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"Baby, focus. What is going on? Where are you?" Drew asked her.

"I'm dying! Oh my God, I'm going to bleed to death in a cab that smells like pee and curry!"Advertisement

Why the f**k is Claire bleeding in a cab?

"Claire had an assident. Axiscent. She's got a boo boo," Jenny slurred.

"Alright ladies, Butler General Hospital. No, don't pay me; just get the hell out of my cab."

Drew and Jim stayed at my house with Gavin and I raced to the hospital.

What if Claire had a freak garbage disposal incident and lost a hand? Or a really heavy meat cleaver fell on her leg and they needed to amputate? My house was not wheelchair accessible. Fuck! Could you buy wheelchair ramps at Walmart?

By the time I made it to the emergency room, I sorely regretted leaving Jim and Drew back at the house. I was stuck in a room with three drunken women. One of whom was sobbing hysterically about orphaning our son while the other two knocked shit over and yelled random things to people who walked by.

"Excuse me sir, do you know where we can get an x-ray of the stapler stuck in her vagina?" Liz asked an orderly that walked by as she pointed her thumb at Claire.

I gave the guy an apologetic look before focusing my attention on Claire.

"Baby, it's fine. It's just a little cut on your finger. Two stitches really aren't that big of a deal," I told her as I held her in my arms and rubbed her back.

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I snapped my fingers at Jenny and Liz who were now in the corner of the room trying to get rubber gloves on their heads. They gave me innocent looks, smacked each other and kept giggling.

"Not a big deal? Not a big deal?" she said loudly. "They asked me if I had a living will. I almost DIED tonight!"

I chuckled, but quickly masked it when she shot me a dirty look.

"Claire, that's normal. They ask everyone that," I reassured her.

"I concur, do you concur?" Liz asked.

"Not helping," I growled.

"Not caring," she replied before turning back to the supply cabinet in the room.

"What if I died? My baby would be alone," she sobbed.

“Um, hello? Father, standing right here," I reminded her.

"Fine. But what if something happens to both of us? They could ship him off to my Aunt Gertie the hoarder who talks to her curtains and eats soap," she whined.

I grabbed her face in my hands and wiped away the tears, giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

"Okay, if there's a natural disaster tomorrow and neither one of us is here, I'm sure your dad wouldn't mind stepping in. Why are you so worried about this right now?"

"They asked me if in the event of an emergency, someone could administer Last Rites to me. They thought I was going to die tonight, Carter. This is serious!" she cried. "What if my dad has a heart attack tomorrow or an asteroid lands on him when he's walking to his car after work?"

No more Sci-Fi channel before bed for Claire.

"I swear to you that they ask everyone about Last Rites. But would it make you feel better if we get something in writing so you don't have to worry about this? We can make a list of people that is ten pages long if it will make you feel better."

She nodded happily and threw her arms around my neck.

"Thank you so much, baby. I love you more than a hooker loves free VD testing day at the clinic," she told me drunkenly.

I rubbed her back and shot dirty looks to Liz and Jenny when I saw that they’d taken over the dry-erase board with important hospital phone numbers that hung on the wall. Instead of “Order Meals” it now said “Order Hookers”, and instead of “For a Chapel Visit, ask a nurse” it now said “For a Happy Ending, ask a nurse.”

The doctor walked in then with Claire’s discharge papers and a prescription for an antibiotic. He explained everything to us and turned to leave the room.

"Doctor, wait! This patient needs an enema STAT!" Liz yelled while Jenny waved a rubber tube over her head like a lasso.

I think we could safely say that some people will already be crossed off of the guardian list.

20. Have You Seen Mike Hunt?

Oh Jesus f**king hell. Where's the monkey that kicked me in the head and shit in my mouth?

"I think I'm dying," I croaked.

Carter’s laughter shook the bed and forced a little bit of vomit up into my throat. I clamped my hand over my mouth and started breathing through my nose to make it stop.

"Please don't start the 'I'm dying' thing again. It's too early and I'm not awake enough to say anything comforting," Carter replied as he slowly rubbed circles on my back.

I started to ask him what the hell he was talking about when the pounding in my head turned into flashes of memories from the night before.

"Oh my God, I sent a picture of my boobs to Jim," I moaned as a fresh wave of nausea rolled through me.

"You also threw up in the emergency room parking lot, called Drew and told him you were the Donkey Punch Dick Queen and filled out a Last Will and Testament on a Burger King napkin and then asked the drive-thru worker to notarize it."

I am never drinking again. I am never drinking again.

"Why can't I be one of those people who black out when they drink? It would be really nice right now if I didn't have to remember these things," I muttered.

I felt the bed shift behind me and a few seconds later, Carter’s arm came around me and held a napkin in front of my face. pqdm.com