From the writer of Sweet Spot, comes the sequel of two familiar characters you already saw coming.
Harper Davis has many titles: marketing connoisseur, almost-lawyer, disappointment to parents, and most importantly: liar. Big. Fat. Liar. But what el...
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I'm hungover.
Except I'm not really hungover. It just feels like I am, what with the grogginess and heavy head and inability to walk in a straight line.
I forgot that feeling sick feels a lot like feeling hungover.
A loud yowl catches me off guard and I just about fall over, grabbing the island that took me an entire five minutes to walk to in the first place.
"Mao!" I scold. He licks the paw I stepped on. "You're in the way again, fat cat!"
He meows loud and wide, staring me dead in the eye. My jaw unlocks.
"Watch your language, young man."
He yowls again, this time scampering off and running straight for the couch so he can claw at it angrily. I don't have the energy to stop him or even yell at him. We've been in about ten fights this past week already.
I open the cabinet and reach for the bottle of cough syrup. It's light. Why is it so light? I just bought it two days ago so how can it be this light?
"It's done," I wail, turning it upside down and watching the two lone drops drip to the cap. My foot stomps in anger. "It's done."
So I burst out crying.
"Dumb syrup!" I throw the empty bottle at the cabinet and it bounces right back, hitting me in the eye. I yelp and put a hand over it. "Ow! Are you kidding me?"
I drop, ass to ground, dignity six feet under, and cry harder.
Did I spend this whole week sick? Yup.
Is there any feeling in the world shittier than being sick all by yourself? Nope.
Am I crying over my mountain of issues I've compiled since birth and not over a stupid cough syrup bottle? Clearly.
My mother has been bombarding me with calls I've been avoiding all week and I'm still not speaking to Sawyer because I still want space and I'm supposed to present Mason with a finished charity event all mapped out tomorrow but I can barely stand up and ohmygod how did life get so overwhelming when I thought I finally had it under control?
The thought only evokes another harder, louder sob out of me. It's one thing to feel like your life sucks. It's another thing entirely to feel like you suck at life. And I do. I so, obviously do.
Mao slowly creeps up to me and I watch through swollen eyes as he sets his front paws on my thigh, leaning up so he can smell my face. He bumps his nose into my tears, showing me comfort the only way he knows how. I pet his head silently, showing my thanks the only way I know how. At least we have each other, right?
"I'm sorry I yelled at you," I sniffle. "It's not like I lied. You're so fat, Mao. But I still love you."
He slaps me with his tail but gives me another nose boop on the face. I'm pretty sure that translates to and you're an emotionally unstable bitch but thanks for being my human.
