This choice: She turns her down. No WAY she's setting FOOT in a gym. • Go Back... Now, in hindsight, refusing to drive Uma to the gym had seemed like the best idea.
One, because Reagan was hungover as shit. Even if she wanted to (which she really, really didn't) there was just no way that she was going to be able to drag herself into a gym. Like, not even exercising. Just getting there would have been a Herculean task for someone who was still hung over well into the afternoon.
But that's okay because two, if Reagan didn't drive her, Uma couldn't get there. She still didn't have a car. She was getting closer to getting one, but sharing rides with her roommates had been Uma's cheapest way of getting to work for quite a while now. Reagan had felt confident that she'd have been able to bounce this off indefinitely. She would start with the hangover, and then any time Uma asked for a ride to the gym after that she'd just come up with another lie. Like something for school, or whatever. She didn't need to think about it all now. She was hungover!
"Nah, Oomy, I think I'm gonna drag my ass to bed." Reagan didn't have to try hard to look all that green around the gills, "I partied way too hard last night."
"Oh. Well... that's cool, I guess." Uma shrugged her shoulders, "Guess I'll just ask Pheebs if she wants to go."
And just like that, Reagan felt like a pane of glass that had shattered. Had she really gotten so drunk that she forgot that Phoebe existed? It wouldn't have been the first time...
"Oh."
This is fine this is fine this is fine
"Well, uh... y'know... you guys have fun."
This is fine this is fine this is fine
"Thanks. But it's not gonna be fun workin' off this gut I've got goin' on." Uma hefted up her potbelly with both hands, letting it wobble back into place once it plopped back down over her waist, "I'm gonna have to get back on the ball if I don't want to forget what my toes look like."
As Uma casually strode out of the room, Phoebe even meeting her halfway on the stairwell after getting stopped by her roommate, Reagan felt that headache threefold. Not only was she hungover and all gross from all those fries last night, but now she had to worry about Uma suddenly getting back on the fitness wagon? What the fuck kind of morning was this?
"Great." Reagan sighed as she struggled to her feet, cluching at a soft, distended belly and a spinning head, "Juuuust great..."
***
Despite all of the fire alarms going off in her head, Project: Double-Uma would have to wait. Lighting a fire back under Uma's lazy train (or would she be weakening the fire to her Fitness train? Whatever!) wasn't going to happen in a day no matter how much she worked at it. And right now, the only thing that Reagan Durant needed was some bedrest.
And maybe a little something to settle her stomach.
"How are you not hungover?" Reagan asked weakly as she nibbled at a dollar menu fast food burger that would have to do for her brunch, "We went to the same party last night, didn't we?"
"Yeah, I just didn't drink my weight in margaritas." Chel snorted, taking a chomp out of her guilty-pleasure takeout burger, "Did you even leave the bar last night, Rae?"
"I... borp... went to the bathroom a few times."
Not enough times, clearly. She could feel every drop of alcohol that she'd soaked up that night in the form of this nasty hangover. Getting up the stairs had been downright impossible—Chel had literally had to help her up to the third floor and into her bedroom. If she hadn't, Reagan would still probably be sprawled out on the stairwell like a pathetic ginger slug.
The two of them grazed on their brunch while they swapped stories, helping Reagan to recollect and piece together the salt-rimmed memories of the night before and washing it down with mouthfuls of cheese and greasy beef. Given her hangover, Reagan hadn't felt like she could stomach too much, so she'd had Chel order for her off the dollar menu. This was just something to help soak up the excess alcohol that she was almost confident she'd barf up later. Much to her surprise, she'd had a lot less trouble keeping it down than she thought—Reagan's final thoughts on her meager snack boiled down essentially to fuck, I should have got what Chel has...
"I talked to... some guy... and, uh..."
The cheese fries. She definitely remembered the cheese fries. They were way better with chili, even if they'd come back on her this morning. Did she have wings? She wanted to say that she'd had wings. Whether it was the hangover or just that she'd blacked out, Reagan really couldn't piece it all together.
...that being said, she still didn't believe that Chel had impressed anyone by playing pool.
"Hey, I'm better than your drunk ass is at flirting." Chel chortled, round tummy jostling as it domed out into her lap, "Only things you were making out with was the bottom of your plate and all them margarita glasses."
"So I had a bad night." Reagan frowned, struggling (but managing) to lean forward and steal a fry from her cousin without getting caught, "Not the end of the world."
Yeah... yeah. That made her feel a bit better.
And not just about last night! Uma might have found a way to get back to the gym today, but there was no way that one day at the gym would put her back on the wagon. Her hard work wouldn't be undone, and Uma wouldn't just magically get back into shape because Reagan went out and partied a little too hard the night before.
"I don't know about a bad night—but a bad morning? You're definitely having one of those." Chel chuckled, "You need anything before I go back to my office?"
"Yeah, can I have like... some Sprite or something?" Reagan managed to sound out her first request with admirable pity, only to suddenly recover once she tacked on, "And, uh... are you gonna eat the rest of those fries?"  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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