Bree’s head was throbbing. She slowly opened her eyes and looked around the room. It took her a minute to figure out where she was, until she saw the framed photos of Ben’s son Jake, sitting next to his baseball trophies.
The room was mostly dark, but even the small amount of light shining through the slats of the blinds hurt her eyes. She’d get up to close them, but she was afraid she’d get sick to her stomach if she tried to stand.
She closed her eyes tightly and tried to recall what had happened the night before. She remembered bits and pieces…getting pulled over…Kaleb asking her to have dinner with him.
Kaleb. Oh, he was handsome. She wondered what had happened to him. She had a vague recollection of him carrying her inside, whispering to her the whole time.
“I got you, baby,” he’d said.
Had she dreamed it? She hoped not. If she had, it might mean she dreamed kissing him, and that part, she wanted to be real. He was a good kisser. She’d like to kiss him again.
She heard a knock at the door and opened her eyes again. “Go away,” she answered.
The door opened and Blythe walked in. “Oh no, it’s worse than we thought.” When Blythe laughed, whoever was behind her, laughed too.
Bree put her hands over her ears. “Do you mind? First you bang on the door, now you’re screeching at me. Can’t you just go away?”
Lyric came around Blythe. “You’re bad off, ain’t you, Bree? Bangin’? We hardly even tapped on the door.”
“Stop your cackling,” Bree implored.
“Here,” a voice said. Bree opened her eyes and saw her mother standing over her.
She looked at the glass her mom was trying to hand her. “What is that?”
“Dad’s secret recipe hangover cure.”
“What’s in it?”
“Oh, baby,” her mother laughed. “You don’t want to know. Drink it down, and give it a half hour or so. Try to rest, and I’ll come back to check on you later. Now drink.”
Paige pushed the glass in Bree’s direction. If she drank that, she’d throw up for sure. She shook her head.
“Trust me, baby,” her mother pushed. “If you can get it down, you’ll feel a thousand times better than you will otherwise.”
Her mom was almost always right, and considering she felt as though she was going to die, a thousand times better than dying sounded pretty good. She plugged her nose and guzzled the drink without taking a breath. Her stomach churned and growled, but after a minute or two, she didn’t feel as though she needed to throw up
.
“We’ll leave you now.” Her mom was shooing Blythe and Lyric out of the room. “Get some rest, baby.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Bree whispered just before she drifted back to sleep.
When she woke, her mother was sitting on the side of the bed.
“Hi,” she said when Bree opened her eyes.
“Hi. What time is it?”
“A little after two. You slept longer than I thought you would.”
Bree sat up. Too quickly. And then lay back down.
“Two? Isn’t dinner in a half hour? I need to get up. But, oh, God, I don’t think I can.”
“No one expects you to, sweetheart. We’ve all missed a Thanksgiving or two in our lifetime. This year is your turn.”
“Oh no, I can’t believe it. I’m mortified.” Bree rolled over and put her head in the pillow.