American Adventure: My Uncle is Don Quixote

Anya froze the moment the words left her mouth.

She hadn’t intended to say it—or at least, not right now.

But Anya wasn’t the type of girl to swallow her grievances. She did what she wanted, when she wanted. Since she’d said it, there was no taking it back.

She stared into Elizabeth’s eyes, then let out a soft snort—a sound that was half contempt, half misery.

"Why did it have to be you?" Her voice was soft, and she wasn’t even looking at Elizabeth as she spoke.

Elizabeth opened her mouth. She had already prepared her excuses, in fact—long before she had even received the invitation to Anya’s birthday party.

She was like a clumsy thief who had snuck into someone’s home, constantly braced for the moment she would be discovered.

But as she looked into Anya’s eyes, the words she had prepared died on her lips.

There was no anger in Anya’s eyes, not even resentment.

Her gaze held only a bottomless sense of betrayal, vast as a mountain and deep as the sea, which instantly shattered all of Elizabeth’s prepared words.

Anya looked like a little girl whose most precious treasure had been snatched away, only to turn and discover the thief was her only friend in New York.

Tears visibly welled in Anya’s eyes, clinging to her lashes, threatening to fall at any moment.

Anya blinked hard and took a deep breath, trying to force the tears back.

"Why aren’t you talking? Hmm?" She looked at the silent Elizabeth, her lips twisting into a smile that was uglier than a grimace. "Seeing me like this... you must be so proud of yourself, right?"

"I’m not—" Elizabeth shook her head.

Anya didn’t lash out at Elizabeth, which somehow made Elizabeth feel even worse. Anya roughly grabbed the nearly empty bottle of Bordeaux and poured herself another full glass.

The wine sloshed against the side of the glass, splashing onto the white tablecloth.

She raised the glass and downed it in one go, choking on the last swallow. She coughed a few times, her breathing heavy.

Elizabeth stood up. "You’ve had too much to drink," she said. "I’ll go get Li Wei—"

Before she could finish, Anya shot out a hand and grabbed Elizabeth’s wrist, her fingers digging in desperately.

"Sit down," she said. "This is between us."

She yanked Elizabeth back down into her seat, then reached for the bottle again to pour another glass.

The bottle was light. What little wine was left trickled into the glass. Anya tilted it up and tapped the bottom, draining the last few drops.

She raised the glass, gesturing toward Elizabeth with it.

"Tell me," Anya said, her words direct. "When did it start?"

"When did you start falling for him? Don’t think I can’t tell. I’m not a fool."

’Yes, when *had* it been?’

’Was it at the Brielley graduation dance, when Li Wei gave her a pair of sneakers? Was it when he’d sunk a hole-in-one despite Harrison’s taunts? Was it that night he’d told her, "I will crown you queen"?’

’She couldn’t say for sure. Individually, none of those moments seemed like enough. But together... they were small streams flowing into a great river.’

’But she knew Anya wasn’t looking for a precise date. She wanted a confession, spoken from her own lips: that she, Elizabeth Mellon, had fallen in love with her best friend’s man.’

The tension fermented in the silence.

Anya watched the silent Elizabeth, her voice starting to rise, but then she winced and clutched her stomach.

’She’d have to add another lesson to her list: don’t chug a bottle of red wine in under five minutes on an empty stomach. Your stomach will throw a fit, just like it did with the ice cream that one time.’

A wave of nausea churned in her stomach. She swallowed hard, and her body instinctively doubled over.

Elizabeth reacted on pure instinct, rushing forward to catch her. She wrapped one arm around Anya’s waist and steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.

"Come on, to the bathroom."

Anya tried to shrug her off.

"I don’t need your—"

But the alcohol was hitting her hard now. Her body went limp, her legs stumbled, and she had no strength. Her push was more like a kitten batting at Elizabeth’s arm.

Elizabeth didn’t let go. Instead, she held Anya tighter and helped her into the nearby bathroom.

The moment they were through the bathroom door, Anya couldn’t hold it in any longer. She tore free from Elizabeth’s grasp, stumbled, and collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving violently.

Her entire body convulsed as the undigested contents of her stomach came rushing up, reeking of alcohol and stomach acid. Her hair tumbled loose, a few black strands falling forward.

Elizabeth knelt behind her, holding her hair back with one hand while gently rubbing her back with the other.

She felt a little better with her stomach empty, but her body was still wracked with shudders. She wasn’t sure if it was a physical reaction to the vomiting or something else, but huge tears began to stream from her eyes.

*Sob...*

She stayed slumped over the toilet, her forehead resting on her forearm, her shoulders trembling faintly.

And then, Elizabeth heard her cry.

It wasn’t a loud, hysterical wail, but a choked, suppressed sob. It was the sound of a child who’d had their candy snatched away and was now huddled in a corner, trying desperately not to let anyone hear them cry, but failing to hold it back.