“No, no, no,” Charlotte said out loud—another mistake, her voice’s vibrations rattling her skull. She dug her fingers into her scalp, massaging her aching head, hoping to press out the entirety of the last eighteen hours as well, but no luck there. She found a half-full glass of water on the nightstand and gulped, then popped two more Tylenols and tried to convince her mouth to stop watering in warning. Honestly, she wasn’t sure if the nausea was from alcohol or what she’d said to Brighton.
Both. Definitely both.
She was supposed to bemoving on. That’s what she’d decided, what she’d declared to both of them in the Winter Berry restroom. She was supposed to be in control, for Christ’s sake, but here she was, hungover and nursing the effects of what pretty much amounted to a declaration of love to her ex.
Jesus Christ, how did she get here?
She shook her head—mistake number 1,293—and shoved back the covers. She swayed on her feet, but she pushed through it and made it to the bathroom unnoticed, where she took the hottest shower possible. After that, she pulled on a pair of tightblack jeans and a black turtleneck before smoothing her hair back into a perfect low ponytail. She put on mascara and her reddest red lipstick, then looked at herself in the mirror.
She could still do this.
She was still in control.
All she had to do was act like last night had never happened. Easy as knocking back a Mistletoe Margarita.
Downstairs, everyone was gathered aroundthe dining table, feasting on toasted bagels topped with over-easy eggs. Charlotte’s stomach rumbled. Food sounded both divine and like a terrible idea, but she needed something to soak up all the booze still floating in her blood. She walked confidently to the table and sat down in an empty chair next to Manish, then grabbed a bagel and started spreading it with butter.
The group went silent, but she simply smiled, made sure her butter was touching all the edges of her bagel, and took a bite.
“Tequila!” Manish said, breaking the silence.
Everyone burst into laughter, and Charlotte felt her cheeks redden. But she just smiled brighter, took a surreptitious deep breath, and felt a calm settle over her bones.
She could do this.
She wasgreatat this. When one had an indifferent mother as their only parent, self-soothing was a priceless skill, a matter of survival, even. She’d learned at a very young age how to take care of herself, control her emotions, and wear expressions that fit the situation so no one asked questions or suspected she wasn’t okay.
Because shewasokay.
She was goddamn thriving.
“Yes, yes, have your laugh,” she said to the group as she tookanother bite of her bagel. Brighton sat across from her, putting her in the perfect position to look directly at her ex as she chewed.
She smiled.
Made sure it reached her eyes.
“You feeling okay?” Brighton asked.
“Great,” Charlotte said, then shrugged. The best lies held some truth. She laughed. “Okay, not great, but I’ll make it.”
“I’m pretty sure the state of Colorado ran out of tequila after you descended on Watered Down,” said Adele.
“All the better,” Nina said. “Tequila never did anyone any favors.”
“That’s the truth,” Charlotte said, smiling at her host. “I don’t think I’ll be partaking again anytime soon.”
“Hang on,” Sloane said. “Mom, do you have some tequila stories?”
Nina waved a hand and got up. “Not today, Satan.”
Adele and Sloane looked at each other, then shot up from the table, both following their mother into the kitchen.
“Rehearsal in five!” Charlotte called after Sloane, her raised voice nearly splitting her head in two. Still, she smiled.
Smiled and smiled and smiled.
“Ugh, seriously?” Manish asked. “But we’re going to Greenbriar Ridge this afternoon.”
