To the Beach and Back

Chapter 18

Oh, God.

A feeling of trepidation speeds up my spine. Did I see him last night? No, surely, I'd remember that. Things are such a blur. Damn, that tequila!

I roll over and sit up, the room spinning and pain radiating through my hips from me doing the robot ... and I'm quite sure I dropped it like it's hot a few times, which is making me feel quite not hot. It's possible I also broke out the Vogue moves when an old Madonna song came on, proving some buried treasures should remain buried.

I reach for my phone and glasses on the nightstand, my eyes widening at a text I apparently sent to Dave.

Thinking of u and wondering if ur free tomorrow lmk

Huh?

Wait. Surely that text wasn't written by me. I would never, ever send a message with improper grammar, no matter how much alcohol is consumed, and I don't even know what lmk means. Then it hits me with painful clarity like that massive storm called Jose Cuervo. One of the bridesmaids! She took my phone and threatened to message Dave after I relayed my embarrassing story of chickening out on sex with him.

Damn if she didn't!

I cringe at his response.

Marcie? Are you okay? Where are you?

The bridesmaid responded by sending him a photo of Holda, Allyse, and me posing with the bridal party, our foreheads sweaty from dancing, and arms looped around each other with wide smiles.

It's kind of a cool photo.

Well, more than cool. The bride was right ... going out with them did mark the occasion with memories that will last a lifetime.

At least most of them.

Looks like you ladies are having some fun! Dave had replied. I like seeing you like this. Maybe we can catch up tomorrow at lunch? I could pick you up at noon!

The bridesmaid had responded with a photo of me with a loopy grin on my face, holding a thumbs up as an answer.

Crap.

I glance at my phone for the time. Eleven-thirty! There's no way I can get myself together in just thirty minutes. I should just message Dave back and cancel. Tell him that it wasn't me who sent the drunken texts.

But no, that's rude.

And since we both decided to just be friends, it would be nice to see him again. Plus, my other option for today is to paint the family room at Haven. The mere thought of paint fumes makes me nauseous, so no thanks, I slam down the coffee Allyse brought me, force-feed the saltines, and head for the bathroom, where my reflection shows all the horrors of drinking in your fifties.

Okay.

You can do this, Marcie, I think while turning on the shower water.

Still. I open the door and call out, "Allyse! Can you bring me more coffee? And a bucket full of Tylenol?"

"I'm on it," she hollers.

Thirty minutes later, I feel somewhat human thanks to a warm shower, two water bottles laced with electrolytes, buttered toast, and a miracle concealer Allyse swears hides all sins. She also ironed a sun dress for me to wear while I braided my wet hair into a side braid, and she loaned me a wide-brimmed hat to keep the blinding sun from driving nails into my skull.

Sunscreen, mascara, and lipstick are all I have time to apply before the doorbell rings.

Not perfect ... but not bad.