Cat was an absolute mess. Getting ready for work took forever, and she nearly stumbled in late. She’d already been awake for far too long, didn’t get nearly enough sleep, and her mind reeled from everything she just learned. Was she energized or exhausted? Too hard to tell.

Of all the reasons to be a dick, Peter’s excuses were quite solid. For all of that--for his dad to commit suicide, forcing his mother to out Peter as a bastard, his mother to disown him in favor of saving her marriage...all since August? It was hardly November. And now that Cat’d learned it all, it was something she couldn’t just forget or dismiss. Now any time she looked at Peter, she would know that there was more going on than just an obnoxious boss or unfair professors. Every call he took to a lawyer to try and see his little brother....

Jeffrey grew frustrated with her this morning. She spent so much time in her head, simple tasks went ignored, to even cleaning out the blender. She just stood there with it in her hand, with the sponge, and he had to physically poke her to wake her up.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “Didn’t sleep last night.” But her exhaustion was only half the reason she moved so slowly.

Cat kept pulling out her phone. She told herself it was to check the time, but even the part of her that was in denial still looked for a new text message from Peter. Some sort of explanation. A request to not tell anyone. Or maybe just...maybe he had more he wanted to say, now that someone knew. Even if it might have been his last choice. But things would be different now. She could be sensitive to him, she could comfort him….

Noon rolled around with no news from anyone. Did time usually pass this slowly? Cat had wiped down the counter three times already; in fact, she was fairly certain there was a stain on the counter that was there since she started that looked a little smaller, now. Or was that part of the counter she was rubbing away?

Restless, she turned to Talkative when her manager wasn’t looking. So much in her stomach just whirled with uncertainty. What happened now? What was she supposed to do? Should she check on Peter if she didn’t hear from him yet?

Her new thread asked, “How do you support someone who isn’t your friend through a tough time?”

PumpkinKing, always the prompt responder, answered, Why aren’t you friends if you want to support them? Good question. Um....

She opted to message him directly: It’s complicated. Idk, I’m not supposed to know about this stuff, but I found out, and it’s kind of heavy. We don’t really get along, but it feels wrong to just pretend like I don’t know. Now she sounded like drunken Peter, just blurting out all of what was on her mind at once. But Pumpkin was usually quite level-headed and witty, just practical enough, with some sarcasm sprinkled on top to keep her humble. He took too long to respond, though. Almost half an hour.

That’s tough. It’s good of you to want to help, though. Not a lot of people like that. The three dots indicating his response came and went half a dozen times. But if you care, doesn’t that kind of make you friends? Do you hang out often? Like how did you find out?

Cat sighed to her phone. There weren’t really any satisfying answers she could give to make this any easier. But that was why she asked for the advice in the first place. While her thread went ignored, she continued confiding in her own version of Jiminy Cricket.

We just happen to be near each other a lot, she settled with. I just happened to be near when they got bad news. But it’s not like I care or whatever, I just want to...make sure they’re okay. As she typed the words, she saw how ridiculous they looked. Still, though, she pressed “send.” Pumpkin was a stranger who didn’t know anyone in her life. If he couldn’t be honest to her, who could?

Lol sure, you don’t care. Smartass. He continued typing: Maybe you just have to stick to asking through mutual friends or eavesdropping? She wanted to reward him with a laughing emoji, but the lunch rush jolted her out of her thoughts. Pumpkin would have to wait until the stream of customers diluted to a trickle.

Just when there was enough time to breathe between customers, a shadow darkened her workspace. She jumped and looked up, stomach swirling at the familiar silhouette.

“Uh, hey,” she said automatically. Peter stood with his wallet out, swaying. His hair still had grass in it; thick sunglasses covered his eyes, and his skin was so pale, she could tell he’d been vomiting again. Yikes.

“Hi. Can I just get a large with an extra shot?” His voice, raw and deep, was hardly above a whisper. Cat frowned, but reached for a cup.

“Did you bring your rum?” she asked at a lame attempt at a joke. He just stood there. “For the...shot?”

“What are you talking about?” Maybe making alcohol-related jokes when her audience was hungover wasn’t a good plan. He did kind of look like he needed to repeat the names “Bart” and “Ralph.” Cat just shook her head and started to scribble on a cup. “Espresso--if I wasn’t clear.” His tone could certainly use some work. Her stomach jerked as she passed on the cup to Jeffrey.

Cat let her gaze fall to Peter’s hands on his wallet, dry and cracked from the shifting weather.

“What?” he asked flatly. “I’m not in the mood--if we could just skip this part--”

“You don’t remember last night,” she interrupted without looking up at him. For some reason, that put an even worse twist in her stomach. Peter sighed.

“That was my intention when I started, so before you go off on me for not handling my liquor, bear in mind that I can and will throw up in your tip jar.” Why did her chest feel like it was on fire? She knew her cheeks were flushed, but she couldn’t stop it from happening.

“What’s the last thing you remember before waking up?” Her question was interrupted by the sharp grinding of the coffee machine. Peter recoiled, one hand holding his wallet, the other clutching the side of his head in pain until the machine finished roaring.

