Page 61 of Notes About Vodka (Happily Ever After Hangover #1)

Chapter Thirty-Three

LAURA

“Addictions come in many forms: alcohol, drugs, money, people… and then there’s you. You’re my favorite kind—sweet enough to make me jealous of every second we aren’t together, intoxicating enough to leave me craving more.”

Val and I find new rhythms in life as the seasons change.

He starts teaching me Russian, and I can see the pride in his eyes when I manage to string together a full sentence without his help. That smile makes every bit of struggling through those tricky words worth it.

He even surprises me by organizing regular calls with his parents, and soon enough, they’re a part of our lives in small but meaningful ways.

His mom asks about me often, wanting to know all the little details—what I’m studying, what foods I like, if Val’s taking care of me properly.

His dad talks about their garden and gives Val advice on how to fix up our tiny balcony, which somehow turns into an excuse for Val to make another batch of blini for them to watch over the call .

We talk about the future more openly now—about the next steps, about fixing Val’s residency. We met with NYU’s International Student Affairs and made a huge step toward getting his status adjusted.

My grandparents even agreed to help sponsor Val and pay for half of his new student visa.

I can’t describe the relief I felt—it’s like a weight has lifted, like the first clear breath after being underwater.

I know Val must have felt the same because when his new F1 visa arrived in the mail, he took the next two nights off and fucked me senselessly all over our apartment while we lived off of kotleti and plov.

Now we think about what it would mean to have his parents come visit.

The idea of having them here, in our home, feels like the kind of dream I didn’t dare let myself have. But now it feels like we are making forward progress—towards something real that we are building together.

Fall breezes in with more change.

We are in more classes, I’ve started co-teach the late night chemistry labs, Val is now the bar manager at City Tavern and we barely have a moment to catch our breath before life takes off at full speed again.

Before I know it, I’m 25.

Skipper flies back to NYC to celebrate, and the apartment is filled with friends and laughter. The living room is buzzing with energy, decorated with streamers and balloons. Music plays softly in the background, and the air is thick with the delicious aroma of Val's homemade hors d'oeuvres.

Rhea and Sebastian, who are pretty much married now, are back from a job in England and on their way back to New Orleans.

Rhea never thought she would be a traveling teacher, but she loves it.

They are such an adorable couple, sitting close together on the couch, exchanging whispers and smiles.

I feel a warmth in my heart seeing them so happy.

It’s Christmas!

And this year, Val and I are hosting in our cozy apartment that I’ve covered in every dollar tree decoration I could find.

Brimming with the rich aromas of roasted turkey, buttery stuffing, and sweet potatoes, and every counter is covered with ingredients, bowls, and more utensils than I thought we owned. I’m proud of the festive feeling.

Val is in his element, bustling around with that focused look he gets when he’s in the zone.

He’s got his apron on, and I swear it does things to my heart.

He’s managing to look like a mix between a chef and a lumberjack now that he’s grown out a red beard.

Contrasting against his dark brown hair, I tease that it’s a bit of Polish ancestry he gets from his mother.

He’s telling me how Russia celebrates Christmas on January 7 th but they give out presents on New Year’s Eve.

“December 25 th is just another work day for us,” he explains.

“Really, why didn’t you tell me last year?” I ask.

He replies with an answer that almost has me on the floor on my knees, “Because I was too busy falling in love with you and learning about you.”

“You are too sweet. Hey, can you hand me the cranberries?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at him.

“Sure thing, my love.” He grins, reaching for the bag and tossing it to me with a little flourish.

The radio hums in the background with upbeat, jazzy tunes mixed with some Yung Gravy, and I find myself humming along as I chop vegetables for the salad.

Val’s got his hands deep in a mixing bowl of stuffing, brows furrowed, but I can see the spark in his eyes.

These moments together—cooking, laughing, enjoying each other—are exactly what I’d always hoped for.

Just then, Val’s voice cuts through, serious and soft. “Laura.”

I pause, knife poised mid-chop, and turn to face him. “Yeah? What’s up?”

He steps closer, his gaze warm but intense.

“There’s something I need to ask you. I wanted to say it on your birthday, but…

” He gives me a sly wink as he slowly goes to the floor on his knees.

It reminds me of how much he’s apologized since this summer, mainly in the forms of kisses on my lips and I don’t mean the lips on my face, including the night of my birthday where he worshiped me from his knees for an eternity.

I grin, feeling my cheeks flush, but in my excitement, I forget about the knife in my hand. Suddenly, a sharp pain zings through my finger. I gasp, the knife clattering onto the cutting board as I clutch my hand, a trickle of blood already sliding down my finger.

“Oh, my God, Laura!” Val’s back on his feet and at my side in a flash, his face a mix of worry and panic.

I try to play it off, laughing shakily. “Oh, come on, it’s just a cut. Little super glue, good as new.” But then a wave of nausea hits me when I look at the finger. I might be fine with other people’s blood, but mine is another story.

Val takes one look and shakes his head. “Uh, Laura, sweetheart… This isn’t a super glue situation. You need stitches.”

He wraps my finger gently in a clean kitchen towel, applying pressure, his hand steady and firm against mine. “Hold this above your head, okay, and keep the pressure, yes, just like this Laura. Come on, let’s get you to the ER,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument.

We hurry down to the street, and the trip to the hospital feels like a blur, the bustling New York streets whizzing past as Val keeps glancing at me next to him in his Speed6, making sure I’m okay.

I lean against him, pain and adrenaline mixing into an odd, woozy daze.

At the ER, they take me in quickly, and Val never once lets go of my good hand. He strokes his thumb along my skin while the doctor examines the cut, and I focus on his touch, drawing comfort from it.

