Nova Scotia

Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

                When I woke up in the morning, pain almost blurred my vision. I rolled onto my back and felt grateful that Grandma Sheela hadn’t opened my blinds when she came in and changed my clothes for me. I could vaguely remember her changing my clothes, and I could also remember a tall glass of water and a bottle of painkillers being placed beside me. I couldn’t remember who put them there, though.

                I swallowed the sense of nausea that was building up inside of me and sat up. I looked to my right and thanked the unknown person who had provided me with the painkillers and water. I took two pills, downed the glass of water, and stood up as quickly as I dared. This wasn’t my first hangover, but that didn’t mean it was easier to handle than any of the others.

                I pulled on the fuzzy robe that was draped across the back of the chair at the computer desk in my room. I shoved my feet into the fuzzy slippers by the door, and started trudging down the stairs to where I could hear Grandma Sheela bustling around in the kitchen. The house was dimly lit, and I was grateful once again for how understanding Grandma Sheela was. If I had been home in California, my mother would have harnessed the Sun’s energy if it meant I'd be in pain because of my hangover. It was the perfect punishment in her opinion.

                “Morning, poppet!” Grandma Sheela said cheerfully, looking up from her cup of tea. “Sleep well?”

                “I'm never drinking ever again,” I mumbled, opening the fridge and pulling out a loaf of bread. “I hate hangovers.”

                “I never got them,” she said offhandedly. “You wouldn’t believe what a heavyweight I used to be, darling.”

                “Were you the one that left those painkillers by my bed?” I put two slices of bread in the toaster and leaned forward against the counter, resting my forehead on the cool surface of the cupboards above me.

                “No, dear, that was Dallas,” she informed me. “He brought you home. You were quite a mess.”

                I grunted. “I feel like quite a mess.”

                “Well, I hope you feel well enough to go to town with him,” she told me. “He's taking you to look at those university applications, remember? You said you'd let him take you.”

                “Oh, right.” I frowned and took my toast out of the toaster. “What time is it?”

                “It’s almost three o’clock in the afternoon, dear.”

                “When is he taking me to Halifax?”

                “Now.” Dallas came in through the back and grinned at me. His dark hair was falling over his sweaty forehead, and his biceps were shining with perspiration. The best part? He wasn’t even wearing a shirt. I had barely caught a glimpse of his abdomen on the plane, but now his abs were on full display for me in my grandmother’s kitchen. I'd be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed and that I didn’t gawk like an idiot at his bare torso.

                “Hey,” he said to me, smiling. He looked amused, and I suddenly realized it was probably because I was still staring at his chest.

                “Hi,” I mumbled, turning away and secretly wishing I hadn’t just woken up. I glanced into my reflection on the toaster, and confirmed my suspicions: I looked like hell. Why did it have to be the one morning I didn’t get dressed before coming downstairs that Dallas was hanging out at my house without a shirt? “What’re you doing here?” I asked, not looking at him as I began buttering my toast.