Chapter 19 #2
Furiously wiping at his eyes, he slaps his cheeks a couple of times to try and stop himself from restarting the chuckle train.
“I’m sorry,” he chokes back another laugh, “I just wasn't expecting it. The look on your face, and your hair, and the smudged makeup,” another rogue laugh escapes, “I’m good, I'm done.
Why don't you hop in the shower and I'll get coffee and little madam sorted?”
“Deal,” I say, placing Lizzie on the floor to run riot with the dog, “please sort Pickles too, I don't know if you can tell, but I've only just got up,” I add, sardonically. I hear him choke on another laugh as I walk away with my middle finger high above my head.
By the time I've showered, brushed my teeth again, and downed some paracetamol, I'm finally feeling human enough to face the world. First things first, check my phone for any behaviour that might warrant an apology.
Most of my messages are the girls sounding off their goodnights and laughing at my drunken stupor – why are there photos? I need new friends. But a message from Brad that came through at seven a.m. stands out like a sore thumb.
Brad: Morning Mama. How's your head today? Looking forward to finding out what our 'chatty chat chat' is about. We'll see you soon!
Open attachment
Shiiiiiiit! I'd conveniently forgotten about that. Goddamn it Drunk Shari! That bitch is always getting me into situations I don't want to be in. Can I make something up? I can't possibly tell him I have feelings for him. No way! Can I? No! Of course, I can't.
The photo he sent of him and Lizzie is adorable, though. They both look puffy and sleep ruffled, with huge matching grins, and it pulls a grin onto my own face. I might just have to make this my screensaver. Wait, is that weird?
I brace myself for the third degree as I head back down to my living room, and pick my daughter up. “Come here, munchkin, Mummy wants a proper hello!” She immediately squashes my cheeks together, chanting, “Ma, Ma, Ma!”
“Hi, baby girl, Mummy missed you!” I smack kisses all over her face and neck as Pickles jumps up, trying to get in on the action. Lizzie descends into fits of high-pitched laughter, which is both a balm to my soul and an assault on my hungover ears.
“How was last night? You must have had fun judging by the tipsy texts and the state of you this morning.”
I don’t need to look at him to know he’s smirking, I can hear it in his voice.
I subtly extend my middle finger towards him again behind Lizzie’s back.
Brad barks a laugh as he places a coffee in my usual spot at the table, and I strap Lizzie into her highchair.
Cradling the nectar receptacle with both hands, I take a fortifying gulp, relishing the burn of the liquid down my throat.
“Oh man, that's some good shiii....stuff.” My eyes automatically flick to Lizzie.
She might not be properly talking yet, but this kid picks up all the words you don't want her to say.
“Last night was...blurry. I pounded too much wine, too quickly, and I hadn't eaten since breakfast so, terrible combo.”
“Were you all a drunken mess? Bet Theo loved having you all slurring loudly in the car,” he laughs.
“Uh, no. I think I was the only mess. Drowning my sor—” I stop abruptly and my body freezes, hoping he wasn't really listening and won't call me out on it.
“Drowning your sorrows? Why, what's wrong?” The concern on his handsome face is part of the reason I have such strong feelings for the guy. He's one of the most caring souls I've ever met.
“Oh, you know. Nothing in particular. Probably hormones.”
“Right,” he doesn't sound convinced. “And what about this ‘chatty chat chat’, was that conveniently just hormones too?”
My whole body cringes, “You know, I was pretty hammered.
I don't even remember what I wanted to talk about!” Both the pitch of my voice and my forced laugh are way too high.
I keep my focus on our daughter in the hopes that he'll drop it.
Because if he doesn't, I think I probably will end up telling him how I feel, and I’m currently in no state to deal with the fallout.
Would that be a bad thing to tell him, though?
Maybe the girls are right that he feels the same. But can I be brave enough to take the leap? Before I have time to decide, Brad makes the decision for me.
Clearing his throat, he lowers himself into the seat opposite me. “So, I actually have some news.”
My eyes flick his way, relieved he's letting me off the hook. “Oh? Good or bad? I need to mentally prepare because hangover.”
“Um, good, I think?” He fidgets in his seat and a sense of unease cascades down my spine. “I, uh, I finally took your advice.”
“My advice? Imma need you to be more specific, please, sir. Brain not working, remember?” I'm trying to make light of the conversation, but I can't shake this feeling. The hairs at the nape of my neck are standing on end in anticipation.
“Your advice to ask Larissa out. I'm taking her to dinner tonight.” He's watching my face intently, so I'm equally careful not to let any negative emotions shine through. But man, does it take all my effort.
“Wow! That's, um, that's great, Brad! She seems lovely from what you've told me about her, so that's...it’s great. Really great.” Stop saying great!
“Yeah? You're happy about this?”
“Of course!” I agree, way too loudly. “Of course, why wouldn't I be? It's gr—”
“Great?”
“Yeah,” I laugh quietly, shaking my head.
Lizzie suddenly shouts something that sounds like gay! And Brad and I look at each other, confused.
“Wait, are you trying to say ‘great’?”
“Gay!” she squeals again with laughter.
Brad starts laughing, “I think she is! Can you say ‘I love you’, Sunshine?”
She stares at his mouth in concentration and suddenly blurts, “Luvoo!”
“Oh my god!! Lizzie, baby, that's right! You are so clever, aren't you? We love you so much.” I suddenly realise I'd grabbed Brad's hand in excitement and am squeezing the ever-loving shit out of it, so I let go as nonchalantly as I can.
The next fifteen minutes are filled with our baby girl shouting Luvoo on repeat between fits of giggles, and although the sheer decibels she's producing stab directly into my brain, it's my new favourite sound. And almost enough to distract me from Brad's upcoming date. Almost.