“Alright, alright. See? I’m home now, aren’t I?” She pressed her fingers to her temple with a dramatic groan. “My head is pounding. Go make me that soup you always make when I drink too much.”
She was constantly stuck at work dinners and hated taking anything for her liver. Once, I even tracked down an old-school herbalist for a recipe for a hangover broth. And every time she came home drunk, I made sure there was a warm bowl waiting for her.
Still thinking about where my second stop abroad should be, I didn't even look up.
“There are some hangover pills on the nightstand. Take one if you feel that bad.”
The living room fell quiet.
Only after a long moment did I lift my head.
Arianne’s expression darkened.
“Clyde, even if you’re upset, there’s a line. Hudson is just a kid trying to get by in this city. I’m the only one he can rely on. Can’t you stop being jealous of him?”
She had forgotten that Hudson was only three years younger than me.
I pointed to my gauze-wrapped foot.
“I’m not angry, and I’m not jealous. My foot was injured in the accident, remember? I can’t stand for long. If you really want the soup, call Hudson over. I’ll teach him the recipe.”