Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
THE POUNDING AGAINST her skull was practically lethal. As soon as Sloane opened her eyes the next morning, she was greeted with an ache settling inside her forehead, pulsating between her eyes. She groaned, flopping a pillow over her head to hide from the sun, but it did nothing to dull the hangover. She was utterly fucked.
There was nothing else to do but eat. Sloane knew that if she took any ibuprofen on an empty stomach, her eventual vomit was going to be all the more violent. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she walked out of her room and into the kitchen, already engulfed by the smell of pancakes and bacon. Just the scent made her queasy. Much to her surprise, Sabrina was cooking and doing a little dance in front of the griddle. The sight in front of Sloane made her blink. None of it seemed real.
Sabrina was flipping a pancake, tapping her foot to the beat of an old Christmas song blasting from her phone. She already had a Christmas tree set up next to the TV — plastic, but as tall as a real one and somehow smelled like one too. A box of new ornaments sat by it, waiting to be hung, unlike the old ones with pictures of a teenage Sloane that were probably packed away in storage. Frank sat in the living room, a Sunday morning paper in one hand and an espresso cup in the other. He sipped gingerly. The seat that Everett usually occupied at the island was empty, but Sloane still sat in the chair across from it, head in her hands.
Sabrina looked over her shoulder at her daughter. "You look like you had fun last night."
Sloane thought back to the way Peter smelled last night. She could still feel the soft press of his lips against her forehead. She huffed out a sigh and rubbed her eyes. "I guess so."
Flipping another pancake onto a plate, Sabrina walked over and placed it in front of her. Sloane's surprise was evident on her face. "Were you out with Peter?"
Sloane looked away and already began tearing through the pancakes with her knife and fork. "It doesn't matter."
"You really should let me know where you're going, Sloane." Her mother chastised, gesturing to her with a spatula. "I know you're twenty-six, but there's a lot of crazies out there right now. You never know what might happen –"
