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The next morning, I woke up, feeling like roadkill. As I slowly regained consciousness, I took a mental inventory of all my ailments.
Feet? Roasting under God’s magnifying glass.
Stomach? Feels like a churning acid bath.
Head? Must have been used for a kick drum last night.
Mouth? Surprisingly minty.
Pulling my knees up to my chest to escape the magnified sunrays at the bottom of the bed, I rolled onto my side and reached for Ken. Hazy memories of him helping me into the house, holding my hair back while I puked, digging my toothbrush out of my overnight bag, and taking my boots off while I covered my face and told him to, “Stop looking at me,”began to surface.
Ego? Pulverized.
When my hand landed on a mattress instead of a man, I opened my eyes. Ken was gone, and the clock on his nightstand announced that it was 11:11.
Shit!
On Sundays, Ken had to be at work by eleven.
Hopping up, I tripped over a trash can someone had placed next to my side of the bed, sending a glass of water and two tiny orange pills flying off the nightstand and onto the carpet.
Shit, shit, shit!
I ran across the room as it tilted on its axis, slammed my shoulder into the doorframe on the way out, spat every curse word I knew on my way down the stairs, and stopped dead in my tracks at the bottom.
Ken was still there.
Sitting at the kitchen table.
Talking to a beautiful blonde.
The last time I’d found an unexpected woman in my house, it had not gone well. But, this time, it wasn’t my house. And this woman wasn’t in bed with my boyfriend, wearing his oversize T-shirt.
This time, I was the one in the oversize T-shirt.
And nothing else.
Yanking the hem of Ken’s shirt down, I grinned awkwardly as they both turned to face the hungover, emaciated, purple-haired girl who’d just interrupted their conversation.
The mystery woman standing at the end of the counter gave me a smile that I would recognize anywhere. It was one I usually had to earn from the man sitting next to her. “You must be Brooke.”
Brooke.
Wiping my sweaty palms on her brother’s shirt, I took a few steps into the kitchen. “Hi. Yeah, you can just call me BB.” I gave her brother a pointed stare that said, You can just call me BB, too, ya know, and then extended my hand. “You must be Chelsea. It’s so nice to finally meet you. I was beginning to think Ken had just made you up.”
Chelsea accepted my hand with a soft laugh. “I know; I’m never here anymore. I should probably stop paying rent, huh?” She glanced over her shoulder with a smirk, which Ken returned with a scowl. “My boyfriend just got stationed at the Eglin Air Force Base, so I’ve been spending a lot of time in Florida lately. He bought a house by the beach and is clueless when it comes to decorating.” Her voice was flat and dry, like her brother’s, but what was missing from her inflection came shining through in the small smile she couldn’t quite contain.
“That’s awesome!” I cheered. “Let me know if you need help. I haven’t been to the beach in forever.”
Chelsea gave her brother some telepathic sibling look, which caused Ken to clear his throat and look everywhere but at me.
“I, uh…thought you might want to go for spring break.” Ken’s eyes finally landed on mine. “Chelsea said we could stay with them.”
“Really?” I swung my head back and forth between the two Eastons. “You’re taking me to the beach?”
Probably sensing that I was about to pounce on her brother, Chelsea grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter. “Well, I gotta go. Nice to meet you, BB.”
“You, too, Chelsea! Thank yooooou!” I beamed, turning my smile on Ken as soon as the garage door shut behind her. “You’re taking me to the beach?” I asked again, Ken’s Sublime T-shirt suddenly feeling way too hot.
