I woke up with the mother of all hangovers the next morning. I groaned as I covered my eyes against the offensive sunlight that streamed through my bedroom window. I had forgotten to close the shades last night before collapsing into bed, and now I was paying the price.
I gingerly turned my pounding head towards my alarm clock on the bedside table and saw that it was already almost noon. I closed my eyes, deciding that Sundays were meant to laze about and there was no shame in sleeping in until the late afternoon.
My attempt to go back to sleep was interrupted by my cell phone ringing. All sleepiness vanished at the sound, and I grabbed my phone. I didn’t know whether I was disappointed or relieved when I saw that it was Emily, not Logan.
“Hey,” I croaked out. “I think I’m dying.”
“What’s wrong?” Emily sounded alarmed. “Are you sick?”
“Yes. It’s called death by imbibement, and I have a severe case.”
“You’re just hung over,” Emily scoffed, her concern disappearing. “Here I thought you were actually ill.”
“I am,” I insisted. “I think my liver has stopped functioning.”
“I’m sure all your major organs are working fine,” she said dismissively. “Meet me for brunch. I’m starving.”
Despite, or maybe because of, my hangover, I perked up at the thought of greasy breakfast food.
“Okay, but give me an hour. It’s going to take a while for me to haul my ass out of bed and crawl into the shower. How about one o’clock at Ann Sather?”
“Soun
ds good,” Emily chirped, her sympathy for my condition having completely disappeared. “See you then.”
By the time I stepped out of my apartment building, I was feeling like a human being again. The aspirin and copious amounts of water I drank did wonders to make me feel better. Ann Sather was a short walk away from both my apartment and Emily’s, and she had already snagged a table when I arrived.
“You look like crap,” she announced when I plopped into the seat across from her.
“Thanks,” I said sarcastically. “It’s good to see you too.”
“Let’s hurry up and order, and then you can tell me all about the foolish things you did last night.”
After we had given our order to the waitress, Emily leaned back in her seat and studied me speculatively. “Did you go out with Adam last night?”
I shook my head. “No, he’s busy this weekend. He has a lot of writing to get done.”
Her eyebrows rose disbelievingly, but she didn’t comment on it. I knew Logan wasn’t the only one who had doubts about the novel Adam was supposedly working on.
“So, obviously you were with Logan.”
I frowned. “Why is that obvious?”
Emily laughed. “Because you spend more time with him than you do with your actual boyfriend.”
Her statement reinforced my realization last night that I was becoming too dependent on Logan. I didn’t think it was fair to either of us.
“Well, you’re right,” I replied with a sigh. “I hung out with Logan, but I’m starting to think our friendship isn’t healthy.”
“Your friendship isn’t healthy because you both really just want to boff each other.”
“That’s not true!” I protested vehemently. “Things between us are strictly platonic.”
“Uh-huh,” Emily replied, not looking convinced. “What happened last night that makes you think your friendship isn’t healthy?”
I waited to answer, because the waitress chose that moment to arrive with plates of the restaurant’s famous cinnamon rolls that came with every order. Emily started in on hers enthusiastically, but I just stared at mine, my appetite vanishing as I tried to find the words to explain what exactly had happened last night. I wasn’t really even sure of it myself.
“It was just weird,” I finally said. “Logan and I never fight, but yesterday we couldn’t stop bickering. It was like we kept taking what the other person said in the wrong way. I think the reason why I drank so much was because I was feeling uncomfortable and nervous.”