For the record, drinking is not a recommended method for cleaning out your refrigerator.

I woke up on top of my blankets, and Ashley in bed with me. I didn’t know if we’d planned this, or she’d somehow gotten lost on the way to her own bed across the room. But we were both mostly dressed, so that was a positive thing.

There was a yellow stain on my best friend’s cheek that looked suspiciously like mustard. And a strand of my dark brown hair was stuck to it. How weird had shit gotten last night?

I tied to sit up, but the pounding in my head and the immediate tsunami of nausea pulled me back down to the pillow in record time.

Oh hangover gods, please forgive me. What offering must I make that you might take this cup of suffering from my lips?

I groaned, which made Ashley burrow further into the pillow. “What time is it?” she moaned.

“I’m going to puke,” I answered, which was all it took to get her out of my bed as fast as if she’d been beamed up. I lurched to my feet and rushed down the hall to the girls’ bathroom, dropping to my knees just in time to dry heave. Nothing came up, but the action made my pounding head feel like someone had set off a bomb beneath my temples.

I moaned and dropped to the cold tile floor, so so happy that I knew it was relatively clean.

Bits of the previous evening played through my mind as I lay there waiting for the room to stop spinning. Something about licking mustard off our fingers instead of salt before tequila shots. Where the hell had the tequila even come from? Standing on the coffee table singing “Party in the U.S.A.” with Mary and Ashley. Announcing to all of my roommates that we needed to get Beckett laid ASAP.

I hoped that last part wasn’t a real memory.

There had been pizza at some point, if the taste in my mouth was anything to go by. Maybe it had been enough to soak up my stomach contents? Was that why I hadn’t actually barfed this morning?

Ugh.

Mary shuffled into the bathroom with a grunt.

“Throw up?” she asked.

“No.”

“Gotta pee.”

“Can’t get up.”

“Move over.”

I wiggled my body close enough to the tub to give Mary room to use the toilet. That’s friendship, people.

She hung her head in her upraised hands while she sat on the toilet. “Gonna die,” she said on an exhale.

“Uh huh.”

Eventually she got up and washed her hands, then splashed water all over her face. She was sloppy, causing water to spatter down on me where I still curled on the bathmat. Then she nudged me in the butt with one foot until I rolled over enough to accept the little paper cup of water in her hand.

“Thank you,” I said.

“Love you,” she muttered, shuffling back out of the room, and turning the lights off on me as she went.

An hour later, I woke up, still on the floor, with my small cup of water spilled all over the front of my shirt.

This was definitely a hangover for the record books. My body ached miserably from the cold floor. So I managed to pull myself up, stopping at the sink to stick my mouth under the running faucet and get as much hydration as I thought I could handle. This was no job for Dixie cups.

On my way back to the bedroom I shared with Ashley, I couldn’t help noticing that Mary had left her own door hanging open. Her room was tiny—the price of having the single room—so the bed was clearly visible from the door. Although they were buried under the blankets, it was obvious that Mary wasn’t the only person in her bed.

My eyebrows went up, the fog of hangover clearing a bit. What exactly had gone on last night?

Back in our room, I discovered Ashley had moved to her own bed, though she was still on top of the blankets and dressed in much of her catering uniform still from last night. Only her apron was gone. I just hoped she knew where it was.

“Ash,” I said in a stage whisper.

“Ashley’s dead. Come back later,” she whispered back.

“Did someone come over last night?” I asked.

“No.” She twisted, looking up at me in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Someone’s in Mary’s bed.”

“It’s Mary you dumb ass,” Ash muttered, going back to her pillowed bliss.

“Yeah, Mary and someone else.”

Ashley’s face appeared again, confusion all over her features. “Who?”

“Can’t tell.”

“Oh man.” She tried to push herself to her feet, but her body wouldn’t cooperate. She collapsed back to the blankets with a whimper. “Can’t check. You go.” Her hand flapped at me. “Report back.”

I was torn between a desire to crawl back into my bed and sleep for another four hours, and the intense need to know who was in Mary’s bed. Curiosity won out, and I hobbled back into the hall and stood in my roommate’s open doorway.

