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“Not pukin’ in the car.” That was all Esther needed after the night she’d had—watching me hurl my guts up while she was stuck in a small space with me.
“We’ll see,” my mom replied. “Open.”
I took the pills she shoved into my mouth without complaint. By that point, knowing Esther was safe, I was willing to do anything to stop the excruciating pain.
The car door shut, and I listened in a daze as they all talked outside the car. A few minutes later, Esther and Myla climbed in the back seat, and my mom got behind the wheel.
“Brace yourself,” she said sympathetically, patting my knee.
The car ride to my parents’ house was as miserable as I’d imagined. I puked twice, barely making it into the plastic bag the first time. My shirt was wet with sweat as Micky helped me back out of the SUV, and I couldn’t even look at Esther as he helped me into the house. We’d been married for a week and she was already seeing me at my worst. Fucking fantastic. I would’ve been really embarrassed if I’d been able to focus on anything except my head.
I lifted my arms like a child as Micky helped me strip to my underwear so I could climb into bed. The familiar smell of my parents’ house was soothing, and I relaxed as much as I could into the pillow.
“Sleep,” Esther whispered, kissing my shoulder.
Then I was down for the count.
I woke up the next morning with Esther curled up against my back and my mouth tasting so rancid that I could’ve puked again. Slowly sitting up, I gave myself a minute to make sure the headache was gone before stumbling to the bathroom. It always took at least twenty-four hours to get back to one hundred percent if I took my migraine medicine and it didn’t look like that day was going to be any different. After using the toilet, I stared at myself in the mirror. I really did look like shit. Brushing my teeth and washing my face helped, though, and a few minutes later, I was back in the bedroom.
Esther was already up and dressed when I got there.
“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly from the side of the bed.
“Better,” I rasped. My throat was sore after all the puking. Shit, I’d puked in the car. “Sorry about that.”
“Why are you apologizing? You can’t help it if you’re sick.”
“Still pretty fuckin’ gross,” I countered.
“Well,” she huffed, shrugging a little. “You love me, so I guess I can overlook it.”
I startled. That’s right, I told her I loved her. In the worst possible way. Fucking fantastic.
“Fucked that one up, didn’t I?” I asked, rubbing the back of my neck.
“Not sure how you could mess up telling someone you loved them,” she said, smiling.
“HowIdid it,” I clarified, moving into the room. “Should’ve bought you flowers or somethin’ first.”
“Well, I love you, too,” she said. “So I think it turned out okay.”
I froze. “When did you decide that?”
“Oh, sometime between when you collapsed in the bathroom and throwing your puke bag away last night,” she said conversationally, watching me closely.
“Jesus,” I muttered under my breath.
“There’s something about seeing someone vulnerable,” she continued quietly. “It really brings things into focus.”
“You love me because I passed out inside a locked bathroom like an asshole?”
“No.” She snickered. “I realized that I loved you when you passed out in a locked bathroom like a—a butthole.”
I smiled at her refusal to swear.
“I think I started loving you a little when you gave me my slippers after the wedding.”
“Those fucking slippers.” I shook my head. “You’re a weird woman.”
