command and rummage until I find a V-8 in the back of the pantry. Room temp is fine. If it was cold it would make me sick. Wise old bat’s advice makes me feel better in a few minutes. How could I have been through college and not have tried V-8? Why don’t they market this stuff for hangovers?
After I’m dressed, I call my brother to find out when he’s bringing the kids home. He’s planned lunch at McDonald’s, so I have a couple hours. Propelled by resolve to make something of the day, I call my friend with the kittens. They’re ready to go, she says.
I leave Wal-mart with litter-box, litter, kitten food, tiny food and water bowls, and an ensemble of cat toys. I fib successfully to my friend, telling her I’m picking up the kitten for “an old guy” who lives alone. Old is subjective, is it not?
I choose a little orange-yellow male, because he’s feisty. He plays with everyone and everything he comes in contact with, climbing all over his siblings in the process.
He scrambles up my sweater and rides on my shoulder to Adam’s house.
Adam looks much healthier when he opens his door; apparently he was down in the dungeon working out. He’s sporting a muscle shirt and shorts, toweling off his sweat. At last, the tables are turned and he is the one all sweaty, but he’s not less attractive this way. Just the opposite, in fact.
“What’s this?” he asks, surprised.
It’s a new car, what’s it look like? “I was out driving and I saw this pile of junk on the side of the road with a sign that said Free . I figured you should have a cat to go with it all, so I called a friend…” I giggle and bite my lip. I hope he isn’t mad.
Adam takes the kitty from me, holding him close to his face and looking in his spunky little green eyes. “Hey, little one,” he says in that high voice we all use for babies.
“He’s a little rascal, the most playful one in the bunch. And look at those feet! I think he’s gonna be big.”
“Rascal. That’s a good name.” Now Adam smiles at me, but not so much with his dimples. There’s a lot of a emotion in his expression I’ll leave unnamed. I step past him with the other stuff I’m juggling, and he starts apologizing for not helping me with it.
“No, being an invalid still, you probably can’t carry this much,” I tease. “I’m okay.”
He sets Rascal down on the living room carpet. The kitten hunches his back fiercely at the room at large.
Now Adam looks closer, scrutinizing me. Can he tell I’m hungover?
“You look pale. I hope you’re not getting sick?”
I brush him off and tear open the toys I got for Rascal, tossing a ball his way.
“What’s wrong?” Adam comes very close to me, messing up my breathing.
What can I say? I can’t exactly tell him I nearly slept with Mike last night. Maybe if I look back in his eyes, he’ll get excited and forget about what I’m covering up today. I know I will. If Adam kisses me, will I think of Mike like I did of Adam when Mike was kissing me? Wow, the thinking in circles is making me dizzy again.
“I’m hungover,” I finally admit. “It was the company Christmas party, and all the guys kept buying rounds. I might’ve been drinking mine and Mike’s.”
“So you were drunk and Mike wasn’t?”
I can tell where this is going.
“I rode home with one of his employees, and Mike drove home everybody who was drinking. Much later, I think.” I know I sound defensive, despite trying not to.
“Mandy, it’s not that I don’t trust you . I just know how guys’ minds work. I’m a guy, remember? If he’s trying to get you back, it’s easier to talk you into something when your defenses are down. That’s what I was thinking.”
You’re not too far off base, Mister.
“Like I said, I came home alone, and slept alone.” I say it dismissively, case closed. “I need to run. The kids will be home soon.”
He follows me to the door. “Two more weeks,” he murmurs against my forehead. He sounds
After I’m dressed, I call my brother to find out when he’s bringing the kids home. He’s planned lunch at McDonald’s, so I have a couple hours. Propelled by resolve to make something of the day, I call my friend with the kittens. They’re ready to go, she says.
I leave Wal-mart with litter-box, litter, kitten food, tiny food and water bowls, and an ensemble of cat toys. I fib successfully to my friend, telling her I’m picking up the kitten for “an old guy” who lives alone. Old is subjective, is it not?
I choose a little orange-yellow male, because he’s feisty. He plays with everyone and everything he comes in contact with, climbing all over his siblings in the process.
He scrambles up my sweater and rides on my shoulder to Adam’s house.
Adam looks much healthier when he opens his door; apparently he was down in the dungeon working out. He’s sporting a muscle shirt and shorts, toweling off his sweat. At last, the tables are turned and he is the one all sweaty, but he’s not less attractive this way. Just the opposite, in fact.
“What’s this?” he asks, surprised.
It’s a new car, what’s it look like? “I was out driving and I saw this pile of junk on the side of the road with a sign that said Free . I figured you should have a cat to go with it all, so I called a friend…” I giggle and bite my lip. I hope he isn’t mad.
Adam takes the kitty from me, holding him close to his face and looking in his spunky little green eyes. “Hey, little one,” he says in that high voice we all use for babies.
“He’s a little rascal, the most playful one in the bunch. And look at those feet! I think he’s gonna be big.”
“Rascal. That’s a good name.” Now Adam smiles at me, but not so much with his dimples. There’s a lot of a emotion in his expression I’ll leave unnamed. I step past him with the other stuff I’m juggling, and he starts apologizing for not helping me with it.
“No, being an invalid still, you probably can’t carry this much,” I tease. “I’m okay.”
He sets Rascal down on the living room carpet. The kitten hunches his back fiercely at the room at large.
Now Adam looks closer, scrutinizing me. Can he tell I’m hungover?
“You look pale. I hope you’re not getting sick?”
I brush him off and tear open the toys I got for Rascal, tossing a ball his way.
“What’s wrong?” Adam comes very close to me, messing up my breathing.
What can I say? I can’t exactly tell him I nearly slept with Mike last night. Maybe if I look back in his eyes, he’ll get excited and forget about what I’m covering up today. I know I will. If Adam kisses me, will I think of Mike like I did of Adam when Mike was kissing me? Wow, the thinking in circles is making me dizzy again.
“I’m hungover,” I finally admit. “It was the company Christmas party, and all the guys kept buying rounds. I might’ve been drinking mine and Mike’s.”
“So you were drunk and Mike wasn’t?”
I can tell where this is going.
“I rode home with one of his employees, and Mike drove home everybody who was drinking. Much later, I think.” I know I sound defensive, despite trying not to.
“Mandy, it’s not that I don’t trust you . I just know how guys’ minds work. I’m a guy, remember? If he’s trying to get you back, it’s easier to talk you into something when your defenses are down. That’s what I was thinking.”
You’re not too far off base, Mister.
“Like I said, I came home alone, and slept alone.” I say it dismissively, case closed. “I need to run. The kids will be home soon.”
He follows me to the door. “Two more weeks,” he murmurs against my forehead. He sounds
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