11. All Better
"How are you feeling?" I asked, when my mother slumped down the stairs the next morning. Her nose was raw and red around the edges; her eyes were watery and puffy. She looked miserable―I shouldn't have even asked.
"I think I'm dying," she snuffled.
"You should go back to bed. Tell me what you need and I'll get it for you."
"Tea," she requested pitifully. "And some flu medicine so my head doesn't feel like it's going to explode anymore."
"I'll get that," Jonathan offered, appearing at the kitchen entrance, showered and dressed.
"Thanks," she said in a nasally voice, before sneezing into the balled up tissue in her hand. "I wish you weren't seeing me like this."
"Don't even go there," Jonathan consoled with a warm smile. "You're sick, and even sick, you're beautiful." He wrapped his arms around her as she flopped onto his chest. He held her and smoothed the damp strands of hair that were stuck to her feverish face. He was braver than I was. I was afraid of going within three feet of her. She was oozing from every orifice.
"I'll bring the tea up in a minute," I told her as Jonathan escorted her back up the stairs.
"I'll be right back," Jonathan announced a few minutes later on his way out the door.
I brought the tea to her room and set it down on the night stand. She had her eyes closed and the blankets pulled up to her nose.
"Do you like him?" she asked as I was walking toward the door.
I turned back toward her. She propped herself up on her elbow and carefully sipped the hot tea.
"Jonathan?" I clarified, not expecting her question.
Before I could answer, she said, "I really like him, and I hope you do too."
"Um, yeah, sure. He's nice."
"Thanks for the tea." She nuzzled back into the blankets, closing her eyes with a grin on her face. Even in her sickness, she was still a love-struck teenager.
“Looks like you’ll get to watch the game after all,” I noted after Jonathan returned from the pharmacy. “Where are you going?”
Jonathan hesitated. “Actually, I told Rachel I'd stay here with her."
"I'm not going anywhere," I offered. "I can take care of her if you want to do something else."
"I'd rather stay here, if that's okay."
"Sure," I answered in surprise.
"Where are Evan and Sara?"
"Evan's at Cornell with his brother, and... I don't know what Sara's up to."
Jonathan looked over at me, hearing the change in my tone upon mentioning Sara. He didn't ask; he just nodded.
I offered to pick up football food while Jonathan tended to my mother. Especially since we were running low on… everything. I’d pretty much assumed the role of grocery shopper in the house. My mother would shop when she wanted to prepare a specific meal, but with our conflicting schedules, that wasn’t very often.
I didn’t mind too much. She’d leave me a twenty and a small list of things she needed. The list was usually more than twenty dollars, but whatever. I covered the rest with the money that was deposited into my account each month. Money I hadn’t had access to for years, but was now in my total control.
I’d gotten to know the aisles well enough to get in and out of the store quickly. Except for today―it was insane.
“I think every person in three towns was at the grocery store today,” I complained to Jonathan, struggling with white plastic bags strung across both arms.
“Let me help you.” Jonathan rushed from the living room, relieving me of half the bags. “Is that everything?”
“If it’s not, then too bad. I’m not going back to that zoo.” I slipped off my shoes and followed him to the kitchen.
“I meant, is there anything else in the car?” He smiled at my dramatic response.
“No, this is everything,” I answered, embarrassed by my reaction. “How’s Rachel?”
“Passed out,” Jonathan responded, proceeding to empty the bags and put everything in its place. “I have to go out for a while. Would you mind covering for me until I get back? I’ll be here in time for kick-off. If she wakes up, just tell her I went to buy more tissues or something.”
“Sure,” I replied. “You shouldn’t need an excuse, you know.” I knew I shouldn’t have said it as soon as I did. “Sorry.”
“No, you’re right,” he agreed. “I just feel bad leaving when she’s not feeling great. Although, I’m not sure I can do anything to make her feel better. But she keeps saying she wants me to stay.”
“She always wants you to stay,” I blurted―my filter apparently shut off.
"Wow," he absorbed my candor with wide eyes. "Am I here too much?”
“No,” I replied quickly. “That’s not what I meant. Sorry, I’m a complete idiot today.”
