And then, around Coolidge Corner, the nausea hits, like it sometimes does, and I have to throw myself out of the doors when I get to my stop and luckily no one else is there to see me hurl up last night’s whiskey into a snowbank.

Whatever.

I stumble across the tracks, and there’s a blare, like the end of the world in surround sound, and I turn and a train, a train is coming.

Whatever.

There are sparks and a screech and the train is slowing down and so I keep moving because I don’t want someone to have to clean up my mess on the tracks.

Whatever.

The snow is coming down hard now, and I can barely see, even though it’s only—I actually have no idea what time it is, but the sun is still out, that pale Boston hangover sun.

Some people have been shoveling since last night, putting out salt. I stick to those parts of the sidewalk, carry myself up the twisty turns into the little hilly neighborhood behind Washington Square, to Aunt Nora and Uncle Tony’s.

I’m nearly there, the cold so deep in me now I can barely move. I take a step forward and suddenly the world slides out from under me, staring up at the leafless tree in our front yard.

“Ouch,” I whisper.

I am so thirsty.

The front door opens. “Jesus Christ.”

My cousin is suddenly standing over me. It’s hard to see him with my sunglasses on, but I think he’s pissed. “Are you okay.”

He doesn’t reach out to help.

“Sure,” I say.

Words are hard when you haven’t used them in a long, long time.

He pulls off my sunglasses, stares at my pupils. My guess is that they are very small.

“How much did you take, Hannah?”

I shrug, and the movement shoves snow into my coat.

“Enough.”

I sound like our drunk neighbor in Venice, the one we nicknamed Cuervo.

“Well, Hannah, it’s clear you handle bad news with aplomb. It occurs to me Mae and I made a huge mistake not telling you your boyfriend was cheating on you while you were dealing with your parents’ death. I think, judging by today’s performance, you would have handled that with admirable maturity, with the calm of a ship’s captain in a storm. Thanks for showing me the error of my ways.” He turns around and heads up the walkway.

I lie in the snow a little longer.

They would never understand: What they did hurt more than what Micah did. So much more.

“Hannah.” He is kind of yelling from the front door. “Get the fuck inside.”

It’s hard to stand. All the snow. Like sand, but shittier. My bones frozen.

I wish Drew had kissed me.

I wish my parents hadn’t died.

I wish I were holding my baby.

I wish I were dead.