Priscilla Tonman VII

The Hangover

It was like a nightmare. You know those dreams where you are running, but your legs just refuse to move at the pace you know they can run at? Or the dreams where your teeth seem to fall out spontaneously and yet you’re only a little freaked out? That was exactly how I felt the next morning. “Wake up in the morning, feeling like P.Diddy…” I could hear Ke$ha in my head still. I refused to open my eyes because I was scared I would see something, or someone, I didn’t want. I checked if my clothes were on, and YES! I was indeed fully dressed.  I took a deep breath and opened my eyes slowly.

The first thing I saw was the optimistic sunlight pour into the room through the lightly tinted windows. The room was quiet, and unfortunately, did not look like my bedroom at all. It was Cottage. I was not the only person lying in the room either. In fact, I think about fifteen people were sprawled around the living room, looking peacefully asleep, dead, or anything in between. I got up, and had a head rush. My head was throbbing lightly, and my breath smelled like… like Vodka and Coke. Ew. I closed my eyes, and heard someone walk into the room.

“Gooood Morning!” Eric had walked in, his smile unwavering, and his hair lightly tousled. He looked only slightly more disheveled than his usual pristine image, but to the average person, he still appeared clean and sober. He was holding a cup of steaming coffee, which smelled like Starbuck’s Breakfast Blend of deliciousness. My stomach growled gently (not enough for him to hear, thank God).

“Hi there. I’m sorry, but what time is it?” I asked him, rubbing my head and massage my temples. “It’s just about 8am. I didn’t take you for such an earlier riser…” He answered, and then smiled. “Then again, I did not expect you to be a heavy drinker either, so I supposed looks are just too deceiving.”

I laughed meekly. “Thanks. I always wake up early the next day after a night of heavy drinking. It’s my body way’s of telling me that I was a fool, and it won’t let me sleep in any longer.” I sighed.

“Well, let’s grab you a cup of coffee then,” he gestured towards the kitchen. “You’ll love the caramel macchiato.” I’m not going to lie, those words made my morning. I followed him into the kitchen, and saw that he headed towards a fancy, silver coffee machine. I loved coffee, but I was never a fan of these premium coffee devices. They were so hard to clean, and so much more trouble than walking to Starbucks and saying, “Venti, please.”

He handed me an orange, Princeton mug, and I sniffed it. Then I inhaled it, and took a careful sip. Heavenly. I glanced around, and pretended not to notice Eric looking at me, with his head tilted to his left. He looked really adorable when he was deep in thought. There were some bagels and cereals laid out on the enormous wooden table, which looked like it could seat at least 10 people. I looked up at him hopefully as he said, “Please, help yourself. You are now a Cottage member.” I reached over for some Philadelphia Cream Cheese and a sesame bagel.  As I applied the cream cheese, Eric poured out some Banana Almond Crunch into a ceramic bowl (these people really live the life) and said, “So do your parents know that you’re at Cottage now?”

“Nope. I haven’t told them yet. I’m sure it won’t be a huge deal to them. They’ll just think I joined a sorority or debate club again.” I answered truthfully. My parents were both hotshots in Wall Street, far too busy to worry about their daughter joining another ‘club’. Mom worked for J.P. Morgan, and Dad worked for Goldman Sachs. Before you ask, the only conflicts of interests they ever had were over where I would had to college. She went to Yale, and he went to Harvard. Could you blame me for completing the Holy Trinity? Setting my own path and being independent, blah blah blah…

“Dues aren’t cheap. You do know that, don’t you?” he raised one eyebrow doubtfully.

“Yes, I know, but I am a research assistant, so that’ll help pay for some of the dues. I’m a big girl, I’ll handle myself,” I raised my own eyebrows, waiting for him to react.

“Excellent, then. Because the experience will be more than you pay for,” he grinned that impish smile.

That’s the way life should be, I thought, as I put the last bite of cream cheese and bagel into my mouth. More value for my money.