“Good.” Another yawn. “Totally good.”
“You sound exhausted. Might want to go to bed early and get more sleep, in case you get called for a delivery.”
Oh my gosh …
She was right. I was on call and drunk. Only Rory didn’t know I was drunk.
“Okay,” I managed.
Once I heard the back door to the garage close, I stumbled out of bed and drank a hundred gallons of water to flush out the alcohol … give or take ninety-nine gallons. Then I spent the next hour on the toilet peeing out all the water, eating chips from the bag, and monitoring Angie’s Instagram page.
Kill me now.
I’d always felt like saying “yes” to Brendon, and then losing my virginity with him when I knew I wasn’t going to marry him, was my lowest of lows.
Wrong.
My self-destructive drunk ass on the toilet, stalking Fisher and Angie in Costa Rica was my new low. I should have deleted the app and gone to dinner with Rory and Rose. When my bladder gave me a break, I took my pathetic self to my bedroom, and I deleted the Instagram app. Then I prayed, on-my-knees-hands-folded prayed, for God to make it stop. I left it up to Him to determine what that meant. I just wanted something … anything … everything to stop.
While I waited for his answer, I grabbed my Bible from my bookshelf and plopped onto the bed. Suddenly I was inspired to read some 1 Corinthians about love and marriage inspiration.
It doesn’t envy. Well … too late.
It doesn’t boast. It is not proud. Clearly Angie needed to spend a little more time in God’s Word.
So many things love was not supposed to be.
Rude.
Self-seeking.
Easily angered.
Keeping no record of wrongs.
Never delighting in evil.
Demanding its own way.
Had I believed all that, then the only conclusion I would have come to was … I couldn’t love Fisher.
But for the record … neither could Angie with her mega boasting and larger-than-life pride.
Thou shalt not judge.
It wasn’t all restrictive. There were a few things love was supposed to be.
Patient.
Kind.
Rejoicing in truth.
Hopeful.
Enduring in every circumstance.
Wow! Was I incapable of loving Fisher the way God intended for humans to love one another?
Feeling a little nauseous and mentally broken, I slid my Bible onto my nightstand, pulled my blankets over me, and fell asleep.
Chapter Thirty-One
Sunday morning was rough. My head felt like it had been shaken with a 6.0 magnitude earthquake.
“Muffin?” Rory asked.
She and Rose eyed me from the kitchen table. They wore matching white robes and big smirks.
Squinting against the light from all the window shades drawn open, I shook my aching head.
“I knew something was up when I asked you about dinner last night. But the un-flushed toilet, empty bag of chips on the bathroom floor, and empty wine bottle next to your bed this morning confirmed it. Not to mention your Bible next to your bed. Wanna talk about it?” Rory slowly sipped her coffee.
I poured myself a cup of coffee and filled a tall glass with water before taking two pills for my head. “So you knew I wasn’t right, but you went to dinner anyway?” I shuffled my feet to the table and plunked my butt onto the chair.