03 | UNIVERSE

all existing matter and space considered as a whole; the cosmos.

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SUNLIGHT STABS MY EYES as soon as I wake up the next morning. Drums reverberate through the walls of my bedroom, so loud they rattle the glass-framed photo of David Bowie I have above my dresser. Every bang, crack, and ting thunderclaps against my skull.

For fuck's sake, Devin.

Even though it feels like I'm being weighed down by a lead apron, I find the strength to kick on my wall over and over as hard as I can until Devin stops drumming. Finally, silence. I fall back against my bed and grunt in exasperation because fuck my life, last night was beyond horrible. The memories are too cringeworthy to think about; I can't even bear it.

Through the walls, I hear Luna shout, "Fuck off, Devin!" and realize my kicking wasn't what shut him up. Him and Luna are fighting. Again. I bury my face in my pillow and scream.

When I drop it, Luna is standing in the door wearing a pair of pink pajama shorts, her thin legs long and willowy, accommodated by one of Devin's oversized grey tees. Her white-blonde hair is in a scraggly bun on top of her head, and judging by the death in her big blue eyes, her morning's been rough, too. Good. If we saw each other when I came in last night, I don't remember it.

"God, he's such an asshole," she says. "I went through his phone again and it's like he has no shame!"

"As if I care about your relationship problems right now, Luna."

Luna's eyes, still smeared with last night's makeup, blink at me. "Oh god, right. I am so sorry, Ari. We went out to have a smoke and then there was a cab there so we just took it. It was so shitty. We didn't even realize you weren't with us until we got home, but then I figured you'd be fine flirting with that guy. I feel bad, honestly—wait, holy shit, what happened to your face? Don't tell me the bartender—"

"No, it wasn't the bartender." I drape my forearm over my face. "It was my own damn fault. I always run my mouth."

"You know better than to get into a fight without me there to back you up."

I do know that. Luna and I were party animals in high school, which ended up in us getting into more than a few fights with other girls. Luna is scrawny, but those fists of hers can throw a punch.

"Yeah, well, you weren't there, were you?"

"'Kay, point taken. I deserve that."

"Damn right you do. Now help me up."

Acid reflux burns my esophagus when Luna hoists me out of bed. My head spins, but she keeps me upright and helps me to the hallway. It's a scene that's happened too many times since we both started drinking at fourteen; as much as Luna drives me nuts, we really do complete each other. Two halves of one dysfunctional whole.

"Wow, you really did have a bad night," she says. "How'd you get home, anyway?"

I don't respond as we enter the living room. Devin is sprawled out in his pajamas playing The Witcher, his long brown hair in tangles over his shirtless shoulders, obviously not giving a fuck about whatever fight they just had. Caroline is on the loveseat glued to her phone, and evidence of last night's after party is all over the coffee table: beer cans, chips, cigarette butts.

"Looks like you guys had a grand old time last night," I say.

"Oh, shit." Caroline does a double take and rushes over to me. The serious look on her face says she's about to go Full Nurse. We work at the same hospital, but at twenty-five, Caroline is way more of a real adult than me. I give short answers as she quizzes me on how I'm feeling.

"I'm fine, Nurse Song. Really. It's not a concussion. I'm just hungover as shit."

Devin cackles without looking up from the flat screen. "How'd you get knocked out this time, Ari?"

"Don't worry about it." I inch past the drumset to the other couch while Luna sprawls over Devin. Typical; those two are hot and cold. One minute they're at each other's throats, the next it's like nothing happened.

Blacklight posters of bands like Sublime and Blink 182 are pasted all over the olive walls. Most of our shelves are stocked with movies and video games, but wherever you look, there's a piece of one of us here. Having roommates is fucking annoying sometimes but mornings like this, when we're all together, make it worth it.

"Here," Caroline says, "a care package. Sorry for ditching you. Acetaminophen, electrolytes, and carbs." She drops Tylenol, Gatorade, and a slice of Wonderbread on my lap.

"Thanks," I say. "But can we make a deal? No more leaving the bar without each other. Period."

"Deal," we all say.

"Really though"—Luna lights a smoke—"what actually happened to you last night?"

They'll get the story out of me eventually, so I just tell them. About the monstrous flirting, my phone, Cass, McDonald's, and Ryan. And by the time I'm done recapping my entire night, everyone is both laughing at and pitying me.

"Holy fuck," Devin says, "we're never leaving you alone again."

"Thank you! If only that rule had been established before I made a complete ass out of myself. Ryan hates me." I hide my eyes. "And I actually thought he was so cute and nice. I ruined it before I even had a chance."

"Bullshit," Luna says. "If he's not willing to give you a chance just because you're a mess, he's a dickhole and not worth it."

"I don't know about that."

Devin mashes the buttons of his PS4 controller. "Chill out, his ego's probably through the roof right now. Go ask him out when you're not so sloppy and I bet he'll be down."

