Vanhattan

“You really don’t have to do this.”
“Hey, it’ll be fun – it’ll be like a sleepover. We can wear fuzzy pajamas and eat – I don’t know, whatever girls eat at sleepovers – ice cream sundaes or something. Popcorn or cookie dough.”
“I don’t have fuzzy pajamas.”
“Good, me either. And I don’t have ice cream. I do have popsicles, you want a popsicle?”
“Um –”
“There’s cherry, lime, orange, grape, um, blue raspberry, whatever flavor blue is supposed to add —”
“…Cherry is fine.”
“Okay. Two cherries it is. Here.”
“Thanks – oh, she got vomit on your shirt.”
“It’s an old shirt, don’t worry about it. Do you want to sit down? Here, let me just move some things – there. Wow. You look like hell.”
“Thanks.”
“No – I just mean it looks like you’ve had a long night. You look, I mean, you look great, you usually – you look really…. Uh. What happened to your lip?”
“Oh, it’s just part of my long night.”

“Just, uh, sit up here – and, uh, hold your head still. Yeah, it looks like she got you pretty good, but lips always bleed a lot, so it looks worse than it is. That’s why they’re so red, there’s a lot of, um, capillaries up close to the skin. Hold on — I’m just going to clean it so I can get a better look, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay. This might sting, but just a bit, I promise. Sorry — sorry —”
“Henry — it’s just a cut.”
“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry. Okay. See, it’s already starting to close. This definitely will sting a bit, just don’t — don’t move.”
“Ah — ow—”
“Shit, are you okay?”
“Yeah, just bumped it, sorry.”
“You’re apologizing to me and I’m putting alcohol on your — your war wound, here. Now sit still and don’t break my mirror, it’s bad luck.”
“Okay.”
“There, you’re all taken care of.”
“Thanks.”
“Yep. Feel free to make yourself at home while I go mop up your sister’s vomit.”