“Hi!” Cami shouts.
My head throbs in a silent reply. “Let’s use our inside voices.”
“Sorry,” she whisper-shouts.
Close enough. “Where’s your mom?” And how do I avoid her for the rest of the day?
“Making lunch.”
Lunch already? How long did I sleep in?
“And what are you doing in here?” I sit up in the bed. I’m still wearing my clothes from last night, which look like they spent a week at the bottom of a laundry hamper.
“Mommy said you’re not feeling too good.”
My head knocks back. “She did?”
“Yeah. I heard her on the phone telling Aunt Dee you got a hang-ovary.”
I bust into laughter, although I regret it instantly with the way my head throbs. “I think you mean hangover.”
Her goofy, gap-toothed smile is slowly growing on me. “What’s a hangover?”
And this right here is the reason why I shouldn’t be allowed around kids in the first place.
I clear my throat. “It’s when people make bad decisions at night and wake up sick the next day.”
Her forehead scrunches. “Like when you eat too much chocolate and get a tummy ache?”
“Sure, kid. Just like that.” I wish my problems stemmed from eating too much chocolate. It’s far less harmful and way more enjoyable, which are two pluses in my book.
“How do you get better?”
I sigh. “I’m not sure if I ever will get better.”
“Why not?”
“Because I get sick a lot.” As sad as it is to admit.
Cami’s stare doesn’t hold an ounce of judgment. “With a hangover?”
“Yes.” Just because I have a high tolerance while drinking doesn’t mean I’m immune to feeling the next-day effects. I’ve just gotten better at managing them.
And disguising them.
“Oh. Wait! I know what will work! Stay right there, Cow-l.”
“It’s Cal. Just Cal,” I emphasize.
“Okay, Cal.” But it comes out more like cow. Maybe she’ll get it eventually, but today isn’t that day.
Cami runs out of the room, leaving my door wide open. Her bare feet slap against the wood floor as she rushes down the hall.
I’m tempted to leave just so I can avoid having another conversation with the kid. With the way my head throbs, it might be for the best.
Or you could just play nice and entertain Lana’s daughter after everything that happened last night.
Earning a point or two with Lana wouldn’t be the worst thing. As much as I’m not a kid person, I’m willing to pretend for a little while if it makes Cami happy, which in turn will make Lana happy.
So, against every cell in my body telling me to run far away from the kid, I stay in my room, waiting for the little wrecking ball to come back with whatever she thinks will make me better. Hopefully it’s a bottle of Advil and a glass of water.
A knock on my door has my head whipping in the direction of the sound. The rapid pace of my heart makes my ears pound.
Lana leans against the doorframe. “Do you have a minute?”
I swallow past the thick lump in my throat. “Sure.”
She steps inside my room and shuts the door behind her. With the way she stares at me, empty and unflinching, my stomach feels about ready to purge itself of last night’s bar food.
“Last night can’t ever happen again.”
My head drops. “No. It really shouldn’t.”
“I went ahead and took the key back.”
My fists tighten around the comforter. “I understand.”
“I don’t see how that’s even possible.” Her tone is sharper than a blade.
I ignore the churning sensation in my abdomen and focus on her. “About the vase…”
“What about it?” The question comes out icy.
“I plan on getting you a new one today.”
“Do you really think buying your way out of this will make up for you shattering my mom’s vase?”
I blink. “Your mom’s?”
Of all the things to break, it had to be something that belonged to her mother…
She releases a shuddery breath. “I knew it was a mistake agreeing to have you live here. I should have just taken my chances with the lawyers and left it up to a judge. I thought maybe you would have some common sense and be on your best behavior, but obviously I was asking for too much. What were you even doing coming inside the house that late?”
I fidget with my hair. “I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.”
“I should have never given you a key.”
“Lana—”
“No. You don’t get to Lana me and expect all this to go away.”
“I’m not trying to make things go away. I’m trying to say sorry.”
“Well, you can take your sorry and shove it up your ass along with all the other shit you spew.” She slams the door before I have a chance to even apologize.
“I’m back!” Cami barrels inside my bedroom like a torpedo. The door smacks against the wall, and a bit of plaster from the ceiling falls down.
That looks promising.
“Remember your inside voice.” I wince.
“Right. Sorry.” She bounces from one foot to another.
“What’s up?”
“I made you something to feel better.” She presses a folded sheet of paper against her chest.
“What is it?”
She beckons me closer with her finger. I consider leaning forward but think better of it, instead choosing to kneel down.
Cami’s face lights up as she unfolds the piece of paper. “Ta-da!”
I flinch at the stabbing pain in my skull.
“Do you not like it?” Cami’s smile falters, threatening to drop altogether.
“My head just hurts.”
“Oh, sorry.” Her bottom lip trembles.
A quick scan of the paper makes my heart catapult in my chest. It’s the simplest of drawings, with a big, wonky heart taking up a majority of the page. Within the red shape, she drew two blond stick figures. One has large squiggles on their arms while the shorter one has a triangle-shaped body to represent a dress. Below the heart, Cami wrote me a message.
Feel better, Cow-L.
Laughter explodes out of me at I trace over my name. Can’t say I’ve seen someone spell it like that before. “I love it.”
Cami’s entire face lights up like a firework, bright and impossible to ignore. “Really?”
“Best card ever.” My lips pull into a sincere grin.
Someone sucks in a breath. I look up from Cami’s face to find Lana staring at us with wide eyes.
“Hey.” I offer her a small smile.
“What’s going on?” She takes a step inside the room.
“I made Cow-l a card so he feels better.” Cami turns to show her mother the sheet of paper.
“Did you?” The tightness in Lana’s voice matches her rigid posture. “What’s wrong with him?”
Cami’s cheeks turn pink. “He’s gots a hangover.”
Lana glares at me like I’m the one at fault for teaching her daughter the word.
I raise my hands in submission. “She overheard you talking on the phone first about a hang-ovary, so don’t go pointing fingers at me.”
Lana turns to Cami. “That’s sweet of you.” She pats her daughter’s head, ruffling the tangled strands even more.