"No way," I say. "Nope, I'm never going back to The Black Inlet again."

* * *

Three hours, four cups of coffee, and a burrito later, I'm well enough to take the bus to my parents' place. I can't afford a new phone right now, but my old one is still kicking around there somewhere. I'll be knocked behind two gens, but at least I'll have contact with the world outside of my living room.

The buzzing of a cicada sounds over the middle-class cul-de-sac, and the afternoon heat burns my bare legs and arms. Freshly-mowed grass kicks up beneath my shoes as I walk across the lawn of my parents' backsplit house. Air thick with pollen, chlorine trickling in from the neighbours' pool—this was the smell of my childhood summers. Before I replaced Kool Aid with whiskey and jump rope with boys.

My stepmom, Donna, waters the tulips in her typical gardener attire: a bucket hat, overalls, and a tacky floral shirt. "Hey," I say, and she whips around. The rim of her hat conceals her eyes, but I'd never miss that sour, puckered expression she gets every time she sees me.

"Oh. Hi, Aria."

"Is my dad around?"

"He's having a Skype meeting in the basement." She pauses. "Would you like to come in?"

Duh, but I keep my mouth shut. Any amount of hostility I can keep at bay between Donna and I is a win for both of us.

We go inside, and the AC cools my sweltering skin. A beeswax candle burns on the console table, and the mauve walls of the den have been painted a slightly different tone since I was last here two months ago.

It's hard to believe I ever called this place home. Donna has changed it so much since I moved out, it's basically like a furniture showhouse that alternates every month. The memories are still here, though. In this room with Donna, especially, it's hard not to picture her screaming at me as she hurled my belongings out the front door and told me to go live with Luna. I was seventeen, still in high school.

I refuse to let it get to me; I may not live here anymore, but I spent all my formative years in this place and Donna will never take that from me. When I kick my shoes onto the mat, she scoffs and rearranges them before she faces me. I did my best to conceal the welt on my cheek, but brace myself for her judgement.

"Good lord, Aria. What did you do this time?"

"Don't worry about it, Donna." I push past her into the kitchen. She chases me.

"I'll never understand you. I'm fifty-two years of age and I've still never been in a fist fight. And you reek like a brewery."

"Anything else?" I pour myself a glass of water, so not in the mood for her shit.

She hangs her hat on a rack. "Were you at the bars last night? What happened to your face?"

"It doesn't matter. I'm fine, really."

Donna draws a breath, before she goes into the stainless steel fridge and pulls out a jug of lemonade. My mouth waters. I can say what I want about this woman, but she makes the best damn lemonade in the world.

"Well, why don't you sit down?" she offers. "We'll have some lemonade and catch up."

After twenty years as my stepmom, Donna should know I'd rather skip the pleasantries. But she's a woman of customs, so I join her at the table and accept her bewitching lemon concoction. The sugary, yet sour taste washes away just a bit of the hangover.

"So." She folds her hands over her lap, greying hair in a tight bun. "How is... work?"

"I got promoted to assistant manager."

I wait for pride, happiness, anything to flicker over her face, but nada. "Oh," is all she says.

"Yep."

"And you're still living with that Luna?"

"Always."

"I see. That's good..."

And this is exactly why I'd rather skip the pleasantries with her: it's awkward. Donna isn't my real mother and never has been, but when I was little, there was a time when I wanted her to be. I guess she could never see me past Trudy's ghost. The ghost of a woman I'd never even met.

It still pisses me off, and now that I'm an adult, I think it's bullshit how she shunned me the way she did. And I think it's bullshit how my dad still loves her even though she made me feel lonely and unwanted in my own home. I never asked for Trudy Watson to be my birth mother. I sure as hell never wanted her to be.

When I'm quiet, Donna says, "Well, do you have a boyfriend yet? Your aunts keep asking about you and I have nothing to tell them."

The hairs on the back of my neck raise. "Nope." I pop the 'p'.

"You should really think about going out with Tommy. He'd make a wonderful boyfriend."

Ugh. Tommy is this clean-cut Christian guy Donna knows from church. She has it in her head that if I start dating him, I'll suddenly see the light and never drink or 'cause trouble' again. I'll become the perfect step-daughter she's always wanted. No offense to Tommy—but I think we're too different.

"Tommy isn't my type," I say, "and I'm not his. And I can meet guys fine just on my own." Okay, that's a lie.

Donna sighs. "Aria, I don't know how many times I have to tell you this: you're not going to find a good man the way you are. Getting drunk at bars and punched in the face—it's not a good look. You'll only ever attract ruffians if you don't clean yourself up."

Red flashes before my eyes. Breathe, Aria. Don't freak out.

"I mean, the last boy you brought home was an absolute trainwreck. What was his name? Cam? Caid?"

