KissnTell

Chapter 7

THE MORNING AFTER

Vaughn

The sun beat down from the narrow windows, nearly burning a hole in my clammy forehead. I didn't know where I was. I rubbed my eyes and sleep splintered onto my fingertips. The television danced before me, emitting the low, rhythmic hum of punch line and laugh track, punch line and laugh track. It was mocking me! I retrieved the remote from the folds of the duvet and flicked through the channels, checking E! first since it was my favorite. Top 100 Celebrity Weddings. Ugh. I hated when they blocked out entire days to air boring crap like that. There was a Top Chef marathon on Bravo. Real World: New Orleans on MTV. I could care less about either of those. I switched to TBS. Some Julia Roberts movie. I figured it was pleasant enough to ignore, since I felt sorry for myself.

Anais slept soundly next to me. She was such a pretty sleeper. I was always jealous of that.

I basically slept over at Anais's every weekend. The night of Xander's party was no exception, thank God. The last thing I needed was to go home and face my lame-ass family after the diarrhea incident and feel even more pathetic than I already did. Pam, on the other hand, handled the situation perfectly. A sensible pep talk followed by an offering of sweets, and then she left us the eff alone to wallow in peace.

Anais stirred, turning away from the window, and groaned. A half-eaten log of cookie dough rolled off the edge of the bed, landing on the wall-to-wall carpet with a dull thud. Anais jerked upright at the sound.

"What happened?" she asked groggily.

Without taking my eyes off the television, I pointed feebly to the cookie dough. Anais sighed. "Jesus," she said.

"A-men," I seconded bitterly.

Anais propped herself up, wiping her eyes. She nodded to the TV. "My Best Friend's Wedding," she chirped. I shrugged. We watched in silence for about ten minutes, until we heard a light rapping on the door.

"Come in!" we called.

"Hi girls," Pam said carefully, poking her head inside.

"Hi," we said in unison.

"I heard the TV and figured you were finally up," she said, creeping across the threshold and taking a seat at the very edge of the bed. "It's 1 o'clock!" she marveled softly. I grudgingly muted the movie at my favorite part: when Rupert Everett bursts into song at the rehearsal dinner. "Anyway, I'm sorry you're still groggy, it's just that we've been waiting so long, I had to—"

"We?" Anais interjected, quizzical.

Pam smiled nervously and pulled a strand of hair behind her ear. "I know you're really upset," she stared carefully. "And, I just—I'm a mom. You probably won't trust anything I say because obviously, I'm biased. So I invited over a friend to talk to you."

We frowned. There, in the doorway, an immaculately-coiffed sliver of a man with deep, olive skin and platinum-dyed, close-cropped hair sidestepped into Anais's turquoise den of gloom. It was as inapt as a pink pony grazing in her underwear drawer.

"This is Raven," Pam said. "He works with me at the salon. In fact, I was once his assistant, when you two were really little."

"Don't you dare tell them how many years we've known each other, Pamela, or I'll lose all credibility," he scolded, chuckling. Pam playfully slapped him on the shoulder. I shot Anais some what the hell is going on eyes, which were met by a beats me shrug.