Page 83 of A Very Snowed In New Year
Oh, but I must…
Fuck.
Fuuuuuck!
Fuck you, well-lit vanity area! You aren’t the boss of me! The ceiling swims. Turns and turns like the widening gyre. Why do you mock me, lights? Why?!
The great question of existence plagues me…
Why?
Whyyyyyy?
And then I hear a kind, sweet voice from outside my head, in the other room. Piper. Yes. She is the why. She is my why. She is the eternal yes.
I really hope she doesn’t yell at me.
“Holden?” she whispers from somewhere above me.
Yes. My angel. My sweet, darling angel comes whispering, treading lightly upon my whiskey dreams.
“Mmmph.”
“Oh no. Why are the lights on? I’m going to turn them off, okay?”
“Mmph.”
“Hang on—I’ll get you a couple of pillows.”
“Hmmm!” I am saved. My heart beats for Piper. The blood that courses through my tired veins are filling with love again.
Hopefully I won’t throw up.
Half an eternity later, Piper carefully turns me on my back and lifts my torso to place two fluffy pillows beneath my head and shoulders.
“I love you,” I mumble.
“I love you. I got a room key from Billy. I brought some things that might help you.”
“Where am I?”
“It’s the Marriott. In Times Square.”
Flashes of memories present themselves, like an old-fashioned slideshow.
The inside of a party bus. A private jet. A baby sea turtle that I will miss forever. Mr. Puckett, my reluctant new best friend. Declan, that handsome, lawyerly crooner. Eddie, the good-natured pretty boy who thought we could outsmart the Irish Devil. The Irish Devil himself, Nolan Cassidy. Purveyor of innocuous toasts and villainous shots. And Billy Mothafuckin’ Boston. The vortex of fun.
Wait.
Why is my right ass cheek sore?
“Do you want breakfast in bathtub?” she asks, smirking. “And by breakfast, I mean coconut water, saltine crackers, and ginger tea.”
“Yes. Yes. That’s what I want.”
While she’s in the other room, I remember why I’m here. I remember my purpose. I remember the culmination of everything and my reason for being. I want to get to the next part. But I need to get better at being vertical first.
I am able to maneuver my phone out of my pocket. It’s still Sunday. It’s 11:25 a.m. My phone still has sixteen percent battery remaining.
