Luckily she’s pretty drunk. She falls up the stairs once, twice.
We are not having this conversation tonight.
“I love you.” She kisses my cheek when I help carry her up the steps. “You are the best husband a girl could ask for.”
I laugh at that. “No man will ever compare to this. To what we have.”
“Duh.” She leans in and plants a sloppy kiss on my cheek. “My dandelion,” she whispers.
“Keys.” I try to hold her up and get the keys, but alas I am not that talented.
“Here.” She holds them up, still too close, exhaling vodka with every breath. “We should make a pact.”
“Alex.” I kick open the door. “Let me remind you we already have a few dozen of those.”
“A new one,” she says.
I eye the bedrooms, knowing damn well when she’s this drunk she’ll just crawl into bed with me anyway. So I head towards my bed because it is far superior.
“Good choice,” she mutters. “I think that last shot was a terrible idea.”
“Don’t puke.” I get to the bedroom and keep going to our Jack and Jill bathroom. Where I gently help her to the floor.
“No promises.” She gags.
I barely get the toilet seat up in time before she begins to puke.
“Shit.” I reach over to the door handle where we always leave a few spare hair ties and begin to pull her hair back. It’s near her ass, so it takes me a minute as she’s vomiting. Finally I get it into a messy bun, all strands protected.
It’s girl code.
“Thanks.” She rests her head on the toilet, facing me.
As fucked up as it sounds, these are my favorite moments. It’s not about the puke, though I do flush the toilet. It isn’t about the sweat, or Alex being drunk and me sober.
It’s so much more than that.
And it’s hard to explain unless you’ve been there. Unless you’ve sat on a bathroom floor at 4 AM with your best friend.
It’s a moment I savor, one where I imprint every detail to memory. Alex dressed like a fucking queen in hot shorts, boots, and a crop top. Her eyes looking at me with so much trust—that I will make sure she won’t wake up with a hangover, that I’ll be here as she needs me, that I won’t leave her.
It’s so much more than just a simple moment.
“The pact,” she says, just as I’m about to get up and grab her some electrolytes and Advil. “Marry me.”
My heart does something complicated. Not quite stopping. Not quite racing. Just—caught.
“Marry you?”
“Yeah, we are nearing thirty.” She sits up, which she instantly regrets, and begins to puke again.
“Stay. I’ll be right back.” In a daze I walk to the kitchen, get her drink, and Advil.
Did she just propose to me?
Impossible.
I get back to the bathroom where Alex is still curled around the toilet and hand her the Advil and the drink before settling in beside her in the corner between the toilet and the wall.
