Page 19 of Feels Like Home

Gag.

“The fact that you’re not coming very close is a good indicator.” She laughs, standing from her spot and wiping her mouth with the back of herhand.

Gag.

“I’m sorry. It’sjust…”

She waves me off. “No worries. I don’t blameyou.”

“Let’s get you inside and” —I gulp, trying not to, but failing miserably, gag again— “cleanedup.”

She bursts out laughing then groans, doubling over again and holding her head. “Are you sure you can handleit?”

I swallow and nod my head resolutely. “Ican.”

“Ha! You sound really” —hiccup— “convincing.”

“I can! I promise. Or… I’lltry.”

We make our way inside, and she fumbles for the light switch against the wall. As soon as she flips it on, she leans against thewall.

She moans then slides down the wall and lands with athump.

“Bri is going to be sooooo disappointed in me,” shemumbles.

I chuckle, looking around her living room. I spot the kitchen and move to it, opening a couple of cupboards until I find the glasses. I fill one with water from the tap and walk back into the living room to find Christine slumped over completely on thefloor.

I bend down close to her, her head lifting as she looks up at me. I press the glass to her lips, and she tips her head back, allowing some of the liquid to wash down her throat. After she’s taken a few drinks and seems satisfied, I place the glass on the floor next to her and help her tostand.

“I’m kind ofembarrassed.”

“You should be. I’ve never gotten drunkbefore.”

I hear her scoff. “No one likes a smart ass, Andy,” sheteases.

Now it’s my turn to scoff. “Of course, they do. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s the opposite. Everyone loves a smart ass. We keep conversationsentertaining.”

She gazes up at me, looking pathetically beautiful. I swipe a chunk of her hair off her sticky forehead, trying not to imagine why it’s sticky in the first place, and tuck it behind herear.

“You’re gorgeous,” I remind her, wondering if she’ll remember in themorning.

“Right. With puke on my face and in my hair anduggghh…”

“I’ve always thought you were gorgeous,Christine.”

“You have?” she asks, her voice quiet andunsure.

“Ihave.”

We stand, staring at one another for a few beats before her cheeks puff out and she bolts from my grasp, running down the hall to what I hope is herbathroom.

I take a moment to text the boys and let them know that I’ll be a little longer than I expected before I get home. Their reply is instant, telling me that they are fine and heading tobed.

I stare at my phone, wondering how I got such good kids, willingly going to bed on theirown.

I don’t have long to sit and ponder it before I hear some awful noises coming from the direction that Christine just bolted. I pop a piece of cinnamon gum in my mouth, sigh heavily, and head into thebattlefield.

7

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