The shape beneath the blanket was larger and bulkier than Mary. A male shape for sure.

Here I had options: creep into the room and stare at them like a weirdo, waiting for the mystery man to reveal his face; cough awkwardly and hope they’d sense my presence; or take the bull by the horns and expose them. I went with the last option, grabbing the nearest edge of blanket and yanking it off of the two shapes.

It was Jake. Jake and Mary, snuggled in her bed like sleepy puppies. Mary was in an oversized University t-shirt, hitched up around her waist, exposing the Wonder Woman panties beneath. Jake in only his boxer shorts—and thank god for that—tucked in behind her with his arm draped over her bare waist.

They both made animal noises of protest, scrambling to grab hold of the bedding as I pulled it away from them.

“Hey!” Jake grunted.

Mary’s eyes opened and went wide at the sight of me. “Emmy!” she protested.

“Em, come on, don’t be a bitch,” Jake said, leaning up on one elbow to make another reach for the blankets.

I tossed the covers onto them in a wad. “Just checking,” I said, shambling back toward my own room.

A few seconds after I cleared Mary’s doorway, the door banged shut behind me. I smiled to myself, still a bit too hung over to laugh.

“Who was it?” Ashley mumbled when I dropped onto my bed.

“Jake.”

“Why am I not surprised?” she said. It really wasn’t a surprise. Jake had clearly been crushing on Mary for about a year. And she didn’t seem to mind a bit. I just hoped they’d both been clear-headed enough to enjoy themselves last night.

“She’ll tell us later, I’m sure,” I said, feeling much better now that I’d achieved a horizontal status again.

Ashley giggled suddenly. “I guess they got confused about who you were trying to get laid last night.”

“Oh god, that actually happened?” I moaned.

“Oh yeah. You were real set on getting Beckett some rebound action.”

“I was hoping I just imagined that.”

“Nope.”

“Ugh.”

“Poor Beck,” she said.

“Poor Beck,” I agreed.

“I can hear you,” came a gravelly voice from the hallway.

Ash and I both looked toward the door where Beckett was standing on wobbly legs.

“Oh shit!” Ashley said. “Are you part ninja or something?”

“Yes,” he said immediately, then groaned and leaned against the doorway. “Or not.”

“You okay?” I asked.

He looked surprisingly well put together all things considered. I mean, hung over for sure. But he’d at least managed to get himself out of yesterday’s clothes and into a pair of athletic shorts for sleeping. Or maybe he’d only done it after he got up. Either way, there was less walk of shame in him than the rest of us.

“Sure.” His voice was thick with sleep and leftover alcohol. Without another word, he disappeared from view and a few minutes later, I heard the shower running in the guys’ bathroom.

A while later—I wasn’t sure how much time had passed—he was in the doorway again, tapping on the door lightly. We were generally pretty comfortable around each other as a group, but the guys tried to be respectful about coming into the girls’ rooms without permission. Of course, all of that was kind of moot when Ash and I slept in our clothes with the door hanging wide open. Still, I appreciated it.

I raised my face from the pillow. “What’s up?”

“You guys want some breakfast?”

“No!” Ashley moaned. I wondered if she was on a slightly different hangover timeline than me since she’d gotten started later than the rest of us.

I made a non-committal mmph sound.

“Come on, Em,” he said.

I made another non-word sound.

“I’m buying.”

That brought my eyes to full alert. Because the fact of the matter was that I was still broke and out of luck until Monday morning. Also, there was no way there was anything edible left in the house if we’d been eating mustard last night.

Ugh, mustard. The thought turned my stomach once again, but I fought it. “Okay. Gimme five minutes.”

“I’ll give you three,” he said, before he walked away to give me some privacy.

I hauled myself out of bed and tipped the door shut before peeling off last night’s clothes. Then I changed into some nice soft yoga pants and a tank top that didn’t require a bra. Presentable, but not too challenging for my ravaged body. Then I stepped into my flip-flops and made my way downstairs.

