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Chapter Thirty Eight

If it wasn't for the phone ringing, I probably would have slept right through the entire day. I groped for my cell phone on the bedside table.

"Hello?" I mumbled through the serenity of three extremely fluffy blankets.

"You neglected to tell me Brooklyn was cutting teeth."

It took me a moment for my brain to connect the dots. I let out a huge yawn as I slid into a sitting position.

"Sorry, mom," I said. I stood up. The floor was cold beneath my bare feet. "Did I mention Brooklyn's cutting teeth?"

Mom snorted. "Nice save. How's Nick?"

"Nick?"

"Are you still sleeping?"

I glanced at the alarm clock. It was eleven thirty in the morning.

"I just woke up. I didn't get to bed until almost five."

"What time did you get home?"

"Two thirty."

"How was the theme park?"

I smiled. "Absolutely fantastic."

made my way down the hall to the landing and leaned over the railing. Even from here I could see Nick still sleeping on the couch.

"How's Nick?"

It was my turn to snort. "I don't think he's going to be feeling too well today. How was he when you picked up Brooke from the restaurant?"

"There were about three empty pitchers of beer on the table and he was ending every single statement like an exclamation," my mom said with a laugh. "He was well on the way to becoming three sheets to the wind."

"Oh dear Lord," I said. The night could have only gotten worse at the paintball arena. "How's Brooklyn?"

"Besides the crankiness from teething, she's fine. You want me to keep her for a few more hours?"

"That would be great," I said in relief. I had a feeling I was going to be dealing with an even bigger baby in a few minutes.

"Alright, well I'll swing by around three o'clock."

"I appreciate it mom. Love you."

"Love you too. Good luck with Nick."

I hung up the phone and headed downstairs. I rooted through the medicine cabinet in the downstairs bathroom and produced a couple aspirins and a glass of water. There was no way I was going to walk up to the couch without being armed.

Nick's mouth was open and his skin was slightly blotchy. It was as if the alcohol was clinging onto his pores for dear life. Since my hands were full, I nudged him with my foot.

"Nick, wake up."

He turned a little, but I got no other response. I shoved my heel into his side. He jumped.

"NICK!"

He let out the biggest groan I had ever heard in my life.

"Liv?"

"Wake up. It's almost noon."

He lay there quiet for a few seconds. I feared he had gone back to sleep and I was ready to give him another push when his arms started to flail.

"Liv...Liv...I'm...I'm BLIND!!!"

I looked at him like he was crazy.

"Nick, I think you'll be fine if you just open your eyes."

The flailing stopped.

"Oh."

Very slowly I saw a little flash of blue as his eyes creaked open. They closed again quickly. His hand flew up to his temple.

"Oh my god," he gasped. “It hurts.”

I sighed. "Open your mouth."

"Why?"

"Just do it."

His mouth creaked open. Trying to ignore the vision of him puking in the vase from the night before, I inserted the aspirin. He made a face as the chalky coating hit his tongue.

"Open your eyes and take a sip."

He looked at me through mere slits, but it was enough for him to find the glass and bring it to his mouth. He drank greedily and then sank back down into the couch cushions.

"I'm dying," he moaned. "What happened?"

"You drank too much," I stated matter of factly.

"I don't remember drinking too much."

"Well, that's kind of a sign of drinking too much."

Nick got quiet. He seemed to be testing the ability to keep his eyes open without the need to squeeze them closed.

"Did I do anything else stupid last night?"

"You don't remember?" I said.

"No. I remember your mom coming to get Brooke and then me holding a paintball gun. After that..."

"You ran off with two Hooters girls and married one of them." I said.

Nick's eyes flew open. "What?"

I grinned. "Kidding, kidding."

"That was cold. I shouldn't marry you for that."

I smiled. "That's up to you."

Nick's eyes closed again. "If you can find my sunglasses, I'll forgive you."

I got up and headed back up to our room. I found a pair of sunglasses on a giant lobster in his closet. Don't ask me why he has a giant stuffed lobster in his closet.

"Here you go," I said once I had come back downstairs. I slipped them on over his eyes. After a few seconds Nick sighed.

"Better."

Even though his eyes might have been feeling better, the rest of him wasn't. By the time I finally talked him into getting up and moving he walked around the house like he was part zombie. At one point I went upstairs to get out my clothes for the evening and I must have fallen asleep on the bed for about twenty minutes. When I finally woke up and made my way back downstairs, Nick was sleeping at the kitchen table. His head was in a bowl of Frosted Flakes.

For one irrational second I thought that he might have drowned in the milk. I shook his shoulder hard; with a sputter he looked up. Milk dripped off the bottom of his sunglasses.

"What?" he asked grouchily. He ran a hand down his face. "What happened?"

