Page 90 of The Interview
“You doing okay with it all?” I question.
“Babe, as long as you’re doing okay, I’m doing okay. As long as the kids are happy, I’m happy.”
“Yeah, but you had to sit through a lot of my past last week, and there’ll be more this week.”
“I don’t have to sit through anything. I choose to. I’m here for you. I’m not letting you do this on your own.”
“I fucking love you,” I say and start to turn around, but Cam presses his weight into me, holding me in place.
“Don’t swear, and I know you do. That’s why I’m able to sit through it all. But do me a favour?”
“What?” I ask, a million and one different possible answers popping into my head, making it hurt even more.
“If you really love me, go get in the shower, and clean your teeth without turning around to face me, because you fucking stink.”
I snort out a laugh. “But I need to sit up and drink my coffee.”
“You can do that without turning to face me.”
“I don’t smell that bad,” I whine.
“Babe, believe me, you do.”
He rolls away, and I sit up slowly.
“Fuck, my head hurts,” I complain as I hold onto it and look around the room.
“Well, that’s what happens when you start on the cosmos, switch to red, then to champagne, and finish the night with shots,” he says as he climbs out of our bed.
“You let me do shots?”
“You ever tried stopping you, Jim, and Ash from doing anything when you’re all half cut?”
“Well, obviously not if I’m part of the equation.”
“Part of the problem, more like.”
I stick my tongue out at his remark, and he hands me my coffee and headache tablets.
“That thing has more fur on it than a polar bear’s arse,” he says, nodding at my tongue.
“You wouldn’t mind it licking the tip of your?—”
“Noooo! Nope! I absolutely did not just hear that,” Lu says as she walks into the room.
“Serves you right for not knocking,” Cam tells her.
Folding her arms across her chest, she rolls her eyes at him.
I look from our daughter to my husband and press my lips together in an attempt not to laugh. My husband looks from our daughter to me, and I know exactly what’s going through his head.
“You!” He points my way.
I nod and smile before launching the pills down my throat, washing them down with a mouthful of coffee. There’s no point arguing because it’s true. My daughter is me to a T.
“Chastity’s here, and a van’s just pulled up with I don’t know who in it,” she tells me.
“What?” I almost screech. “What time is it?” I look around for my phone.