Beckett was standing with his crossed arms propped on the kitchen counter and his head dropped on top of them like he was taking a nap. His light brown hair was still damp from the shower.

The kitchen was a disaster zone. Far worse than the last time I’d taken notice of it the night before.

“Holy crap,” I sighed. “Did we have a bunch of lab monkeys on the loose in here last night?”

Now it was Beckett's turn to make a wordless grunting reply.

I spotted a half-empty bottle of water on one counter, tipped over, but with the cover on tight. My mouth cramped with thirst, but there was honestly no telling if that was even water at this point. There were empty liquor and beer bottles everywhere, food stains, a dish towel still soaking wet and dripping water into a healthy puddle off the edge of the counter. Pizza crumbs and a congealed bit of crust lying on the floor…it was horrifying.

“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested.

Beckett hauled himself upright and together we staggered out the front door into the bright glare of a California Saturday morning.

“Ow!” I yelped, splaying my fingers over my face. “I forgot my sunglasses.”

“Fuck me.” Beckett squinted hard at the ground.

“This is a bad idea.”

He gestured back in the general direction of our apartment. “We’ve had a lot of bad ideas in the last 24 hours.”

I groaned.

“Come on. We need food. Grease.” Beckett took my elbow and gave me a push toward the sidewalk.

We walked in silence toward the main street at the end of the block. There was no way either of us was fit to drive. This was the purgatory between Still Drunk and Hung Over where you are both useless and no fun.

But it was a college town, after all, and we weren’t the only dead drunks walking this morning. Out on the main drag, we joined the scattered collection of people staggering home in last night’s clothes, as well as the rest of the people out trying to get their morning dose of hangover-healing grease in various collections of pajamas, and college spirit wear.

The line outside the nearest greasy spoon was out the door and down the block.

“No!” Beckett groaned.

“I can’t wait that long,” I told him.

“Me neither.”

We continued down the street, passing shuttered bars, closed stores, a bike repair shop that seemed to be already open for business, and finally came to a Japanese tea house that Ashley and I had been to a few times for lunch. Miraculously the sign was turned to Open and there was a pleasant, salty smell coming from the place.

There was also no line.

“Here,” I said.

“Do they even serve food in the morning?”

I pointed to the sign in the window that said ‘Open for breakfast, Saturday & Sunday at 8am.’

Beckett shrugged. “All right, whatever.”

We went inside, setting off a light tinkling of bells. There were some other customers inside, but most of them appeared to have their shit significantly more together than either of us. A young woman in a black t-shirt and skirt came over to greet us.

“Good morning,” she said. “Would you like a table?”

We nodded and followed her to a small black cafe table near the window, which made me wish again that I’d grabbed my sunglasses.

“Tea?” she asked.

Beckett looked at me, as if to say, Why the hell did you bring me to a land with no coffee?

The waitress was holding out a small leather folder that was covered in a list of teas. Last time I’d been here, Ashley and I had poured over the list for a long time, trying to choose just one from the huge selection. Today, I couldn’t be relied on to choose two matching socks from a field of three. I turned my pleading face to her and said, “We are very very hung over,” in a soft voice. “What do you recommend?”

Her face brightened. “I’ve got just what you need!” She left without another word, or even leaving the menu behind.

“What the hell did you just do to us?” Beckett mumbled.

“I panicked!”

“I’m holding you responsible for whatever happens next.”

“Fine. But just remember I’m broke, so you’re paying for whatever happens next.”

A fresh wave of awful seemed to take over him at that point and he put his head on upraised hands, breathing shallowly.

That was fine with me, I wasn’t exactly in the mood for chatter. So we sat in rigid, but not uncomfortable silence while we both contemplated our life choices and the relative merits of throwing up versus fighting to keep everything in our stomachs exactly where it was.

When the waitress returned a few minutes later, she put a small bowl of clear miso soup in front of each of us, and then a pot of tea on a small ceramic ring to keep it from burning the table. Then she laid empty tea cups on the table.

“Soup first,” she advised. “The tea will help, but some people don’t like the taste very much.”

That earned me a dirty look from Beckett, but he thanked her just the same.

