"Oh c'mon, why can't I come with you guys?" Jess whines.
They're all crammed together in the bathroom, and she watches as Schmidt and Winston fight each other for space near the mirror as they get ready to hit the town. Some friend of a friend of a friend told Schmidt about a club where it was rumored that Kanye would supposedly be making a secret appearance, which had sent Schmidt into a full-blown frenzy.
Schmidt turns to look at her, his fingers sticky with pomade. "Jessica, how many times do I have to tell you this? Befriending Kanye is the most efficient way for me to jump social strata. All I have to do is meet and bedazzle him, and I can't have you coming along dragging me down."
"Then how come Winston gets to go?"
"I need him to prove I can be friends with black people," Schmidt explains.
Winston rolls his eyes and punches Schmidt hard in the arm. "Not cool."
Schmidt grabs his injured bicep with an affronted scoff, his face reddening. "Do you want to go to the club or not!"
"Dude," Winston says with a straight face, pointing down to Schmidt's waist with his hairbrush. "We're not even going to get in if you have that thing on."
"It's after Labor Day! I'm wearing the whales."
"You look ridiculous," Jess chimes in as Winston laughs. "You look like the villain in an '80s high school movie."
"Insulting the belt isn't going to convince me to let you come along," Schmidt says defensively as he turns back to the mirror to fuss with his hair.
"Schmidt, please? You can't just leave me alone in the loft. You know how I get when I'm all by myself."
It gets weird. Fast. She's not suited to being alone. She's like a little puppy. If she's left alone for too long she gets all nervous and bored and ends up making a huge mess. Cece's busy with her model friends tonight; the guys are all she has left. There's only so long that she can stare at her students' essays on a Saturday night before she starts to go stir-crazy.
"Nick will be home any minute," Winston says sympathetically, patting her on the shoulder on his way out the bathroom door. "You'll be fine."
The guys leave before Nick gets home, despite Jess' complaints.
She tries her best to kill time until he gets home. She tries on everything in her closet twice. She watches the first fifteen minutes of all her favorite movies. She starts four different knitting projects. But time continues to drag on. A few minutes turns into half an hour turns into a full hour turns into three hours and now Jess is starting to get worried. It's almost 2am and Nick still isn't home and the guys are still out at some bar.
There's a creaking noise in the walls and Jess swears she can see some sort of shadowy figure out of the corner of her eye. But every time she turns to see what it is, it disappears. She tries calling Schmidt a hundred times, but he doesn't seem to actually care about her life because he keeps sending her calls straight to voicemail.
"Hey, Schmidt, it's Jess," she whispers into her phone, clutching the corner of the quilt she's used to create a panic fort. "Nick's not back and I'm all alone, when are you getting back? Also, do you know of anyone who died mysteriously in the loft? I think it's haunted. Please call me back, and if I don't answer it's because a poltergeist has swallowed me up in which case you should come home immediately. Or save yourselves and burn down the building. Goodbye. Possibly forever."
She ends the call and the phone immediately rings in her hand. Jess shrieks and immediately hits Accept Call without checking the caller ID. "Thank God! Schmidt, where are you?"
"Is this Jess?" a gruff voice on the other end says and Jess' heart starts to pound again. Oh no. Oh no. Oh no no no. Has she learned nothing from every horror movie ever? She looks around the living room in wide-eyed paranoia. The call has to be coming from inside the house!
"Yes," she squeaks out. "Who's this?"
"This is Bob. I'm a bartender at The Griffin in Atwater Village. I've got your buddy here and he needs someone to come pick him up. You're the first person to actually answer their phone."
Things click into place and Jess lets out a shaky breath. Of course the loft isn't haunted. That wouldn't make sense. Why does she always jump to the worst-case scenarios? "Okay, no problem. Who is it? Schmidt? Winston? Loud frat guy or eccentric black guy? Both?"
"Here, I'll put you on," Bob says, and there's the muffled sound of the phone being passed over.
"Whozat?" the guy on the phone slurs, his deep voice familiar.
"Wait, Nick? Is that you?"
