He sighed and the cushions shifted, bringing him closer to me. “Nothing is necessarily wrong with you Adele, besides the fact that you’re completely shit-faced right now.”

I shook my head, my eyes still closed. “I’m bad. Very bad.”

I couldn’t make out whatever it was Leo said then, but I felt him pull me up to sitting, bringing me solidly into his arms. “Come on,” he murmured against my hair. “What’s wrong?”

There was a soft voice in my wine and bourbon soaked brain that said I should come clean, say what happened with Nathan. But the moment passed almost immediately and I rested my head on his shoulder. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong,” I said, the only honest thing I could come up with.

His hands rubbed up and down my back soothingly, and my body started to lean more and more against his, needing this comfort more than I’d realized.

After a while, he pulled back and placed a kiss to my forehead. I opened my eyes and looked at my best friend—double images of his face coming into view.

His hands came to either side of my face as if he needed to hold me still himself, so I echoed his movements, holding his face in my hands, trying to stop the double-vision.

“How come we never dated?” I blurted out.

Both of Leo’s faces contorted, his foreheads making wrinkles as if he was confused. “You’re the one who made it clear that I was—” he pulled his hands from my face and held up his first two fingers, curving them to make air quotes “—not your type. I think your words were, ‘I date guys who have their shit together.’”

I felt his words in my chest, felt the pain I must have given him saying that. He dropped his hands to his lap and I missed the warmth they’d given me. “I can be a real bitch, huh?”

Leo chuckled softly. “You’re Adele. You’re tough and assertive—it’s why I liked you. But I got over it, don’t worry.” He placed his hands on my wrist and pulled them from his face. “It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. I may have been on the verge of blackout drunk, but even I could tell by his body language that he wasn’t being honest with me.

“I should go.” He stood up and grabbed his bag and a sudden panic caused me to jump awkwardly to my feet.

I tumbled across the room, knocking over the empty bottle of wine. When Leo was about to close the door, I did the one thing I shouldn’t have: I pushed him against the wall and planted my lips on his.

His arms came around me, to steady me, but they held on as I kissed him.

Instantly, I knew it was wrong. Not just the fact that I was kissing Leo, not even the fact that I was kissing while drunk. But the way our lips felt on one another was wrong. Leo was holding me in place, not pushing me as I’d pushed him. And through my inebriation, I still registered that Leo and I couldn’t work because he didn’t silence the thoughts that ran through my brain. I should feel drunk while kissing someone, not feel myself sobering from it.

His fingers climbed up my back, holding me to him as if I was porcelain, something that would crumble in his hands. His lips were soft and moved languidly over mine and all I registered was how totally fucking wrong this was.

Even as I pushed him away and stumbled backward, I felt the wrongness of it all. A deep, unshakeable shame came over me as I stared at him, half shocked and half mortified.

“What the fuck was that?”

Wiping a hand across my lips, I shook my head. “I felt bad I said that to you, before, about how I dated men who had their shit together.” I gestured to the door. “You should go away.”

“I don’t need a pity kiss, Adele.” His eyes were angry as he whipped open my door. “Instead of searching for men who have their shit together, maybe you need to get your own shit together.”

Chapter Fourteen

Counting out my share of tips from my last three shifts at the coffee shop alerted me to two things:

1. I’d need to get another job.

2. My customers were cheap mother fuckers.

I leaned back against my couch with a sigh. I had enough in the bank for rent, for my power bill this month—woohoo! And my tips would need to float me for food and my Charlie card for the subway. As much as the subway, the T, pissed me off, riding it was my only option to get around.

Leo was one of the few people I knew that had a car in Boston and he’d often given me rides to class or for shopping. But at the moment, Leo wasn’t exactly jumping out of his pants at the opportunity to speak with me.

I couldn’t blame him, not after the very unromantic kiss I’d given him. And the fact that I hadn’t texted him or called him since it had happened over a week ago didn’t do me any favors either.

It was October eighth, eight days after I had kissed Leo and seventeen days since Nathan had shoved a mirror in front of my face, showing me how stupid I was.

And looking around my apartment, bereft of normal things apartments had, I definitely couldn’t disagree.

I knew moving into Boston would be risky, financially. I anticipated living paycheck to paycheck, forgoing things like shopping sprees, food that wasn’t ramen, and my own internet connection. I knew I likely wouldn’t make many friends in Boston—that wasn’t different from growing up. But what I hadn’t prepared for was the silence.

When I pictured myself moving to Boston, I imagined long walks through the city, whale watching, museum touring, bar hopping, once-in-a-lifetime experiences that only Boston could give me. I’d needed to get away from the people at home with their snide looks and, most of all, his silence. I’d felt heavy at home, buried under the weight of his disappointment.

Except so far, I’d replaced his disappointment for another’s: mine.

And I wasn’t just talking about my lack of things, but my behavior. I’d known Leo for more than ten years, beginning the day he’d kept me entertained in gym class after I’d broken my leg and had to sit out. I wouldn’t say that growing up being called “the slut” had made it easy to make friends of the female variety. And men had lost interest in me when I’d told them my own disinterest in sucking their dick.

Throughout high school I’d only dated college guys which should have made the girls in my class feel secure that I wouldn’t reel their boyfriends in for a fling. But since it hadn’t and I’d been scarlet-lettered, I’d had the whole don’t-give-a-fuck attitude in high school, only letting my guard down when Leo had tried to make me laugh—not to impress me, but to help me drop the fuck-this-shit attitude.

And one drunken night had shown me what a great friend I was to Leo, kissing him because I felt bad, and confused, and lonely.

I hung my head, cradling it in my hands. I wanted a good drink, but since spending the last week annihilating whatever pathetic little bit of liquor I had, I was fresh out. A fact that I cursed heavily upon seeing my mother’s name flash across my phone.

“Hey, mom.”

“Hey, baby.” Her voice was breathy, as usual. I glanced at the time.

“You’re calling late.” For her. It was just after nine on a Thursday, a time which was usually reserved for her shows.

“I wanted to see how you were doing.”

I looked at my fridge, knowing she was talking about the $200 she’d sent me to fill my fridge and cupboards. “I’m good. Thanks for the money, I bought enough food to last me the rest of this month.”

“Good, good.” There was something else and I waited, to hear what it was that I’d done this time.

Instead of prompting her to tell me what that something was, I waited on the other end of the line, the awkwardness growing between us with each second of silence.