ONE
DARCY
Of all the things I’d ever thrown up, champagne might have been one of the worst.
The half-digested contents of my stomach stared up at me from the toilet bowl—a scene not fondly reminiscent of college benders. Except, I wasn’t drunk. I’d only had one glass for the wedding toasts, and I hadn’t even finished it.
Another bout of nausea had my throat tightening before I retched up the rest of the hors d’oeuvres I’d consumed during the cocktail hour. Beef Wellingtons? They were so much better going down.
I took a deep steadying breath. My body felt shaky, and a dull ache had my head pulsing, but that was it. I didn’t feel feverish, my muscles didn’t ache, and I didn’t have a cough, not that that meant anything. Itwasfall in New England. Colds and bugsspread faster than wildfires, so it wouldn’t surprise me if I’d managed to catch something. But it was so rare that I was ever sick, yet here I was, at my brother’s wedding, throwing up into the upscale restaurant’s toilet.
A few minutes later, once I was convinced I had my retching under control, I flushed the toilet and stood, inhaling the cool air through my nose. Whatever that was, it seemed to have subsided for the time being, but the inner peace felt tentative—like a sip of water could have me running right back.
I opened the stall door and walked to the sink to wash my hands. There was an “emergency” basket with all sorts of toiletries and conveniences sitting on the counter, and I rifled through it until I found some Tylenol, and a pack of gum. Bless Kinsley’s boujee soul.
Popping the Tylenol into my mouth, I cupped my hands under the faucet, and chased the pills down with water. Then I dried my hands, and smoothed out my dress, unwrapping the stick of peppermint gum, and heading back out into the reception.
The music was still quiet as everyone was finishing up their dinners, but I knew that would change once the party officially started. My brother, Garrett, was a police officer, and if there was one thing cops knew how to do, it was party. Seeing as how a good handful of his coworkers were here, I knew I’d have to make my exit before all of that started, or I’d get roped into it somehow.
Linnea’s dark blue eyes were shining with happiness and barely-held-back tears as I approached. She was a hopeless romantic to the core. Mostly, I loved that about my sister—how she could see the world as if it was only ever sunshine and rainbows, and always find the bright side to any situation—but sometimes it was a little hard to digest. I guess that’s what made her a great labor and delivery nurse, though. No one wanted me showing up to help bring their baby into the world. Instead ofcoos and sweet nothings, I’d be in the baby’s ear trying to prep it for what’s out there. I wasn’t a complete pessimist, there was a lot of good in the world too—Jack Daniels and romance novels for starters—but I envied my sister’s unwavering optimism. Especially when it came to happily ever afters.
It’s not that I didn’t believe in love—I saw it plain as day between my parents, and between the newlyweds this evening. It’s that I knew it wasn’t as simple as the movies made it out to be. Justlovingsomeone wasn’t enough. You had to be willing to deal with all of their bullshit, and have them accept all of yours in return. And even if you could manage that, there was always the very strong possibility that they were going to eventually hurt you, or let you down, as was proven true by every single man I’d ever dated.
“Are you okay? Where’d you run off to?” Linnea’s voice was equal parts concern and curiosity, as if she were hoping I had some sordid gossip to tell her.
I cleared my throat. “I was in the bathroom, but I’m actually not feeling too great. I think I’m going to take off.” I grabbed my purse and jacket from the back of my chair.
“What? Really? What about the wedding?” She hit me with the classic Linnea puppy-dog eyes, which had me rolling my own.
“Please. I was here for the important part, and we both know I don’t dance at weddings. I’m not missing anything. Besides, they haven’t torn their eyes away from one another since they said ‘I do.’ They won’t even know I’m gone.”
She gave me a once over, and must’ve found the evidence she needed to confirm my story of not feeling great, because she nodded. “Okay. Do you need me to drive you home?”
That snagged my mother’s attention, who sat on the other side of Linnea. Instant worry creased her gently-aging features.“Darcy? You’re leaving? Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, Mom. I just don’t feel great. I think I need to go lie down. Sorry.”
She got up from her seat and wrapped me in a hug. “No need to apologize, honey. Do you want your father to drive you home? Or he can follow you and stop at the store to get you something?”
I offered her a small smile. My family was nothing if not caring to suffocating levels. “I’ll be fine. Whatever it is, I’m just coming down with it. I’ll be fine to get back, I don’t want to ruin the honeymoon with a stomach bug.”
My mother’s eyes roamed over my face, as if she could robotically scan me to ensure my well-being. She dropped a kiss to my forehead, no doubt playing off a fever check as a goodbye.
“Okay, Darcy girl. Text me when you get home.”
“Sure.” I nodded, then waved goodbye to Linnea.
“Feel better! I’ll eat some cake for you!” she called after me.
I walked out into the night. The crisp, late October air had goosebumps rising across my exposed skin. Shrugging into my coat, I hurried across the parking lot to my car, and almost immediately turned on the heated seats after starting it.
The drive back to my parents’ was a solid forty-five minutes on a good day, but seeing as how it was now seven o’clock on a Saturday night, I pulled out my phone and queued up my audiobook. Instantly the female main character’s breathy moans filled the car at a deafening volume, as the love interest told her what a good girl she was. Cursing, I lunged for the volume knob, and turned it down, simultaneously scanning the dark outside the vehicle to make sure no one was around to hear it. I wasn’t ashamed of my romance novels, but I didn’t need the entirety of my brother’s wedding guests, most of whom were family, to know exactly whatkindsof romance novels I read.
Starting the chapter over at a much more reasonable volume—because I was not about to miss whatever was happening right there—I started my car, and pulled away from the venue. Thenarrators of my book were two personal favorites of mine, and I listened to every book they did together, but even they couldn’t fully distract me from my stomach, which seemed to be growing more and more uneasy by the minute.
What was wrong with me? No one else at the wedding was throwing up, so it couldn’t have been something I ate there, which meant it had to have been the tailgate hotdogs Shayna and I ate Thursday night before the concert at the Washington Meadows. In hindsight, eating hotdogs that had been sitting out in sixty degree weather, may not have been the smartest move. However, drunk Darcy never turned down a good hotdog, especially not when it was free. And it had tasted amazing. Regardless, that had to be it. It was the only questionable thing I’d eaten in the past forty-eight hours. But then again, why was it only just hitting me now? It was a whole two days later, and that seemed a little late for me to now be getting sick, but what else could it be?
I merged onto the highway, reminding myself to text my friend to see if she was sick too, and mourning the fact that my most beloved pre-concert meal had given me food poisoning.