"Jess!" he cheers. "Ya gotta come 'n get me. This guy- what's your name? Bob. Bob says I gotta stop an' he said I gotta have someone get me. I think I drank my car but that dos'n sound right. Also, drinkin' is fun, Jess. *Hic* Have we ever been drinkin' together? We gotta do that sometime-"
"Nick-" she cuts off his drunken rambling as she crawls out of her pillow fort and grabs a hoodie off the back of the couch. Jess wedges the phone up against her ear with her shoulder as she pulls the hoodie on over her pajama top. "I'm leaving the loft now, okay? Stay where you are. I'll be there in 20 minutes."
"Oh-kay," he says, dragging out the vowels.
The place is easy enough to find, and Jess walks into the empty bar and spots Nick right away. She comes up to where he's leaning heavily against the bar, digging a straw around in a glass of ice. "Nick? I got your phone call."
Nick almost falls off his stool when he turns to face her, a huge grin on his face. "Jess-" he burps, "-ica! Dirty J! Doctor Day! My toilet sister!"
"Um, that's me, I guess. Are you ready to go home?"
Nick lets out an over-dramatic groan, "I can't go home, Jess. I told you already. Caroline kicked me out. An' now Abbi's all sad. I told you." He slumps back over the bar, pressing his forehead against a coaster.
"C'mon, Nick. The bar's closed. We're going back to the loft."
He frowns petulantly, his arms crossed over his chest. Arguing with him when he's this drunk isn't going to get her anywhere. It's best to just play along until Nick either sobers up or she can convince Drunk Nick that it's his idea to go home so he can collapse in his own bed instead of sleeping at the bar.
"Where do you want to go?"
"If so," he mumbles into the counter. "Food?"
"You want to get food?" she asks. Nick sits up and gives her a double thumbs up. Jess sighs and checks her phone for the time. "Everywhere's closed."
He spins away from her and yells down the bar, "Hey Big Bob! Another round!"
"Alright!" she throws her arms up in the air in defeat. "Fine."
Nick grins victoriously and slaps a twenty on the bar before he hops off the barstool. He trips over his own feet in the middle of the room, but looks incredibly pleased with himself when he manages to catch himself before he falls flat on his face. He stumbles again on the curb, so Jess grabs onto his shoulder to help steady him as she leads him to her car.
"Ugh, you're the best, Jess," he groans into her shoulder. "Izzat my hoodie? Looks good on ya."
Jess glances down. She can't remember the last time she saw Nick in anything besides a suit, but the maroon hoodie she's wearing over her pajamas doesn't look like something either Winston or Schmidt would wear. It's comfy. The fabric is soft and it's loose enough on her that she can tuck her hands all the way into the sleeves. "I guess it is. You're not going to puke in my car, right?"
Nick nods at her, his face screwed up in a smirk of drunken confidence, "Vomit free since '93, baby." It doesn't do anything to convince Jess, but then again there's not a lot of options on the table. So she helps him into the passenger's seat of her car, and makes him hold a plastic grocery bag in his lap, just in case. She drives around aimlessly for a while, looking for someplace that's still open this late, and hoping that after a few minutes Nick will get distracted on this late-night adventure or pass out in the front seat so she can drive them home.
"Thanks for getting me, Jess," he says, still drunk, but slightly less so.
"Of course."
He leans his forehead against the window, "The bartender tried to call Caroline, but I said he couldn't. That's why I gave him my phone, because I keep calling her when I'm drunk but she doesn't answer me. And then she just drops off my stuff at work and says we need a break? What's up with that?" Nick shrugs. Jess opens her mouth to ask him about what's going on, but he suddenly perks up and points to a storefront with its lights on and a flashing sign that says Open 24 Hours! "There!"
Jess sighs and puts on her blinker, even though she's the only car on the road, and parks in the empty lot beside the diner.
Their waitress is a young woman who hops up from her seat behind the register when they walk through the door. She doesn't remark on Jess' pajamas or the way Nick is still swaying on his feet. "Booth or table?" she asks perkily, seemingly far too excited to be working the graveyard shift at an empty restaurant.
"Booth," Nick decides, and the waitress smiles and ushers them to their seat.
Mary Anne brings them both waters and a coffee for Nick, and then leaves them to figure out their orders. She ducks back behind the register and pulls out what looks like a textbook, and Jess wonders if she's a student at one of the local colleges. Jess turns her attention back to the menu, wondering if she's supposed to order dinner or breakfast and if the rules of brunch are applicable to this scenario.
