Ellie is Cool Now

Chapter 33

Roxy wears a blue and white hospital gown.

She looks small, even though she's not. She's tall and her personality makes her feel huge, and like, A LOT, and always powerful even when she's weak.

Some of her fingernails are cracked. That metallic black manicure she must've gotten for the reunion is falling apart right along with her. Her eyelids look dark, probably from smudged mascara and no sleep. The monitors beep with her pulse, and they've hooked her up to an IV drip.

I pull up the chair from beside the window and sit. Leaning back, I tuck my purse in beside me, and watch the slow, steady up-and-down of her breathing. They put an oxygen cannula in her nose, and I hear a squeak as it releases some air directly into her nostrils.

My phone is lit up with texts from Mom, and Vic and Tina, and most recently, Mark. I open the thread from my mom. She's sent me about twenty messages wondering where I am, pointedly not asking me about Mark, even though she's definitely curious and disapproving in her silence. I tell her about Roxy and insist she not call Maureen.

Mom: She's her mother.

Me: Give her a chance to wake up and figure out her story. She doesn't need Maureen's guilt trip right now.

Mom: Does this mean you two are friends again?

I stare at her question. Why is it one or the other?

"Ellie Jenkins to the rescue," Roxy rasps, yanking my attention from my phone.

"You look like shit," I say.

It takes some effort for her lip to kick up at the corner. "Hospital chic. You're just jealous." Her eyes are dilated, they shift around, like she's trying to get them to focus.

"Brock called," I say, tucking my phone into my purse and leaving the rest of my messages unanswered. "He's a real catch."

"Guess I should throw him back." She tries to laugh.

"What the fuck happened, Roxy?" I hear the plunk of her sobriety medallion from the night before the reunion in the bathroom of the Local. "This is the kind of shit people do in high school – college, maybe. You're twenty-eight."

"If you came here to preach, then you can find the fucking door on your own," she says, trying to glare daggers at me. The effect is dampened by the cannula in her nose and the way her eyes can't focus on mine for very long. "Nothing ever changes."

Her eyes prick with tears that she blinks back.

My pinch my lips together, watching her. Not walking away. "A lot has changed."

"For you, princess, but not me. Did you know the first thing Christine said to me when I showed up at the Local that night?" She pushes up against her pillow, but her eyes roll, and she swoons a little.

"You have a button thing, to make it sit up more," I say, motioning to the control for her bed. I reach out to help and she smacks my hand away. Her finger presses the arrow up and it inches higher at an almost comical rate. The whole time she holds my eyes, her lips forming a tremulous shit-eating grin. I bite back a laugh, covering my mouth with my hand.

She stops the bed before she's fully upright and shoves the controller behind her pillow.

After a second, she lets out a huff of air, her shoulders rising. And I guffaw.