No Attachments

chapter 19: Taking a sick day

Ashton

By the time I woke from my nap several hours later, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck or something. Every move I made was answered with an ache or pain in muscles I didn't even know I had. Sore muscles weren't my only issue either. My skin felt warm and dry like I had a sunburn. I actually felt pretty crummy. As icing on the cake, a headache also made itself known when I sat up to check the clock.

I was pretty sure I needed to get up and get ready since Nathan was coming over, but my body refused to cooperate. Anytime I felt sick like this I always panicked. I witnessed the symptoms firsthand with my mom. I watched them consume her until she was taken from me. Then I suffered from the same symptoms myself. Four years, three hundred and fifty days ago. I was a different person then. Four years ago, I believed I could beat it. I accepted the news when they told me I would need a complete hysterectomy, even though I was only seventeen at the time. I pretended the hair loss didn't bother me as the chemo ravaged through my body making me sicker than I could have ever imagined. I tolerated the looks of pity from my classmates and the snubs I received when I had to repeat my senior year since I missed half the year clutching the toilet, trying to rid my body of the toxins they were pumping in me. I accepted it all because I believed I could beat it. I had statistics on my side. We had caught it early. The doctors were confident that I wouldn't wind up like my mom, that we had an early diagnosis on our side, so I fought. I never gave up, and when I went into remission, I believed everything they had told me. I would be considered cured when I stayed in remission for five years. Time began a countdown as I kept the five-year mark in my head.

I finished my senior year of high school a loner; no longer the person I was before I found out I had cancer. My so-called friends had graduated the year before and moved on with their own lives, all glad they no longer had to face me. The rest of the students avoided me like the plague, like they were afraid they would catch what I had. High school became nothing more than torture as I avoided school functions. I just couldn't take the looks of pity. I would have avoided prom completely if my father wouldn't have bullied Shawn's father into making Shawn take me. Giving Shawn my virginity that night was my rebellious way of trying to finally feel normal, not that it worked.

With high school finally behind me, I immersed myself in college, hoping to make up for lost time. Fighting cancer made me realize how fragile life was and I was anxious to start feeling alive. The moment happened the day they handed me my diploma. I was two hundred days shy of reaching the five-year mark, and I was confident I would make it. Ten days later, my body began to ache and I became fatigued. I didn't need a doctor to tell me the cancer had returned. I recognized the symptoms. I had been there before. That was the day I wrote my bucket list and began to make the necessary arrangements to leave. One thing I knew without a shadow of a doubt was that I couldn't put my father through another cancer crisis. He had watched my mother die and then had to watch me battle it seven years later. I would never forget the pain in his eyes as he worried himself sick that my fate would be the same as hers. He wept when the doctors told him I was in remission, confessing that he'd been so afraid he'd lose me also. I could not face telling him I was sick again. I knew it would destroy him, just like I knew I no longer had the will to fight it. The cancer would not be happy until it took me. So I left.

My father received a letter from me filled with lies once I was gone. I claimed I was sick of his hovering, that I was done been treated like a child, and I needed time to discover the person I was supposed to be, without his meddling. I told him he was suffocating me, and I could no longer live in the same town with him. I knew my words would hurt him, but that was my intent. I wanted him to hate me, to think I was ungrateful so he could move on. Hate was easier to overcome than grief.

I shivered slightly in my bed, probably from a fever, but also from the memories. I missed my father. I missed his words of wisdom, his goofy laugh and the way he loved to drag me to see old sci-fi movies. He was serious at times and needy other times, but terrific the rest of the time. It broke my heart that I would never see him again.

I was still lying in bed when Nathan arrived a half an hour later with pizza and a bottle of wine in hand.

"You're sick," he said, taking one look at me as I pulled the front door open to let him in.

"Probably from the outside shower we took last night," I joked.

"Crap. I'm sorry, honey," he said, setting the pizza and wine on my coffee table.