Nick orders the breakfast special, which sounds greasy enough to soak up whatever alcohol is still in his stomach. She hopes it doesn't end up on the floor of her car but at least Nick looks drunk and happy for now. She follows his lead and gets pancakes with strawberries, even though all that sugar is going to keep her awake for another few hours. The waitress walks off to put in their orders to the kitchen, leaving them alone under the fluorescent lights of the dining area.
A large truck passes by the window, and Nick's eyes follow it until it disappears from their view. He sighs and sets his elbow on the table, resting his weight on the palm of his hand. Nick turns his gaze back to her, his eyes tired and a lopsided smile on his face. "Hey, Day," he says softly, like it's a normal weekday morning and she just walked into the kitchen for breakfast.
Jess wants to be mad at him. She wants to be be annoyed that he dragged her halfway across town because he decided to get so shitfaced he couldn't get himself home. She's not his babysitter. She shouldn't have to give up her only free night in weeks so she can escort her drunk friend on his quest for breakfast food at 3 a.m.
But she likes taking care of people. She cares about her friends. She cares about everyone, no matter who they are. She can't help it; she gets attached to everyone within five minutes of meeting them. Jess doesn't mind being the designated driver or texting people to make sure they got home safely. When it comes down to it, she'd much rather pick someone up from the club than the the hospital. She's the 'mom' of all her friend groups. She's always been the responsible one, ever since she was a kid. Maybe that makes her a pushover, but that's just who she is, and she thinks the world would be a much nicer place if more people would look out for each other.
Nick is still leagues away from being sober, but at least he's past the Annoying Frat Boy phase of drunkenness. He's the quiet and contemplative kind of drunk now that he's coming down off that high. It's like his outer shell has peeled away. He's no longer wearing the fake smile he plasters on to convince people that everything is fine and he's still living the American Dream. She looks across the table at him, and feels like she's seeing the real him for once, like the glimpse into his life that she got at Ikea a few weeks ago. He's just Nick now, the tired, soft-spoken guy who works too hard and wants what's best for his family. The guy who's trying his best, even though he's convinced himself that he'll never be good enough.
She smiles back at him. "Hey, Miller."
Mary Anne comes around with their food a moment later and Nick contemplates Jess' stack of pancakes with a disheartened look in his eyes.
"Do you know what day it is?" he asks her around a bite of potatoes.
Jess pours syrup on the side of her plate, "I think it's technically Sunday morning."
"No." Nick frowns and pokes at his eggs. "It's Abbi's birthday."
She freezes and looks up at him in shock. "Oh."
"Yeah." Nick shrugs, and gestures to Jess' plate. "I would always make her birthday pancakes. They weren't anything special, I just followed the directions on the side of the box, but Abbi always liked them. We had a special plate too, with a butterfly pattern and her name on it. She would get all excited and plan weeks in advance, trying to decide what flavor she wanted. It's one of the few days of the year I always take off work so we can spend the day together, just me and her."
Nick looks down at his plate, his eyes watery. Jess grabs a napkin from the dispenser and hands it to him, and he gives her a small smile in thanks.
"I just wish I was there. I miss out on so much because of work, but I always tried to make it special when I was able to make time for her. But now it's been over a month of nothing." He bites his lip. "Sometimes I wonder if she even misses me at all."
"Nick," she says softly. "You know that's not true. She loves you. That's why she wishes you were home more. You should hear the way she talks about you at school."
"Does she-" Nick starts to say, but then clams up when Mary Anne appears seemingly out of nowhere.
"Everything taste alright?" she asks cheerily as she refills their water glasses, oblivious to the mood at the table. Jess nods awkwardly and Nick takes a sip of coffee to avoid making eye contact. The waitress gives them a bright smile. "Sounds great, let me know if you need anything!" she says before heading back off towards the register.
They sit in silence for a few moments, two friends eating breakfast in the middle of the night. Time, coffee, and real food seem to be doing their part, and Nick appears to be sobering up ever so slightly. He's right in that sweet spot where he's not rambling incoherently but he's still uninhibited enough to actually talk about his feelings.
Nick takes a deep breath, a look of longing falling over his features. "I used to always tuck Abbi in at night. I couldn't be there for her during the day like Caroline, but I would set aside an hour every evening to read her a story and tell her I loved her before she went to sleep."