“This is pretty deep,” the doctor says, prepping to stitch me up. “You’ll need about seven stitches.”

As soon as the doctor leaves Val uses his phone to snap a picture of me with my bandaged finger up and a smirk on my face, and he immediately sends it to our friends with a message in the group chat we started months ago:

Val: So… uh, Laura decided to spice things up a little for Christmas. Got an interesting gift this evening. We’re officially postponing dinner tonight. You all are welcome tomorrow to eat leftovers and help me watch over my ‘patient.’

Not two seconds later, my phone pings.

Skipper: That’s a level of commitment to hosting I can appreciate. Laura, for real? Didn’t I teach you how to handle a knife.

Skipper: See you tomorrow! Try not to slice anything else in the meantime.

Rhea: Classic Laura, needing to add drama to her holiday! We’ll be over to inspect those stitches, nurse Val!

Val chuckles, typing back.

Val: She’s under strict supervision, don’t worry. Tomorrow, bring appetite and first aid supplies, just in case.

When the doctor finally begins, I keep my gaze fixed on Val. He gives me a small, reassuring smile and squeezes my hand, making everything feel a little less scary.

When it’s all done, the doctor wraps my finger up, gives us a list of care instructions, and sends us on our way. Val thanks them with a look of relief, and we head back to the apartment, now a bit late and with Christmas dinner postponed.

The next day, as promised, our friends trickle in, each arrival bringing a burst of laughter and excitement. Skipper is first, striding in with a giant container of mashed potatoes and a bag of rolls, declaring he’s on “potato watch,” and making sure no one leaves without a carb overload.

“Look at you, just walking in and taking over like you live here,” I joke, nudging him.

“Somebody’s gotta make sure these spuds get eaten,” he grins, and plops himself on the couch, already reaching for the remote. He knows where everything is in our place, so he’s at home before Val or I even offer him anything.

Rhea and Amelia show up next, Rhea carrying a bouquet of sunflowers she insists is her “healing gift,” and Amelia balancing a pumpkin pie that she guards like it’s a crown jewel.

“We brought reinforcements!” Rhea announces dramatically, setting the sunflowers on the counter and giving Val a pointed look. “Now you can fuss over these instead of slicing her finger again, Val.”

“Where’s Sebastian?”

“Parking the car, he will be up in a minute,” Rhea explains.

Amelia gives me a sympathetic smile as she sets the pie down carefully, grinning. “Injury or not, Laura, it’s the holiday. Nothing like a pie to sweeten up any situation.”

“Oh, please, you just wanted an excuse to make dessert!” I tease, reaching over to pull Amelia in for a hug.

She shrugs, unbothered. “You’re right. But it’s for a good cause.”

Sebastian steps in a moment later followed by Dot. Eventually even Mads trickles in.

Val looks around at everyone, his gaze softening as he takes in the scene. “Alright, everyone grab a plate, because these leftovers aren’t going to eat themselves. And if anyone dares to make Laura chop anything, you’re getting the boot.”

We settle in around the living room, plates piled high with yesterday’s dishes.

The turkey is still moist, the stuffing’s just as savory, and the cranberry sauce has somehow gotten even better overnight.

It’s the perfect spread, and I feel that familiar warmth as we all dig in, watching football and laughing like no time has passed since yesterday’s kitchen mishap.

“So, Laura,” Skipper says with a mischievous smirk, “how’s your ‘professional’ knife skills course going? You aced the first test, I assume?”

“Oh, obviously,” I say, playing along. “Got a ten-out-of-ten on the ‘look away while chopping’ lesson.”

Val chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, I’m sure they’ll name a kitchen technique after her. ‘The Laura’: distract your sous chef by nearly losing a finger.”

“Hey, I just wanted a little drama for the holidays.” I laugh. “What’s Christmas without a good story? ”

As the game plays on in the background, we drift from one conversation to the next, reminiscing over embarrassing childhood holiday stories, debating football teams, and making outrageous bets on which team will win.

Rhea sits cross-legged on the floor, engrossed in the game, while Amelia leans back, laughing at every playful dig Val throws at the opposing team.

After a while, the sun dips low, casting warm, golden light through the windows. Val nudges me gently, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. “Next year, maybe we’ll stick to safer foods. Bread rolls, maybe a no-cut salad.”

“Or,” I counter, grinning, “we let you do the chopping.”

Everyone laughs, and the room fills with that sense of ease and comfort that only happens around true friends. The chaos of the day before fades further and further away, replaced by laughter, good food, and the simple joy of being together.

Late that night, as we step back into our apartment from taking out the trash, the warmth and smell of the holidays greet us. Val helps me sit down at our couch and then kneels in front of me, holding my hands.

“Where were we?” he asks softly, a smile playing on his lips.

Before I can respond, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small, velvet box. My heart skips a beat, and I feel a rush of emotions—excitement, love, anticipation. He opens the box to reveal a beautiful diamond ring that sparkles in the kitchen light.

“Laura, will you marry me?” Val asks, his voice filled with sincerity and love.

My hands fly to my mouth in surprise, and tears spring to my eyes. “Yes! Yes, Val, of course, I will!”

I laugh, tears of happiness and relief mingling with the earlier shock. “Yes.”

He slips the ring onto my finger, careful to avoid my bandaged one. It fits perfectly, and I feel a surge of joy and love wash over me.

“We’re engaged,” I whisper, hardly able to believe it.

Val leans in and kisses me gently. “Yes, we are. And I promise to always take care of you, even when you’re too excited to handle sharp objects.”

I laugh again, amazed that this man wants to marry me.