Speak Now

XXVI

I can count on one hand the number of times I've woken up after a night of drinking with a hangover. There was my nineteenth birthday, the first I'd celebrated after my breakup with Sam when James and I decided to indulge our melancholic tendencies. Then there was New Year's, again, the first after Sam. James and I went to Cabo and got shitfaced on Tequila. Since then, I don't touch anything that has a worm in it. After that, there was the time we went to Choquequirao, spent five days hiking up and down from the citadel at the summit, and watched the most amazing sunrises and sunsets. After a gruelling descent, James and I cracked open the bottle of Belvedere Vodka we'd been saving and didn't stop drinking for days. I was sick as a dog for days after that and vowed never to drink to excess again. 

I was doing well, even managing to restrain myself on the annual Delaney St. Patrick's Day's Party. The Irish are out of control on March seventeenth but for the most part, I stuck to two or three drinks and then switched to water, a substitute for vodka, or even drinking coke without the bourbon. I was almost but not quite a teetotaler. 

Then Keira's wedding happened. 

"Can't be arsed at the moment, to be honest," I muttered as I covered my eyes from the sun rays seeping in through the sitting room window. In the four hours that I'd been awake, all I'd managed to do was drag myself out of bed, throw on the comfiest clothes I packed, take some aspirin and lie down on the couch, feeling very sorry for myself. "Why did we drink so much last night?"

My words were met with groans from everyone- James, Charlie, Nina, Aoife, Charlotte, Dad, Sophie and Millie. For reasons unknown to everyone else, Sam, Daniel, Emma, Hugo and Lucas were all relatively sober. Well, maybe not sober but at least they weren't suffering on the same level as Hell as the rest of us are. In fact, they were the only ones that were able to face going into the kitchen and cooking breakfast that was now so late in the morning that it was practically brunch. I could smell toast and eggs but I could also taste remnants of last night's alcohol intake and that is a combination that was not going to end well. Rolling myself off the couch, I stumble onto my feet and rush to the bathroom, dry retching into the bowl. 

Of all the days to be hungover, today was not the best to choose. With James due back in Los Angeles soon, we had a flight booked to take us back to London later today and I had dinner with Michael and Lyanna Taylor on the cards. I hadn't spent as much time with Mick's little by as I'd like; I'd missed seeing Freddie before I flew out to Ireland and still had the belated birthday present I'd bought for him in my bedroom back in London. Plus, I needed to catch up on all the gossip with Max. 

Standing up, I had to lean against the bathroom door just to keep myself from falling. After a few minutes of trying to gather up some strength, I managed to rinse my mouth out, fix my hair and finally turn my sweater so that the tags and labels weren't on the outside. I wasn't particularly happy with my appearance but, to be honest, it's not the worst I've ever looked so I didn't mind walking out of the bathroom and back into the sitting room and letting everyone see me. The others looked just as bad, if not worse, as I did. Charlotte's hair had so much super-hold hairspray in it that it was now shaped like a pretzel and I'm not even going to begin explaining what Aoife looked like with her smudged makeup.