Chapter 3
Spencer does wake up with a headache, but Emily’s already gone out and gotten them coffee, breakfast sandwiches, and even a bottle of aspirin. “I figured this may come in handy,” she explains when Spencer comments on it.
“I’m going to wager that you figured right,” Spencer replies, knocking back two pills with a swig of coffee. She breathes in deeply and takes another long, slow sip, her eyes fluttering closed. “You are a god, Emily Fields.”
Emily laughs and walks back to the kitchen. Spencer has yet to move from her spot on the couch; she slept there last night, unable to handle sleeping in her mom’s bed. Emily fought her on it, repeatedly pointing out that Spencer’s body would curse her for it in the morning, before finally relenting and taking the bed for herself. Emily wasn’t wrong—between a day of flying and a night spent scrunched up on the couch, Spencer feels like her whole spine is out of whack. It isn’t helped by the fact that she hasn’t been able to sleep for more than a few hours at a time these past couple months.
Emily must notice her stretch and yawn because she eyes Spencer warily. “Have you been sleeping?” she asks softly. Spencer shrugs and shakes her head. Emily squares her shoulders and rummages in her bag for a second. “I figured as much,” she says. “Which is why I brought this.” Spencer’s eyes take a second to register what she’s holding up, but when they do, she raises an eyebrow.
“Pot?” Spencer says with surprise, taking in the baggie in Emily’s left hand and the small glass pipe in her right. “What’s a good girl like you doing with that stuff?”
Emily raises a shoulder self-consciously and sets the items down. Spencer’s curiosity has gotten the best of her, and she rises off the couch to join Emily in the kitchen. “A girl I used to bartend with deals on the side,” she explains. “I don’t smoke much—hardly at all, really—but it helps me sleep sometimes. I know I could try meds, but after everything with Dr. Rollins and—”
Spencer sets a hand over Emily’s, effectively cutting her off. “Believe me, I get it,” she says. “I’m the last person who would judge you about something like this.” She smiles when she feels Emily relax. “It’s kind of nice to know you have a wild side.” It comes out more gravelly than she intended, sounding almost suggestive. Spencer clears her throat and draws her hand away.
Emily looks up a bit impishly. “Anyway,” she says, “I’m not suggesting we light up right now, or anything, but it’s an option if we need it.” Her smile slips into a small smirk, as she adds, “Or want it.”
Spencer laughs, and for the first time in a while it doesn’t feel tinged with bitterness. “Oh, this is going to be one hell of a road trip, isn’t it?”
Emily giggles in return. “One for the record books, I’m sure.”
They aren't especially productive on Wednesday. Peter asked Spencer to pack up a few things to bring back, but there isn’t much. In the short time they were living in L.A., Spencer’s parents clearly weren’t decorating, and beyond that, the cleaning crew that Peter hired a few days prior shipped back some boxes. There are only a few small, sentimental things: some framed photograph from their room, a couple of sweaters that Veronica wanted specifically left behind for Spencer, three bottles of expensive scotch that Peter didn’t trust the cleaning crew to handle.
“The essentials,” Spencer remarks as she unscrews one of the bottles and takes a hearty swig. She hands the bottle to Emily, who hesitates for about ten seconds before taking a tentative sip.
“Will he be mad?” Emily asks after they’ve drank enough for it to be noticeable (both in her demeanor and the bottle).
“Nah,” Spencer says. “If anything, he’ll be proud.” She raises the scotch toward the ceiling, as though beginning a toast. “This is how us Hastings cope.”
“It’s how the Fields cope too,” Emily snickers. “We’re just in more denial about it.” She sits up from the arm of the couch and grabs a slice of pizza. They ordered it hours ago, both realizing how incredibly hungry they were sometime around six o’clock. It’s nearly eleven now, and Spencer’s plan of going to bed early so they could be well-rested for tomorrow’s drive has fallen by the wayside. Or maybe it was Emily’s plan; she can’t remember now.
“We should get some sleep,” Emily says, as though reading her mind.
That suddenly sounds like the last thing Spencer wants to do. “Fuck that,” she says. “I haven’t been around sloshed Emily Fields in forever.”
Emily gazes at her warily. “You’re the fun drunk, remember? I tend to get a little—”
“Nihilistic?”
“I was going to go with dark and broody,” Emily says. She doesn’t look offended by Spencer’s word choice.
“I remember,” Spencer comments bemusedly. She takes another sip of scotch and hands the bottle back to Emily. And then—maybe it’s the booze, maybe it’s her grief, maybe it's the way Emily pushes a hand through her hair—Spencer says, “It’s pretty hot, actually.”
Emily chokes on the scotch, a little bit spluttering out of her mouth, and pounds her chest as she gets the sip down. The sight makes Spencer start to giggle, uncontrollably, and soon they’re both pretty much doubled over, though for different reasons. “Did I startle you?” Spencer asks between gasps of air.
Emily sets the bottle down, sucking in a large breath. “Yes!” she says sharply. “What the hell was that about?”
Spencer shrugs, deciding to go with nonchalance. She isn’t exactly sure where this is going to take her, but that might be okay. “It’s no big shocker that you’re hot, Emily. You’ve pretty much always had a steady stream of pussy, ready and willing.”
Emily’s eyes close and open, her face tight in a grimace. “Okay, first of all: I cannot handle you calling me hot and using words like ‘pussy’ within the span of two minutes. And second of all: you are not allowed to think I’m hot!” she says indignantly.
“Why not?” Spencer challenges. “Do you think I’m hot?”
“I’m not allowed to think you’re hot either!” Emily sputters.
Spencer smirks. “So you do think I’m hot.”
Emily flaps her arms, looking completely at a loss. Spencer has to admit: this is sort of fun.
(Does that make her Alison? God, she never wants to do that to Emily, but she’s too drunk to contemplate that right now.)
“There is a line,” Emily says deliberately. “A boundary that cannot be crossed. Because we’re friends, first and foremost, but I'm gay and I have eyes, so it’s important that my straight female friends stay in a certain category.”
Spencer bites her lip, her smile dying. She gets that. She doesn’t want to make this hard for Emily. But there is one important clarification she has to make. “That makes sense,” she says. “But, uh, for the record:”—she points to herself—“not so straight.”
Emily’s eyes bug out a bit but otherwise her reaction is fairly neutral. “Okay,” she says, blinking a few times. “Okay, cool. Good to know.”
“Yeah,” Spencer says softly. “Kind of figured that out after Caleb and I split. I wasn’t hiding anything, I just never found an easy way to—”
Emily leans forward and places a hand over Spencer’s own. If she feels weird about them touching after this conversation, she doesn’t let on. “I get it,” Emily tells her. “And I’m the last person who would judge you about something like this.”
Spencer smiles slowly, and relaxes against Emily’s touch.