The sun seemed to be up earlier than usual. Perhaps it was just the hangover—but it was unusually bright today as well. I pulled the pillow up over my head and twisted to face the wall.
“God, no.” A voice groaned behind me, and I realized that someone else must have been using that pillow for sun protection before me. I tried to feel bad, but then I realized it was my pillow, so they could suck it. I may have said so aloud.
“Annabelle, you are the worst of the worst, and I want you to be acutely aware of this.” Nancy gripped scrapping desperately for the blankets to pull them up over her head in defense.
“Nan, I could have left you to sleep on the nasty floor downstairs without the protection of a locked door from my early bird of a sister and her exercise videos.” Nothing woke me up as quickly as a good little argument in the morning—or afternoon—whatever time it was.
“What I meant to say,” Nancy’s voice was muffled now, coming through many layers of blankets that had been pulled free of both our legs. “was of course you are the best of the best and I love you whole heartedly with every inch of my soul.”
I laughed into the pillow. “I thought that was what you said.” There was a shuffle of blankets and a shift of weight on the bed. Nancy was sitting up now, and that did not bode well for me. “What in the world are you doing?”
There was a moment more silence then, “Holy crap, Annabelle. It’s 3:30 in the afternoon. We have literally slept the day away.”
“Yeah, well, we drank until 5 am. Where you expecting us to go out to brunch?”
“No—but,” I felt a tug on my pillow, and renewed my grip on holding it to my head. “Come on, Annie, we’ve got to do something with our day. At least a little productive.”
“No, we really don’t.” I flipped over, so the pillow was pinned under my body weight, and everything went even darker. “We can stay in bed all day and call it good one.”
“Annabelle, I cannot understand you when you do that.” She gave another tug on my shoulder, this time pulling a little bit harder. “We’ve got to do something—anything. Even something small. Please, I’ll never be able to go out drinking with you again if we don’t get something done.”
I finally relaxed and let her flip me over, the light bright red behind my eyelids. “Fine,” I groaned through the splitting headache. “Fine. But whatever it is, it better be a small kind of productive with no heavy lifting or loud noises. Or next time you are sleeping on the couch.”
“Deal,” Nancy agreed quickly, and I felt her jump up off the bed with ridiculous bouncing and speed. I was in for a rough afternoon, and I made the mental note to only drink with people whose hangovers were equal to or worse than mine.