Riley's Excellent and Not-at-all Fake Exorcism Service

Chapter 2

Well . . . Ain't All This Just Fine and Dandy

You wouldn't think it was possible for someone like me, who drinks perpetually nonstop, to get hungover. Yet there I was, legs dangling off the couch, with a head that felt like it was about to split open. With my throat so dry, I could hardly manage a swallow, and my cat perched on my belly, looking down at me with judgmental eyes.

"Don't look at me like that." I grumbled, as I placed her next to me on the couch. "Don't you have anything better to do? Like lick your butthole or whatever." I glanced over at the remnants of pizza, wine bottles, and the cause of my suffering, a bone-dry bottle of tequila.

My one and only frenemy.

The moment I managed to stand; I knew I was done for. The room spun as I ran, barely making it to the sink before pure evil thrust its way from my throat. Hot chunks of pizza and bad decisions splattered all over the sink.

Behind me, I heard someone approach. In my state, I had a moment of panic. Shit! Daniel's home? He hated when I got so fucked up that I threw up. To be fair, I didn't like it either. But I wouldn't yell at someone who was puking their brains out. Daniel would. But much to my relief, when I looked behind me, it was a glowing caramel-skinned goddess, and not my husband. I could tell from the bags under her large, ebony eyes that Andrea wasn't feeling too hot herself. Even so, she looked stunning as always. Her curvy figure filling out one of my pajamas sets better than my stick-like frame ever could. Her long, thick, perfectly highlighted hair was expertly tied up in the most immaculate of messy buns.

"Daniel called you." She handed me my phone; I must have been charging it in my bedroom. "I told him you'd call him back."

After saying that, she wobbled over to the bathroom.

I was feeling much better. It's amazing what a good puke can accomplish. I started a pot of coffee before I called Daniel back. I couldn't keep Andrea un-caffeinated for very long, not if I wanted to live to see thirty. I took a deep breath before tapping his name on my phone. After two rings, he picked up.

"Morning, darling." The sugary tone in his voice confused me. If he had spoken to Andrea, he must be aware we drank last night. Honestly, I was expecting him to start with the questions right away. How much did you drink? Is the apartment a mess? Did you do anything productive yesterday?

"Morning," I hated the way my voice cracked. Buck up, Riley! I scolded myself.

"So, don't hate me," he said in his I'm cute, don't be mad at me voice.

"And why might I possibly hate you?"

"First, I want to say I had no idea this was happening. If I did, I never would have gone on my business trip. And second, I want to reiterate that you are the best wife any man could ask for. And I love you very much."

Okay, now I was scared.

Did he hook up with a stripper or something?

"My parents called me this morning with a, um ..." I didn't know what was more terrifying, the long-outdrawn pause, or the fact this had something to do with his parents, "some interesting news."

Ooh, boy.

"Your silence is making me nervous," he said, chuckling.

"How long it's taking you to tell me what's going on is making me nervous," I countered in the least sassy way my hung-over self could muster.

"Fair enough, no more theatrics." I heard him clearing his throat. "So my parents moved ... to New York."

I felt like someone slapped me in the face. I felt like I wanted to throw up, again.