“Or maybe it’s because your body gives off an excess of serotonin when you’re drunk, so in the morning you have depleted serotonin.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Yeah, but I’m pretty sure it’s just a body thing. There must be some chemical reason why I keep replaying the night.” She had a biting memory. “Over and over. Because I didn’t really do anything that bad. But, you know that feeling where you replay and then edit the conversations you had and then you feel really vulnerable and like everyone hates you, even though you didn’t do anything that out of the ordinary?”

“Yeah, I know that feeling. It’s a sugar crash or something.”

“I feel so stupid about that llama thing at the end of the night.”

“What? I’m sure Carrie doesn’t care, and I thought it was funny. It was funny.”

“She thinks I’m so disgusting.”

“No. She doesn’t think you’re disgusting, Megan. She doesn’t think like that.”

Megan started crying.

“Oh, come on, what? What?”

Megan kept crying, and Randy kept saying “What?”

“I wish you’d say something,” said Randy.

Megan’s throat squeezed shut every time she almost started saying something. She opened her mouth, which he couldn’t see with her head in his lap, then closed it, opened it, then closed it.

“Come on,” he said.

“What do you mean she doesn’t think like that?” Megan shouted. “I think like that. I think she’s disgusting and you know it, you know I think like that, so what do you mean she doesn’t think like that? What, do you think I should just go ahead and try to be more like Carrie? Should I get myself some abstract ambitions and start designing events calendars?”

“Oh, come on.”

Megan wailed.

She’s not always like this, thought Randy. “Why are you being like this?” he asked.

“Because I’m dying!” she said. Then she stopped crying.

“Here. Let me get you a Kleenex,” said Randy, scooting out from under her head.

She sat up straight and mucus ran down her face.

“Here,” said Randy. He handed her a tissue.

Megan felt like an idiot, but she also felt a little better. She was embarrassed and got up from the floor without making eye contact with Randy. She walked to the bathroom while blowing her nose. Randy sat back down.

“I look like a Harlequin Baby,” shouted Megan. Randy started laughing. Megan started laughing. Megan came out of the bathroom and looked at Randy.

“I’m still mad at you,” said Megan.

“Why?”

“Because you love Carrie the turd.”

Randy winced and said, “Come on.”

Later, he brought her juice and Tylenol in bed. He didn’t want to feel like they were arguing anymore.

“How’s Jillian?” he asked. A peace offering.

Megan sighed. “She continues to be a thick strand in the malevolent web of my daily routine.”

FIVE