"I think you fell asleep in your cereal," I said impatiently. Even though I was running on only five hours of sleep, I had felt fairly decent when mom had called. The twenty minute nap hadn't been a good idea. The sight and smell of the milk was making me sick. Like someone who had just been hit with a tranquilizer dart, Nick’s head drifted back towards the table. He curled his arms over his head.

I glanced at the clock. It was two forty-five. Mom would be bringing Brooklyn over in fifteen minutes. Then we had to get ready which I knew would take at least an hour. Rehearsal was supposed to start at four. It was a forty minute drive to the beach.

"Nick you've got to get up NOW," I said. He was either ignoring me or truly asleep. I kicked the leg of his chair. It was a stupid move. My big toe THROBBED. I let out a string of expletives and sank down into the chair beside him.

Nick looked up, his chin resting on his arm. His glasses had slid halfway down his nose.

"Wha' happened?" he said. I glared at him. If I had laser vision, he would have been nothing but a pile of ashes.

"Get...upstairs NOW and get dressed," I said in controlled rage. My hand was wrapped around my big toe. It felt like it was on fire.

Nick's chair made a horrible noise as it scooted back on the wood floor. After dumping his bowl in the sink Nick staggered up the stairs. A few minutes later I heard the unmistakable sound of the shower going.

Ten minutes later the doorbell rang. Hobbling slightly, I walked into the foyer and opened the door. Mom smiled in at me.

"Hey sweetie. Here's Brooke---hey, you don't look so good. And why aren’t you dressed?"

"Long night," I said sourly. “And bad day.” I took the car seat from mom and peered in. Brooklyn broke into a smile when she saw me. All of a sudden my toe didn't seem to hurt so much.

"Are you sure you want to get married after last night?" my mom teased. "I think it's okay to have a bachelorette party without getting married."

I smiled. "No, I'm not that fed up. C'mon in for a few minutes."

The house was an absolute mess. I could see my mom looking around at the tipped over end table and the mess of blankets on the couch and floor. In fact, now that I was looking at things from a fresh perspective, I could almost smell vomit too.

There went my housekeeper of the year award.

"Where's Nick?" mom asked.

"He's upstairs getting ready."

"Sure he didn't just go back to sleep?"

I listened upstairs. The shower had stopped awhile ago. I glanced over at my mom.

"I'm gonna go check on him."

"Good girl."

I limped up the stairs. Sure enough Nick was wrapped in a towel on the bed with his face smashed into the pillow. A big wet spot spread over the satin pillowcase from his hair.

"NICKOLAS GENE CARTER!"

He practically jumped out of his skin.

"What are you doing?"

He looked up at me with a guilty expression. "I thought I lost a contact on the pillow and..."

"Nick you don't wear contacts."

He sighed. "I fell asleep. I'm a bum and I feel like crap and I know this is a big day and I suck big dookie balls."

It’s hard to stay mad at somebody when they tell you they suck dookie balls. I tugged at his bare foot playfully.

“It’s okay. We run on Backstreet time anyhow. Just get up and start moving. It’ll be fine.”

I headed back downstairs and spent a few minutes with mom. Finally she left for the beach site; her mission was to distract everyone until we got there. I brought Brooklyn up with me to the bedroom to change. Nick was lying on his back slowly zipping his pants. It looked like every movement was killing him.

“Did Sam come with you guys last night?” I asked as I pulled out my dress.

“No. He had some type of emergency and had to fly back to New York.”

I turned around, hanger in hand. “He did? Everything okay?”

“Yeah. He said he’d be back in plenty of time for the wedding.”

“Well, that’s good. Howie was going to offer him the job last night. I hope nothing major happened.”

“He didn’t sound too concerned,” Nick assured me.

By the time that I got Brooklyn dressed, myself dressed, my makeup on and my hair tamed the clock read five after four. Nick was slouched on the couch watching cartoons with Brooklyn.

"We're really late," I announced.

"We knew we were going to be late," Nick answered back calmly. "Hey what happened to the vase that used to be on the table?"

I grabbed my purse. "Don't ask."

Nick strapped Brooklyn into her car seat and picked up his keys. I looked at him warily.

"What?" he asked.

"I think I'll drive,” I said.

"My headache's going away," Nick argued. "Plus, I'll look like an idiot showing up with you driving us to the wedding rehearsal."

My eyes narrowed. "That’s really chauvinistic."

"What?"

"I can drive just as well, if not better, than you."

Nick looked like he was going to say something else but thought better of it. He picked up my keys and tossed them to me.

"Okay then. Burn rubber, Livvy."

As I got into the driver's seat, I thought I heard him mutter the word 'hormones' as he secured Brooklyn into the back. I had to stop myself from turning around. I didn't think it was a good omen to have your first big fight on the day of your wedding reception.

Some things are just better left alone.