When she was gone again, I took up my spoon and lifted a small sip of the steaming broth to my mouth. It was perfect. Not too salty, not too bland. It seemed to fit in my mouth as if it belonged there, and then greeted my stomach with a soothing presence, instead of the usual fight for dominance that my first bite of hangover food did.

I sighed happily. “Try it,” I told Beckett. “Trust me.”

He did, and I saw the same reaction bloom across his face. “Okay, so maybe this wasn’t the worst plan you ever had.”

We fell back into a companionable silence as we slurped our magic elixir. My small bowl was empty in no time and I could have easily gone for seconds or thirds, but the waitress was nowhere to be seen.

“That was amazing,” I said, feeling more human than I would have thought possible just minutes before. “I’m trying the tea.”

The liquid from the teapot was yellow, with an earthy smell that didn’t exactly soothe my palate the way the miso soup had. When I drank coffee, I was much more likely to go for something with caramel or -iatto in the name than anything in the bitter, dry-roasted, or black department. I rarely had tea without sugar and cream. But the waitress had been dead-on with her first offering, so I was willing to try it.

It tasted like dirt. Like a mouthful of garden soil. My stomach didn’t threaten to revolt, exactly, but it did put out a Closed sign. Beckett was studying my reaction, though, and I didn’t want to give anything away. So I forced myself to swallow.

There must have been something in my expression, though, because he said, “How is it?” in a skeptical tone.

“I usually like my tea sweetened,” I said diplomatically, then shrugged. “I don’t know. Try it.”

He didn’t pour himself a cup, but reached across the table to sample from mine.

The look on his face told me he was completely on the same page as me. “That is disgusting.”

“Earthy,” I supplied.

“I feel like I just licked the sidewalk.” He stuck his tongue out, like exposing it to the air would evaporate the aftertaste.

“Maybe it’s an acquired taste?” I wondered, reaching over to take my cup back and try another sip. Now that I knew what to expect, it wasn’t such a shock, but the taste wasn’t any better. “Maybe not?”

Beckett laughed then. A started bark of laughter that made his dimples show.

I couldn’t help joining in. Not even sure why. But we were both gone at that point.

I managed to pour him a cup of his own dirt-flavored tea and told him he had to drink it. We were still bickering about it when the waitress returned with a tray in her arms.

“You don’t like the tea?” she asked, maintaining an impressive poker face.

“It’s…different,” I said.

“Turmeric,” she said. “You get used to it. Very good for the liver.”

“God knows my liver could use a jump start this morning,” Beckett said, taking another huge gulp of tea. His face curled into a hideous grimace, but he swallowed and said, “Mmm. Yum.”

The waitress laughed and set two more small bowls in front of us before clearing our empty soup cups. The fresh bowls were filled with rice, which I recognized immediately. But I also recognized the raw egg settled into a small depression in the rice.

“Tamago kake gohan,” she announced. “You have to stir it for a long time.” She set down two pairs of chop sticks and a bottle of soy sauce as well as a shaker of some kind of seasoning. “Stir, stir, stir, and add these to your liking.”

When she was gone, Beckett said, “Fuck it,” and set to work blending the egg into his rice, humming the Rocky theme song.

After making him drink the tea, I could hardly let him show me up with the main course, so I followed suit, whirling my chop sticks through the bowl until the egg turned frothy. Beckett beat me to it, though, hoisting a bite into his mouth. He made a face, then added a bunch of soy sauce to the mix. Another taste, and he shook some of the seasoning blend on top. Finally he nodded with satisfaction.

“Try it,” he said. “It’s not bad.”

I was completely aware of the possibility that he was getting back at me for the turmeric tea, but I had a feeling he was sincere. So I copied his technique and took a tentative bite.

He was right. It wasn’t bad. In fact it was kind of good. Comforting and simple, like the miso had been.

Yet another silence settled over us as we dove into our unusual hangover feast. Even the turmeric tea seemed less pungent as I took a few more sips between bites. Was I magically cured of all hangover symptoms? No. My head was still aching and I had the bone deep fatigue of bad decisions hanging over me, but my stomach had settled considerably and I felt less foggy. A lot further from death.