"Caydon." I grind my teeth.

"Yes." Her lips purse. "He was quite the mongrel."

"Yeah, well at the time, I liked him. He wasn't even that bad, Donna. We were sixteen. He was just a stupid kid."

She laughs once. "Sounds like somebody I know."

I've been trying to keep it in. To mask my annoyance behind a layer of sarcasm—that usually works when it comes to putting up with Donna, but the anger wins. Steam practically rockets from my ears.

"Can't you just keep your comments to yourself for once?" I push away from the table. "I'm hungover as hell and the past twenty-four hours of my life have been absolute shit. I don't need this from you, Donna. I really don't."

Chest burning, I storm upstairs and into my old bedroom, making a point to slam the door shut. My lungs heave, and I resist the urge to throw my fist through the wall.

My temper has always been quick, but only family can make me snap this fast. Donna has this way of dragging her nails under my skin; she knows exactly where to poke and prod. I swear, it's hard to believe she doesn't do it on purpose.

I collapse onto my bed and hold my throbbing head in my hands. What I hate most is that she's right. Every relationship I've ever been in has ended in disaster, and I always pick the worst dudes. And when I met an actually decent one last night, I blew it harder than I blew my high school finals. All because I was drunk and angry.

I know I'm a shitty person. I just wish Donna didn't have to rub my face in it everytime I see her.

"Hey, Jupiter." My dad's voice melts my frustration. He leans against the doorframe, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, misty blue eyes hidden under thick-rimmed glasses. My heart clenches and swells.

"Hi, Dad." I look away. Everything in here is still exactly the same: the silver walls, the poster of the milky way, the styrofoam display of the solar system I made in the seventh grade. I don't know why, but Dad won't let Donna change it. "Remind me why you're married to her, again?" I laugh without humour.

"Donna just wants what's best for you," he says. "I know she has an old-fashioned way of going about things, but she really does mean well."

My nails dig into my palms. He always defends her. Dad was on board with kicking me out when I was seventeen, but the years away from home have given me time to forgive him. Now when I look at him, I try to focus on the good times, like when he took me to see my first constellations out in the countryside with his telescope. As angry as he makes me, I could never hate the man who showed me the universe.

"Well life isn't all about finding some perfect man to marry," I say. "I don't know why she always has to bring it up. And she was a shitty parent to me, I hate how she thinks she can still tell me how to behave."

"Don't take it to heart, Aria. I wasn't perfect when I was twenty-one either."

"Donna was, though."

He wheezes a laugh. "More or less. She came from a well-adjusted family. Her parents' hated me at first. Didn't want her to marry a man who already had a kid from another relationship."

I'm not good at talking about family or the past. I pick up one of my old astronomy textbooks and flip open the dusty pages to a picture of the sun.

"Still reading up on space?" Dad sits beside me.

"Almost every day."

"Learn anything new and exciting?"

"Not really. They've officially discovered two-hundred-and-nineteen new planets."

"Yeah, I heard about that."

"I figured as much."

I only look at the pictures as I move through the book. Dad breathes out through his nose and says, "Well hey, kiddo, it's nice of you to stop by. Why don't you stay for dinner?"

"No way." When his eyes lower, I sigh. "Okay. I'll think about it."

With a sad smile, he stands. "All right. Well I hope you do. Either way, say bye to me before you go, okay?" He stops at the doorway. "And Aria, one more thing... have you heard from your mother lately? Trudy, I mean."

I stiffen at her name, but nod. "Yeah, couple times, but never for long. Why?"

"Stay away from her. It's suspicious that she's back in town all of a sudden."

"Trust me, I don't want to see her."

With a forced smile, he closes the door behind him and leaves me in a heavy silence. Tears prick my eyes. I don't know why I'm so damn upset about everything. Hangovers suck.

Snapping myself out of it, I run my finger along the dust-coated furniture. It's weird to think of this room fossilizing here, this relic of the teenage self I left behind the same way I abandoned these astronomy books. In a lot of ways, this place still feels like mine, but it also serves as a constant reminder that I'm not a kid anymore. I need to grow up.

The styrofoam planets at my desk are prickly to the touch. Neptune is painted in electric blue with streaks of black—the exact same colours as the plaid shirt Ryan wore last night. Drunk, hazy memories materialize in my mind. His kind eyes. His smell when he carried me. Him waiting outside of McDonald's for me.

Then Donna's words carousel in my head. "You'll never find a good man the way you are."

Fuck that, you cow. Maybe I do have a hard time getting good guys to like me—but the least I can do is apologize to one.

So tonight, I'm going back to The Black Inlet. Sober.

* * *

A/N: So now you should have a broader idea of who Aria is and where she comes from! I hope you enjoyed this chapter even though The Guy wasn't in it 😁

I would really appreciate any feedback or predictions. Thank you so much for reading!

And don't forget to vote!