"I can't remember what happened that night. I'm not talking slippery details or fuzzy-edged visions; I mean a complete and utter blackout. Like I wasn't even there. Except... I know I was."
Since the death of her boyfriend six months ago, Morgan Cai...
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"Morgan! Can you hear me?"
In front of me, there was a face I hadn't seen in the flesh for months. I smiled and lifted a hand to wave as a pixelated version of my older sister appeared onscreen.
"Hey, Vanessa."
There was some movement on her end; she picked up her laptop and shuffled to a different spot on the couch, giving me a view of her impeccable minimalist living room in the process. I'd only visited her apartment in Boston once, a couple of months back, but the memory had stuck in my mind—probably out of envy more than anything. Everything that Vanessa touched ended up beautiful and organized, so her first apartment in the city with now-fiancé Spencer would never have been an exception. All white walls and tasteful houseplants and furniture that looked expensive but actually she had the knack of finding in thrift stores. It was like looking at a 3D Pinterest board.
My own backdrop—the gray-tinged breeze block of my dorm room—was much less aesthetically pleasing.
"Sorry, I needed to move closer to the charger. Can you see and hear me OK?"
"Yeah, all good."
"Great." Settled now, she looked right into the camera, giving me a smile. Of course, she looked as put-together as ever. Poker-straight hair that was the same shade as mine, except without the frizz. Minimal yet flattering make-up. A stylish work shirt buttoned up to the collar. "God, Morgan, it's been so long since I last saw your face."
"Does it look different?"
She peered at me, considering. "You do look a little older. But maybe that's my brain freaking out at the idea you're old enough to go to college. Because that means I must be ancient."
I laughed. "Stop it. You're not."
"I feel it," she said. "I think it's the wedding planning. I swear, it's going to take years off my life."
Vanessa had been engaged for almost a year now, after a four-year romance with her college sweetheart, Spencer. The proposal—over wine and a lovingly cooked meal on a date night in—had been low-key and classy, the ring the stuff of four hundred Facebook likes, but they hadn't got around to start making actual wedding plans until now. From what Mom had told me, they hadn't even picked a venue yet, but the process was clearly already taking a toll.
"That bad?" I asked. "I thought it was supposed to be fun."
"I thought that too, until I realized how much was involved." She rolled her eyes. "Did you know pretty much every venue has a two-year waiting list? Two years! It makes me feel disorganized compared to all these other brides. And then I get even more stressed because I don't like the thought of being behind. Plus, work's been super busy, Spencer's been working nights so we're on completely different schedules..." She stopped, took a breath. "Can you tell things are a little crazy? But you don't want to hear about me. You're the one with something interesting to tell. How's life at Davidson?"
