drink. "I did what ?"
"Stephen. The Creepazoid from Gronsky's. You left with him while I was in the bathroom. I found you in the alley making out."
Setting her mug on the counter, Isabel put a hand over her heart and leaned back against the wall. "I—I really don't remember that, Em. I swear I'm not lying." Her eyes narrowed and she gave me a look. "You're not messing with me are you?"
"Do you think I'd be so pissed if I was messing with you?"
She shook her head. Took a breath. "Oh, geez. I don't think I had that much to drink. And you know me. I always remember everything, unlike Angela. That girl either lies about not remembering the shit she does while she's drunk, or liquor just blanks her brain."
The remaining anger melted away, replaced in equal measure by confusion and doubt. How Isabel couldn't remember, I had absolutely no idea. But as far as I could tell, she really didn't have a clue about last night. By the time I finished recounting the story, Isabel dashed frantically to the mirror to check her neck.
"It looks like the mother of all
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