Peter let out an annoyed sigh. “I don’t know, why?” As Jeffrey transitioned to the espresso machine, Cat kept her eyes glued to the counter, glaring at it rather than him. So all of that...all of that was nothing. The heaviness in her heart, the hours waiting to see if he’d message her to talk about it. It didn’t exist in his mind.

“You don’t remember how you got home?” Her tone was the one that could use improvement, now. She couldn’t even pinpoint why this made her angry. Jeffrey returned with Peter’s order, but the minute he set it down, he retreated to go to the other side of the bar to wash some of the dishes. Even now, their words felt acidic.

“What are you getting at? No, I don’t. I hardly remember even getting to the party. What’s your problem?” He was so irritated; he was obviously nauseated by the way he swayed, the way he now gripped the counter to support himself. Cat finally looked up at him, brows knitted together.

“You don’t remember...helping me carry Cam to bed?” How much more would she say? How much more was there to say even if he did remember the night? He didn’t want her to know about any of it. She wouldn’t have if she sent Hannah instead. She wouldn’t have if she never went....

Peter let out an annoyed huff. “What, you’re upset I didn’t thank you or something? Sorry you had to help me carry Cam. I know he’s heavy. Is that what you wanted to hear?” His words molded her hand into a fist. She could punch that stupid frown right off his face--but she didn’t, just stood there, scowling.

“Take your stupid coffee,” she spat, waving at him.

“How much is it?” He now shook his wallet at her until she slapped the counter with her fist.

“I don’t fucking care, Peter! Just leave.” But he didn’t put his wallet away, and instead put more weight on the hand that held the counter.

“What? What did I say to make you so mad? Did I call you stupid or something? I don’t know, I was drunk, whatever. I’ll say it to you sober: You’re stupid. Better?” He was making this so much harder than it had to be. Cat grit her teeth and struggled to breathe out of her nose, but he just wouldn’t leave. How was she supposed to keep her head when he stood there, fuming like that? And now, knowing everything she did...did she even have a right to react? Just because he didn’t remember, didn’t mean she didn’t understand.

Cat shut her eyes for a full second to try and get herself under control. “Stop being a dick and just leave.”

“What’s my total?” Why did he care?

“It doesn’t fucking matter, Peter, just leave!” She gestured to the door, now, where another patron hesitated on opening the door.

“What did I say?”

“It doesn’t matter, obviously!”

“If you’re still offended, I should know--”

“I’m not offended, you fucking dickhole, just get--”

“Was it because I didn’t thank you? What is--?”

“Who fucking cares!” She screamed now, and the potential patron decided against coffee. Jeffrey had disappeared; the couple eating croissants at the window table were watching without any fear of being caught.

“You do, obviously!”

“It doesn’t matter!”

“What is your problem?” Peter’s hand flew to his face to rip off his sunglasses, his bloodshot eyes glaring at her as he flinched at the light. “Did I cockblock you or something? You want me to apologize for sleeping in my own bed because you couldn’t keep your knees to--?” He stopped suddenly, his eyes just past her. Cat hadn’t realized that she raised a hand, that it shook so violently even though he was out of reach, just itching to smack him. It physically hurt to lower it, but when she did, she finally became aware of the heat behind her eyes, the heaviness of her breath. Don’t. Cry.

She clenched her jaw so tightly that when she spoke, her voice quivered. “When you’re alone, Peter,” she started venomously, “realize it’s because you made it so no one wants to be near you.” The twitch of his brow took her back to last night, the sadness that followed his hunched shoulders. But right now, he was so rigid and controlled, that even if she slapped him, she doubted he’d budge.

The burning in her eyes only intensified when she blinked, and before she even realized it, her shaking fingers worked at the knot of the back of her apron to undo it.

Jeffrey made his mistake by adjusting himself beside the door frame of the break room. She threw her apron over her head and onto the counter, suddenly panting, and took several unsteady steps back to break away from the hammering in her chest.

“Cat?” Jeffrey whispered. While Peter stood frozen, unable to unroot himself from what she’d said, Cat looked to her coworker just long enough to spit, “I’m sick.” And then immediately took her leave out the back door.

She couldn’t stop shaking. Even by the time she got back to her dorm room, every cell in her body wanted to scream. Had she ever been this angry before? This was a new low, even for someone as detestable as him.

At the moment, the only thing she could think to do to avoid physically exploding was to throw on her workout clothes and go for a run. Maybe if she was too physically exhausted to feel anything, she could calm down.

Poor Cam text the group a puking emoji with the question, “Breakfast for dinner?”

Every draft she wrote sounded so bitchy, taking her anger out on him when he didn’t deserve it. She settled with a simple, “Pass.”

But of course a response from the unsaved number went through at the same time: “I'm good.” Fucking Peter, ruining even her text replies. And right when she was about to throw her phone on her bed and storm out, a notification from Talkative caught her attention.

PumpkinKing, sending a simple question mark, wondering what was up. She could vomit.

“Ignore everything I said. I was overreacting.” Satisfied that literally no other message could warrant a reply, Cat grabbed her keys, left her phone, and headed out the door.