When we were finished, Beckett laid his chopsticks across his empty bowl and regarded me. “Okay, fine. So, it wasn’t a bad choice.”

“You can say it: Emmy is a golden goddess.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“I’ll accept, Emmy makes better life choices than Beckett,” I continued.

“Except for roommate hunting on Craigslist,” he pointed out.

“Now that’s just mean.”

“Sorry,” he said, but he grinned.

I sighed and propped my chin on one hand. “Ugh. I guess I know how I’m spending my day. Apartment hunting online.” With only days left in my current living situation, the clock was ticking. Moving to a new city was intimidating enough without the added stress of having no place to put my stuff when I got there.

Beckett and I had that in common at least. We were both going to the tiny town of River Glen, Iowa for grad school. Maybe it seemed unlikely that we’d end up at the same small school, but Beck and I had met as biology majors as freshmen. I’d wanted to work in a lab ever since my first frog dissection in middle school. Beckett had considered medical school, but ultimately decided to be a pathologist’s assistant just like me. All the dissecting goodness without the years and debt of being a doctor. And with only a dozen graduate programs in the country, it wasn’t that weird that we’d both landed at a tiny private school in Iowa. We counted ourselves lucky to have both gotten into the program. And it was way easier to contemplate moving to a new state with someone I knew. Sure, Beckett was supposed to get married and live with Emily when we got there, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t stay friends.

It was part of the reason I’d gone into the stupid Craigslist agreement in the first place: I wasn’t looking for a best friend in my roommate, just a clean place to live close to campus. I thought it might be better to have more of a business arrangement. I mean, there was no way I could expect to fall into another amazing group of friends who were more like family, as I’d done in undergrad. And I didn’t want to. I wanted them to stay important in my life. So a stranger looking for a roommate seemed like a perfectly acceptable solution.

Besides, the pics of the place had been great—light, airy, with two bathrooms. Two!

I guess I should have known that was too good to be true. What kind of campus-accessible apartment has a bathroom for each bedroom?

God, I’m an idiot sometimes.

Apartment hunting remotely was awful. There is just no substitute for going into a place and seeing it for yourself. Pictures can be deceiving. And, as it turns out, so can the people who put the pictures up.

I shook my head ruefully. I couldn’t believe I’d been duped like that. Maybe I could find a nice Nigerian Prince who just needed a loan to get back his family fortune next. Ugh.

“Don’t stress, Em. I’m sure there are still places to live,” Beckett said as if he could read my thoughts.

“I hope you’re right.”

“There better be,” he said with a sigh of his own. “Because I sure as hell don’t qualify for my place without Emily.”

Married Student Housing. It was such a foreign concept to me. I knew there were apartment blocks right here on campus for couples, especially those with kids. But I didn’t know where the heck they were or who lived there.

The culture at Middlesex University was totally different than here, though. Everyone in the undergrad program was required to live on campus. Grad students had more leeway, thought they were encouraged to live on campus as well. And it wasn’t like there was a huge glut of student-friendly housing near campus. It wasn’t a college town like Irvine. The entire city didn’t revolve around the comings and goings of students.

“Maybe we could find a place together!” I suggested with sudden inspiration.

“Yeah?”

“Sure!” I nodded enthusiastically. “It would be so much better than having to find a place that needed a roommate.”

“Yeah.” The idea was working for him, I could see it. “Yeah, duh. Of course. Why didn’t I think of it right away?”

“Vodka,” I answered.

He laughed. “Yeah, maybe.”

“But this is perfect! We’re great at being roommates! It’ll be like nothing’s changed.”

“We’ll probably have to share a bathroom,” he warned me.

I wrinkled my nose. “You’ll just have to learn how to live like a human being instead of a goat.”

“It’s mostly Brady, you know,” he said.

I could sort of believe that, but I wasn’t letting him off the hook that easily. “I’m sure there’s room for improvement. But still, it’s a deal?” I held my hand out to him across the remnants of our breakfast.

“Hell yeah, it’s a deal.”

We shook on it.