“Overdramatic? There’s a woman I don’t know sleeping in my living room and I’m being called overdramatic?”
“Again, Ben, the over-the-top upset you seem to be feeling is really a little bit, too . . . I don’t know. Maybe diva-ish? The way I see it, me and you? We have got to find a way to get along really quickly. Please. No drama, no irritation. And... ”
Abby stopped short here to hold her hand in the air and close her eyes for a minute. Oh god. The spins. No, no, no... She let out a small drunken hiccup and then nodded and kept on going.
“Where was I? Oh. No drama. I don’t want to be the source of any kind of anxiety. Look. You need to finish school, and I need to help with this damn house and then go back home. Get a job and rediscover my love of air conditioning. Feel me?”
Abby couldn’t see his face clearly, but there seemed to be a smile beginning to play on Ben’s lips as he listened to her drunken ramble. Abby’s gift for accidentally entertaining people was one that came in handy for her in moments like these; she could only hope that his apparent amusement meant she was starting to win him over.
“So, Ben. I propose that you and I have what they call in the South a ‘come-to-Jesus meeting,’ where we sit together and lay out our needs and expectations for the other person, so we can make sure that we get what we need from this situation. Cool?”
Ben watched Abby take a swig from her drink and sway just a little on the picnic bench.
“Abby, you don’t drink a lot, do you?”
Abby slammed her cup to the table and giggled at the loud bang it made. “I thought that was going to be quieter. No, I don’t drink a lot at all. Why?”
It was at this moment Abby felt her world getting woozy, and she realized the spinning was not slowing down. Oh God . . . stop the ride. Stop it. It was like being on that damn plane, except this time...
Abby had about five seconds to get off the picnic table and get to the railing so she could set her drinks free into the Caribbean, so to speak. As she struggled to get up from the bench, her legs got twisted under her and she fell backward, landing with a thud so loud that Miss C., Cutty, and Ziggy all jumped up to race over and help her. Abby grabbed her lips to hold them together with one hand, pinching them tightly in an effort to keep any vomit back, and used the other to hold herself steady as she worked her way back up to the table with Ben helping to hoist her up.
As soon as she regained solid footing she paused, feeling that the pukey moment had passed. And she was so wrong. As she relaxed and pulled her hand off her mouth, her stomach made another flip-flop and everything inside it began to make its way out. She turned her head in just enough time to offer up her consumed beverages to the sea. Abby was not a quiet puker. As she threw up and moaned at the same time, her new island family all stood at the picnic table trying not to laugh at her misfortune.
About the Author
Anne Kemp is the author behind the Abby George Series, which includes her debut novella, All Fruits Ripe, and first novel, Rum Punch Regrets, which is available in print and as an eBook. She is also the columnist behind “Anne In Progress,” which appears monthly in the Frederick News-Post, a newspaper in the DC-Metro area. As a blogger, she was nominated for a 2012 Bloggers Choice Award for Best Humor Blog, and is known for penning “The Ultimate Late Bloomer.”
Follow her on Twitter, @MissAnneKemp, or join her fans on Facebook for fun contests and giveaways. You can always find her at her website: www.annekemp.com.
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