Page 87 of When We Were Us
She nods and laughs when I roll my eyes and screw my face up, trying not to vomit again.
“At least everyone was gone by then, and luckily, you puked before you got into the rental.” Her eyes are sympathetic, but her lips are tipped up a bit at the corners, as if she’s fighting a smile.
“Oh, God, I threw up at the ranch?” Misery twists in my stomach. “I’m too old for this shit.”
She reaches out and brushes my hair back, tucking it behind my ear. But her hand smells like bacon, so I swat it away.
“You stink like food.” Another long groan and a wave of nausea hits me, and she laughs.
“I’ll get you some ginger ale and toast.”
“No toast—” I burp again, swallowing hard. “And I don’t have any ginger ale.”
“Yes, you do.” With a satisfied smile, she crosses to the bathroom door and turns back to me. “Hank brought some by this morning. He thought you might need it. You know, after all the puking.”
“Oh, God.” I peek up at her through the curtain of hair hanging in my face. “Please tell me Hank didn’t see me puking.”
“Who do you think held your hair back?” With a chuckle and swish of her long, dark hair, she’s gone.
I stay hugging the toilet for the next hour before I finally bathe. I’d considered going downstairs to the only shower in the house, but I’m not sure I can trust my legs to get me there without falling down the stairs.
Finnley brings me a glass of ginger ale that I sip on while in the tub. When the glass is half empty, I get out on wobbly legs, get dressed, and use what strength I have to make it back to my room.
Pushing up from the edge of the bed, I test my balance. So far, so good. I slip my arms into my robe and head down the hall. The worst of the nausea has subsided, and I feel slightly less wobbly in my legs. I’m pretty sure I can make it to the couch.
Padding carefully down the hall, I keep my steps measured and slow, and I’m thankful I left my feet bare. The hardwood on the stairs can be slippery, and walking is challenging enough this morning without adding fuzzy socks to the mix.
WhenI make it downstairs, I see Finn sitting on the floor in the living room, looking through an old photo album.
“There she is,” she says with a smile and sets the album aside. “Feeling any better?”
“Some, thanks.” Lowering myself to the couch, I pull an afghan over me. “Can you close those curtains?” The pounding in my head has lessened, but it is still there, unfortunately.
“Hungry?” Unfolding herself from her spot on the floor, she tugs the curtains closed and comes to stand next to me.
“Maybe I’ll try some toast now.”
She nods and heads into the kitchen. I look around for my phone and remember I left it upstairs on the charger. That is not a trek I am willing to take right now, so I settle into the couch and lean my head back, closing my eyes.
A few minutes later, Finnley comes back with a small plate of barely buttered toast and a cup of ginger ale. She hands them to me and takes the other end of the couch.
I take a tentative bite, and thankfully, my stomach doesn’t revolt. I glance at Finn and smile, chewing slowly.
“Good?”
“Yes, thanks.” I drop my head back, continuing to chew, and then swallow. Rolling my head to look at her, I grimace. “Did I really puke in front of Hank?”
Rolling her lips into a thin line, she nods, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “You really did.”
I’m mortified. I’m too old to be drinking until I puke, and after what happened between us in the kitchen at the ranch, I can’t imagine what he must think of me. How was I ever going to look him in the eye again? And the guy had held my hair back? Ugh…
“What?” Finn snickers from where she’s watching me try to choke down more dry toast.
“Things were finally not weird between Hank and me.” Groaning again, I set the toast aside and take another sip of the ginger ale. “Now, he’s seen me puke, and he’ll probably never want to kiss me again.”
“You’re kidding, right?” With a snort, Finn rolls her eyes and stretches out so she can tuck her bare feet into the side of my blanket. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. We all have.”
A genuine laugh erupts from me before I remember my headache, and I turn to face her with another grimace. Our legs twine together under the blanket like they did when we used to have sleepovers as kids.
