Twenty-Five
“Sooo, are we still going for German pancakes?” Bryony asks, carrying the whole pot of coffee to the table. She’s moved my figurines back to the shelves where they usually sit without a single word of teasing me about why a grown woman has toy dogs in her apartment.
“Please do not talk about food.” My stomach flips over itself. “I’m never drinking again.”
“Well, at least not until tonight,” she teases.
“No, I mean it this time.”
“Mm-hmm.” She pushes a glass of orange juice and two extra-strength Advil in front of me, as well as a plate with a plain buttered bagel. “Down the hatch.”
I swallow the pills with the OJ, which has clearly been spiked. “What the hell? I just said I was never drinking again!”
“It’s a finger of vodka. Hair of the dog. You’ll thank me when your hea
