Page 42 of Like You Know
“Morning, birthday girl.” She smiled at me, then burped and looked as if she might follow through for a moment.
When I was sure she wasn’t going to hurl again, I asked, “Where’s Harlow?”
The younger Mead sister had passed out on the other side of me, but it was definitely just me and Donna in the bed now.
Mena pointed to the corner between my desk and a window. I rolled over, and there she was—rolled up into a ball, tucked in among my oversized cushions, sleeping in my reading nook as she drooled on my throw blanket.
“Ugh! I feel like shit.” I groaned as I flopped back against the pillows. The bounce woke Donna, and she made one, loud snore as she jerked up in bed.
“I’m up!” She rubbed her eyes, then frowned. “What?”
Mena chuckled again. I smiled, scared that laughing would cause too much movement in my gut.
“We should get something greasy into our stomachs.” I yawned.
Donna reached for her phone to check the time. “Breakfast burritos will be here in twenty.”
“How?” I gaped at her.
“I ordered them last night and scheduled delivery.”
“I love you.”
“Of course you do. I’m fucking fabulous.”
She really was fucking fabulous—even with her mascara smeared down one cheek and her hair so messy I wasn’t sure it could be saved. But, hey, if anyone could rock a shaved head, it was Donna Mead.
Twenty minutes later, the four of us stumbled down the stairs, our faces clean and our teeth brushed but our insides still feeling like sewage. The doorbell rang, our breakfast arriving at just the right time.
Harlow had yet to communicate with anything more than a grunt, but she rushed to the door before the rest of us and yanked the paper bag out of the delivery driver’s hands. I gave the stunned guy a tip and closed the door before following the girls into the living room.
“There you are, sleepy head!” Mom came bouncing in from the patio in activewear and a light sheen of sweat. Was she exercising? On a Sunday? Before ... I checked my phone. To be fair, it was half past eleven, but time meant nothing to this woman.
“Morning.” My voice sounded marginally better.
Honestly, it surprised me more that she was actually home on my birthday. She’d missed the last two. I’d woken up to an empty house on my sixteenth and seventeenth birthdays and had received over-the-top gifts several weeks later—out of guilt that she’d forgotten.
“Oh, hey, girls!” She smiled brightly at my friends as she grabbed a water out of the fridge. “I was just thinking about going up to wake you.”
The girls all greeted her as politely as their hangovers would allow, and we settled into the couches in the adjoining living room. Harlow’s breakfast burrito was nearly half gone by the time the rest of us unwrapped ours.
Mom meandered into the living room and perched on the arm of the couch next to me. Cal walked into the kitchen, talking on his phone as he rummaged in the cupboard. He was in shorts and a T-shirt, barefoot and comfortable—as if he lived here. Because he fucking did.
I ignored him. It was easy to do since I felt pleasantly surprised my mom was actually here. She really did seem to be changing her life. I mean, she was exercising and drinking water! I had to admit there were a lot of positive signs. So I let myself hope she’d remembered her only child was eighteen today, that maybe she’d already gotten me a gift and had wanted to wake me up to give it to me.
“So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Mom asked the room.
I shrugged. “Nothing. We’re all pretty—” I stopped myself from sayinghungover, not in the mood for a fight. “Tired. It was a late night.”
“Mm-hmm. Tired. Right.” Mom glared at us each in turn but with a teasing smile on her face. The woman could write a book on hangovers, so it was probably naive to think she wouldn’t know. We all chuckled a little, Mom included. I was relieved she wasn’t mad about it, that I could actually have a moment of lightness with my mother.
“So, what did you girls get up to last night that’s got you so tired?” she asked.
“Uh, there was a party,” Mena answered while I had a mouthful of burrito. Harlow had finished hers and fallen right back to sleep on the other end of the couch.
“Ooh, a party! I hope it was worth the hangover. What was the occasion?”
No one answered on my behalf that time, shooting me subtle looks as they busied their mouths with breakfast. I swallowed my bite with some difficulty. My throat was suddenly tight, and all the food in my stomach felt heavy.