“You’re doing that honesty thing again. Don't worry about it.” He paused and added, “Don’t ever feel like you can’t say what you're thinking, okay?”
“Are you sure?” I questioned with a smirk. “You'll probably end up hating me.”
“Unlikely,” he said with a bright smile, putting the milk in the refrigerator. My cheeks warmed with his comment. “Oh, here’s my phone number,” he scribbled on a piece of paper on the kitchen table, “just in case you do need something while I’m out.”
“Okay. Thanks.” I picked up the number as he walked out the door and decided to program it into my phone, just in case.
My mother didn’t stir the entire time Jonathan was gone, thankfully. I wasn’t looking forward to telling her he wasn’t there.
I texted back and forth with Evan most of the afternoon. He and Jared were at an all-day Super Bowl party off-campus. It sounded like quite the spectacle from the details Evan provided. I let him go right before kick-off, wanting him to enjoy the game with his brother and not worry about responding to me.
I kept checking my phone anyway, still not having heard from Sara. I wanted her to be the first to reach out after the way we left things, and it took everything I had not to text her as I grew more anxious.
Jonathan returned five minutes into the game.
“Ah,” he groaned, looking flushed and freshly changed. “I missed kick-off.”
“Don’t worry,” I consoled. “Nothing’s happened really. You look… different.” It was hard not to notice.
“I had to tap back into my life for awhile,” he explained, sitting down on the couch next to me with his eyes fixed on the game. “Got a haircut, went to the gym, made sure my place hadn’t burned down.”
I laughed, not expecting his sense of humor. “Well the hair looks good.”
“Thanks.” He flashed me a blush-inducing grin. I reached for a handful of chips, to keep from saying something else outlandish about how good he looked. “I bought beer. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Uh, no,” I answered, surprised that he asked. “It’s football. Isn’t that part of the guys’ book of conduct? That a beer must be in your hand while watching?”
He laughed. “Do you want one? I could overlook the fact that you’re a girl for the night.”
“No,” I responded emphatically. “Not legal, remember?”
“Oh, that's right,” he answered, feigning like he’d forgotten. “I’m supposed to be the responsible adult, right?” He shook his head like the thought sounded ridiculous. He got up from the couch and went into the kitchen, coming back with a beer and a Mountain Dew.
“Perfect, thanks,” I said, taking the bottle from his hand.
We watched football and ate overly greasy food while making fun of the overpriced commercials that fell flat and laughing at those that were worth the millions. And we'd take turns checking on my mother whenever we'd hear her moan.
In the middle of the third quarter, the doorbell rang. Jonathan and I peered at each other quizzically, neither expecting a visitor. I shrugged and got up to answer the door.
“Hey,” Sara said, as soon as the door opened. She had a number nine written in gold on her cheek, with her red hair pulled back into a high ponytail. I let the door go so she could enter. She peered into the living room to find Jonathan.
“Hi, Jonathan.” She gave a small wave.
"Hey, Sara," he responded. "Nice look."
"Thanks," she smiled.
Sara looked back toward me nervously. “I tried to call you,” she said, pulling on the corner of her shirt.
“You did? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear my phone.” I groaned inwardly, frustrated that I’d missed it―most likely I was checking on my mother when she’d called.
“Can we talk?’ she asked lowly, flipping her eyes from the floor up to me. “I mean, if you guys are watching the game, I can come back.”
“Seriously?” I stared at her incredulously. She pressed her lips into a small smile. “Let’s go upstairs.”
I closed the door behind us and sat at the end of my bed, expecting her to sit next to me, but she began pacing.
“Sara, what’s wrong with you?” I demanded. “You know you don’t have to worry about what to say to me. You never have before.”
“But I’ve never been such a bitch to you before either,” she blurted. She stopped pacing, realizing what she’d just confessed. She looked at me and I started to laugh. I knew the honesty would find its way to the surface eventually. She smiled in return.
“What happened?” I asked. Sara sat down next to me. “Did I do something wrong?”
Sara sighed. “No. I just… I’m an idiot really.”
That didn’t explain anything. “You’re going to need to be more specific.”
“I think I was a little jealous of you.” She kept her eyes on the floor.
