“I believe you when you say you weren’t a drinker.” I reached for the book, examining how it fared from the drop.
“I feel so bad. They were talkin’ about swine flu yesterday…” he groaned.
“It’s not swine flu. It’s a hangover, and you have one,” I explained patiently.
Since pajamas were a requirement in this house, I’d been in and out of the room all night, concocting the perfect hangover elixir. Well, Google and I together perfected the drink. My masterpiece sat chilling in the refrigerator, the direction I was currently heading.
My brainchild consisted of three parts blue Powerade for hydration, two raw eggs to soothe his stomach and help with a headache, ground ibuprofen for general body aches, and a decent size spoonful of instant coffee. I added a good portion of honey because I learned it fixed everything. Those last two ingredients were reported to help boost energy.
If all went well with my test case—namely Beau this morning—I planned to mass produce the drink to help make the world a better place.
Maybe I’d use dried ingredients to make the drink easier to tote around.
“Good morning,” Beau’s mom said, standing in front of the Keurig. “My son can snore. I had no idea.”
“I think his body mass gets bigger after he drinks. He took up the entire bed,” I said, reaching in for my magic potion. “I whipped up a special drink last night to help him out.” I winkedmischievously, keeping my potion’s ingredients hush-hush for proprietary reasons.
I shook the closed bottle to help redistribute the eggs.
“I’m leaving soon. Are you going to be here today?”
“I am, I guess, but it’s hard to know.” After the countless mini disagreements Beau and I had on pretty much everything, she and I both knew if Beau wanted my help today, he’d get it.
I kept the bottle shaking as I entered the bedroom. Beau’s eyes were open, even if he had only turned to his back. “I really think I’ve picked up a bug or something. If my dad felt this way every mornin’, he’d have never continued drinkin’. Fuck, I feel bad.”
“Here, drink this,” I said, coming to the edge of the bed, giving a reassuring nod that hopefully expressed the benefit of what I held in my hands. Beau managed to lift his body, looking skeptically at the Powerade bottle.
“My stomach hurts,” he said and slowly rose, pushing his back against the headboard. “I don’t know if I should go today. I think I picked up somethin’. Probably at Lowes.”
I’d never known anyone to hang on to the idea it wasn’t a hangover for so long. And Beau wasn’t teasing, which had to mean he’d stayed away from the liquor. His father must have truly been in bad shape. I took a seat and unscrewed the top. “It’s a hydration drink with a few health boosting additives inside. Try it.”
I took a sniff. It actually smelled pretty good. Encouraged, I passed it to him and reached for the water bottle on the nightstand. I had it ready to go. Per Google’s instructions, Beau had to drink both in intervals.
Beau’s skepticism became reluctance after he took a good whiff.
“No, you’re smelling your own breath,” I said. “It’s Powerade. You know the importance of hydration. Drink it. Take a few gulps then drink the water. Scott’s waiting.”
Beau scrunched his face and squeezed his eyes closed, downing two long gulps. “Not too fast. You have to drink the water too.”
Half a second later, his eyes popped open. He gave a solid heave.
I cringed. I hadn’t anticipated such an immediate negative reaction. Beau scooted clumsily off the bed, giving a second, much louder heave.
“What’s in that?” Beau’s stomach gave an audible, violent sound as he heaved, and darted out of the room, running down the hall.
“Beau,” his mom called.
“Move, Mom!”
With a furrowed brow of disappointment, I reached for the Powerade bottle. A longer smell of the contents had me pulling away. I got a healthy dose of the raw eggs that time. Apparently, I needed to go back in front of the drawing board if my creation was going to be the next best thing. Too bad. I wasn’t throwing in the towel just yet. The drink made sense. Beau was loud in the bathroom. If the drink made that happen regularly, people wouldn’t use it more than once. I’d figure it out.
Wedding Night
Scott’s Childhood Bedroom
I’d been eyeing Dash in the whys and the ways he used the hairdryer. I didn’t have a lot of time. Scott had hogged most of the minutes in front of the mirror, making sure he looked his very best. We shared the same bathroom and bedroom to shower and dress for the big night.
Feeling too big for the small space of the bathroom, I flipped on the hairdryer and attempted to tame my unruly hair. My lack of skill and serious need for a haircut had me trying my best, pushing the hair off my face, and drying it thoroughly. It didn’t take long.
