Here is where details get both unbearably hazy and clear. One of us asked to see the bird upstairs; it could have been you wanting to see the cockatiel that had been tweeting occasionally since our arrival or it could have been my clever way of getting you upstairs.

Either way, we never saw the bird.

You walked up the staircase, wobbling a bit and holding onto the handrail, and once you found the landing upstairs, you hit the floor, half jokingly and half out of tiredness. You moved over so there was enough room for me, too, and I lay down on my stomach next to you. You leaned over, moved in and we kissed, first just pecks to make sure it felt right and then we rolled back and forth, your hands on the back of my head like I like it and my legs intertwined with yours. My voice went lower and my laughs sounded sultry; you whispered and said how soft my hair was and I ran my fingers through yours and complimented your nonexistent sideburns, which I doubt you remember. Time moved at a different speed and we lay there until Kat and Matt (who, I learned, kissed downstairs atop thousand dollar countertops) came upstairs, woozy from drink and newfound love. You didn’t move and neither did I, which made me fall in love with you a little.

“Ooh,” Kat said teasingly, as I sat up, my hand still on your chest, and you smiled a sickly grin, getting caught but feeling suddenly nauseous.

“I gotta go throw up,” you’d said, sitting up suddenly and barely making it to the bathroom before the wretching started.

It was worth it.