“Of me?” I questioned in disbelief. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
Sara took in an audible breath. “I know it’s stupid. And it’s going to sound even more pathetic when I say it, but I’m jealous of the way you and Evan are together. I mean, I want to find that―that guy who looks at me the way he looks at you. You don’t have to even touch; he could seriously be at the other end of the house, but you have that connection―no matter where you are. It’s crazy. And I want it."
“Wow,” I mouthed, stunned.
“I know. It’s so stupid, and selfish, and pathetic. And totally my issue. So I should never have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.”
I couldn’t form words. I didn’t even know what to say. It was unfathomable that Sara McKinley, the girl every guy wished would give him the time of day, the girl who had everything, wanted the one thing that I had. There had to be someone who made her feel…
“But you do,” I realized out loud.
“What?” She looked at me like I’d been having a conversation without her, because I pretty much had.
“Sara, you have to give Jared a chance,” I urged. “He’s the only guy who's ever made you feel truly amazing. I mean, you like him so much you wouldn’t even have sex with him.”
“Hey.” She gave me an offended shove, but a smile emerged on her face. Then it disappeared in the next breath. “Em, I can’t. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Yeah it does,” I countered. “Why don’t you just try? What do you have to lose?”
“My heart,” Sara answered without pause. She took a breath and rested her head on my shoulder. “Do you forgive me?”
“Sara, I just want you to be okay. I'm not sure how to make you feel better, but I’ll try.”
"I have an idea," she grinned deviously. It was almost like I'd set her up to tell me, "You can help me throw a party next weekend."
"A what?" I questioned, afraid I’d just heard her ask me to help her with a party.
"It will be the best way to take out all of my frustration," she explained with a devilish gleam in her eye. "It'll have a theme and everything."
"I'm afraid to ask."
“It’ll be my Love Stinks party,” she boasted, like it was the best idea ever. "And it can even have rules."
“Rules?” I questioned in disbelief. “Since when do parties have rules?”
“Mine will,” she stated proudly. “Since it’s a Love Stinks party, no one will be allowed to touch the opposite sex. So, no hook ups, kissing, or hand holding.”
I stared at her with my mouth open. “That’s… cruel.”
“Are you going to help me with my party and enforce my rules or what?” Sara demanded with a tilt of her head. "You said you wanted me to feel better. This will make me feel better."
"Torturing everyone else on Valentine's Day?"
"Yes," she smiled smugly.
“Fine," I caved, dreading this already. "How are we going to enforce your rules?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” she pondered, giving it serious consideration.
“Great. This is going to be ranked the best party of the year.”
“It better be,” Sara replied seriously. I shot her a skeptical look―she ignored me.
Sara stood up, “Wanna watch the rest of the game?”
I’d almost forgotten we’d left Jonathan in the living room, watching the game by himself. I stood to join her.
Before opening the door she offered, “I’m sorry for kicking your snowman’s face in.” She was trying to be sincere, but the apology sounded funny and we both couldn’t help but laugh.
"And I'm sorry I called you a bitch," I offered once we stopped laughing.
"Don't worry," she assured me, “I’ll be fine. I’ll snap out of it. This party will help.”
She was about to turn around, but then added, “I hope you know how lucky you are to have Evan. He would give up everything for you. You have no idea. So if you ever do anything to screw it up, I’ll never talk to you again, got it?”
“Uh, yes,” I responded, afraid if I answered differently she’d kick my ass. She smiled, her vibrant smile, instantly mending us.
We joined Jonathan for the fourth quarter. Sara took him up on his beer offer. The volume of the cheering rose to a whole new level with Sara as a spectator, so much so that my mother made a point of shutting her door. We looked at each other guiltily, but were dragged right back into the game moments later.
My mother had to miss two days of work to get over her illness, and right around then Jonathan disappeared, having contracted the flu himself. He stayed at his place as he fought through it. My mother was a bit of a wreck the rest of the week, until that Friday when he finally emerged from the land of the dead―right around the time I was about to enter it.
I spent the weekend at Sara’s to prepare for the party, and to give my mother and Jonathan time to make up for lost… I didn't really want to think about it. It was hard to be all romantic and sentimental when thinking about my mother and her boyfriend―and while hanging torn hearts and blood-dripping arrows.