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Good morning, counselor. I hope you’re feeling okay after last night. If not, here’s a photo of your favorite smile to help you feel better.
He’d added a smiling selfie, dimples included. Damn it. Had I really told him his smile was my favorite? What the fuck? He’s never going to let that go. I study the photo for another moment, annoyed at how handsome he is. I send him a middle finger emoji and move on. Before I can click the next message, he replies.
That’s no way to treat the owner of your favorite smile. But since you’re not feeling like yourself today, I’ll forgive you.
I decide not to respond. It will only encourage him to keep it up. The next message is from Michael. When I click the message and read it, my eyes go wide.
“No,” I whisper, scrolling higher up in the thread. “No, no, no, no, no. Fuck!”
There’s a message sent from me to him at 11:45pm last night inviting him to Savannah for my sister’s wedding. What the fuck? I vaguely remember the decision to text him, but I can’t believe I invited him to Piper’s wedding. No more bourbon, ever. It’s clearly some kind of poison sent from Hell to encourage me to ruin my life. I don’t even know how I feel about Michael. I’m definitely not ready to have him at a family function where stress levels are already going to be high. I look back to the phone, reading his response again.
I’d love to, but I can’t stay for the whole weekend. I’m going to visit my parents Saturday, but I can come to the rehearsal Friday night.
What the hell? I’d invited him not only to the wedding but for the entire weekend. Does he think I wanted him to share my hotel room? I read over my drunk texts again, trying to see them as he would.
Hey, cutie! I was thinking if you don’t have anything to do this weekend, you could spend it with me at my sister’s wedding celebration. I’ll be in Savannah all weekend, living it up! Would love to see you there! Bye!
Drunk me sure likes her exclamation points. I’m impressed by my drunk typing skills, to be honest. I guess even when I’m drunk, I hate bad punctuation. I sigh, dropping the phone to the bed. At least he’s only coming for one day. I can handle one day. It’s not that big of a deal. It’s just another place setting at the rehearsal dinner. I’m sure Piper won’t mind. On that note, I pick up my phone to call her. She answers on the second ring.
“Happy wedding weekend!” I say in a cheery voice that doesn’t match how I feel.
“You sound better than I thought you would,” she says.
“Oh, I feel like shit,” I admit with a laugh. “But I have a little issue I need to discuss with you.”
“Oh god!” Piper’s voice is panicked. “Did something happen to the dress? Please tell me you didn’t puke on it last night?”
I laugh. “Your dress is fine, Pipes. Calm down.”
“Oh, thank god,” she breathes. “Whatever it is, I can handle it. Just not that.”
“I’m glad you said that,” I say. “Because last night, in my drunken state, I managed to text Michael and invite him to your wedding.”
There’s a moment of quiet before she breaks out laughing. It’s so loud I need to move the phone away from my ear because it’s making my head hurt more. I wait for her laughter to die down, rubbing my temples with one hand. When she finally quiets, I bring the phone back to my ear.
“Did you get it all out of your system?” I ask in a dry voice.
“Maybe,” she says, humor still evident in her voice. “No guarantees. What happened to taking it slow?”
“I don’t know, Piper. Maybe someone should have taken my phone from me.”
“Oh, no,” she says. “You’re a grown ass woman. You’re not blaming anyone else for your drunk texts.”
I sigh. “I know.” The misery in my voice isn’t exaggerated.
“What did he say?”
“Hold on,” I say. “I’ll send the screenshot.”
I quickly screenshot my text thread with Michael and send it to my sister.
“Got it,” she says. “Hang on while I read.”
After a few seconds she speaks again.
“Okay, this isn’t that bad,” she says. “I thought it was going to be super embarrassing. But this doesn’t even seem like a drunk text.”
“Really?”