He stirs the spoon in his coffee. "When Abbi got a little older she got tired of the same picture books every night. So I used to make up these stories, about this ex-cop turned private investigator who solves all the cases the real cops don't want people to know about. Caroline thought they were too complicated for someone her age, but Abbi loved them. She's always been a bright kid."
Nick smiles at the memory. "You know I'm not great at talking about feelings, but for some reason it was always easy for me to talk to her through stories. Julius Pepperwood was the guy who I wanted to be, the underdog who played by his own rules and helped people in need, all the people the world forgot about but he knew were worth saving. That's what I wanted Abbi to think of me, that I was one of the good guys, someone she could be proud of."
"She is proud of you," Jess tells him earnestly. "She's writing her own version of those stories you used to tell, and it's clearly based off of you. You're her hero."
"That's just the thing." Nick frowns at his coffee, whatever slight glimpse of happiness gone from his eyes. "Pepperwood isn't real. He's just some mirage that I can never live up to. Heroes only live in stories. There are no real-life heroes. Your heroes always let you down."
"Well, that's just dumb," she says confidently. "So what if you're not perfect? No one is. Abbi doesn't expect you to be. Kids are more perceptive than most people give them credit for. They can tell the difference between obligation and real love. You know why she looks forward to pancakes every year on her birthday? Because you're there. You know why she saves all those bedtime stories you told her? Not because Pepperwood is perfect, but because he's you, her father, telling her about how he wants the world to be for her. A good world where there are still good guys like you in it. You're her hero because you're her father and she knows you love her. And she loves you. No matter what."
Nick stares at her, a little surprised, like she's just flipped his world on it's head. She wonders when the last time he thought of himself as something other than "not quite good enough." It hurts her to see him beating himself up over this, too caught up in all his little mistakes to see the bigger picture, all the good he's doing. He's a great father. He cares so much about Abbi, and it's clear that his daughter feels the same about him, even if he isn't around as much as she'd like.
"And you know what?" She points at him with her fork. "I don't think it's fair for Caroline to cut you out of Abbi's life while you and Caroline figure out whatever is going on between you two. And I think you both ought to step back and consider how this is affecting her. Caroline needs to be more understanding of your point of view, but you also need to keep your end of the deal and actually set aside more time in your work schedule for Abbi."
"Don't you think I'm trying?" he sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "I've been calling Caroline nonstop. She won't listen to me."
Jess nods and takes another bite of her pancakes. "Did you try using the feelings stick?"
Nick makes a turtleface at her.
"Well?" she asks.
"No."
"Don't knock it until you try it!" she says teasingly. "But seriously, it can't hurt. Worst case scenario: she still doesn't call. You've got nothing to lose."
Nick narrows his eyes, and his frown deepens. Jess looks him in the eye, because she's just as stubborn as he is, especially when she knows she's right. They're momentarily caught in a staring contest, each party daring the other to back down. Nick breaks first. Jess eats a bite of her pancakes in triumph.
"Fine. It's not going to work, though," Nick insists as he scrapes up the remains of his eggs from his plate.
"We'll see." Jess smiles brightly, and treats herself to a victory strawberry.
They don't get back to the loft until almost 4 a.m. Jess sleeps in until noon. Nick, presumably nursing a massive hangover, has already left for his law office before she finally drags herself out of bed. He runs into her later that evening, but he only asks her about her lesson plans for the week, not acknowledging their late-night adventure. Jess wonders if he even remembers what he told her, or if everything that happened after he left the bar is one black blur and she had only been talking to Drunk Nick the entire time.
On Monday morning Nick sits beside her at the kitchen island and hands her a sealed envelope. Jess accepts it carefully, taking note of Nick's careful handwriting on the front that addresses it to "Abbi."
"I was hoping you could give that to her," he explains, looking nervous. "I know you can't get involved, and you don't have to do anything that will get you in trouble. But-"
"Of course."
He lets out a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Jess."
Jess thinks she is probably crossing some kind of line of by getting this involved in the personal life of one of her students, but Abbi's reaction is worth it. Abbi lights up when she opens the envelope and pulls out the handmade card that reads "Happy Birthday" with a few hand-drawn butterflies on the cover. Abbi reads the note inside, an excited smile on her face the whole time. It might not seem like much, but Jess can see just how much it means to Abbi.