"I'm just sorry I'm messing up our date. We don't seem to have the best of luck with our dates. Between me passing out, your allergic reaction, a canoe ride in driving rain and now my annoying cold, I'm beginning to think someone is trying to tell us something," I contemplated, sitting on my couch.

"They're just trying to test our resilience," he said, tucking a quilt around me from the rack that hung on the wall.

I snorted. "I don't know. I think maybe we're a part of some cosmic joke. Someone is getting a laugh at our expense."

He threw his head back and laughed at my words.

"What?" I asked.

"I kid you not. I had the same f*cking thought last night when the sky opened up on us. I don't care though. The cosmic gods can throw as many curve balls as they want at us."

"You're awfully cocky tempting fate like that," I said, trying to keep my voice light, even though the idea scared the shit out of me. I knew the ultimate move fate could use and the outcome would change us both forever.

"I just believe in making my own fate. Life may be a greedy bastard at times, but I'm confident I can handle whatever is thrown my way," he said, grabbing plates and wineglasses from the lone cabinet in my kitchen.

"I didn't have you tagged as an optimist. I would have pegged you for a pessimist for sure," I said.

"Shit, I'm one hundred percent pessimist, but that doesn't mean I don't believe I make my own fate. Let me guess, you're one hundred percent optimistic," he commented, handing me a piece of pizza.

"I used to be. I'm not all that sure I am anymore," I mused, nibbling at my pizza, although I wasn't all that hungry. "I've changed a lot lately. I guess you could call it growing up. Maybe I'm becoming boring and dull in my old age."

"Interesting," he pondered, taking a big bite from his own pizza. "Boring? You're far from boring. You may be stoic, but there's nothing dull about you."

"In what way?" I asked, unnerved that he considered me stoic. To the best of my knowledge, stoic meant someone who endures without complaint. It bothered me a little that he saw me that way despite the lies I had fed him. "Stoic" wouldn't be the word I would use to describe myself. "Liar" was more accurate, but of course, he wouldn't know that about me. I'd always been a truthful person. Really, all the half-truths and lies had turned me into someone I hardly recognized anymore. I'd convinced myself that was my intention all along. After living so long under a microscope with everyone knowing my every secret, the lies I told now were intended to shield me.

"Maybe it's because you're always so upbeat, although every once in a while you get this little hint of sadness in your eyes. Sometimes, it's like you're hiding something or a part of yourself. You quickly distill it, but I've seen it," he answered, grabbing another slice of pizza.

I waited him for him to go for broke and ask what I was hiding. His intuitiveness was dead on, and I couldn't help wondering if it was the reporter in him or just a gift he had. I prepared myself mentally for how I would handle this question, knowing that he of all people could not know the truth. I never wanted him to look at me with pity, or worse yet, run for the hills the moment the big C was mentioned.

The conversation kind of fizzled after that as I continued to nibble on my slice of pizza while he devoured half the pie.

"Not hungry?" he asked as I sat my half-eaten piece of pizza on the coffee table.

"Not really," I answered, settling back against the cushions of the couch. "I know I'm being a downer. You don't have to stay and keep me company," I added, reluctantly.

"Do you want me to leave?" he asked, inquisitively.

"No, but I know it can't be much fun hanging out with a sickie. Besides, aren't we supposed to be sick of each other? I'm new to this whole relationship thing, but aren't you supposed to be giving some speech about how you need your space and that I'm cramping your style with my clingy ways."

"First of all, is it wrong that the sickie thing is turning me on? Secondly, I've discovered there's nothing ordinary about our relationship. I enjoy being with you and there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Plus, I'm not sure you could be clingy even if you tried," he answered, gathering our leftover dinner and plates and depositing them in my kitchen. "Would you like more wine or some water?" he asked, coming back to get my half-empty wineglass.

"Water would be great, but you don't have to wait on me," I said, starting to rise only to have him gently shove me back to the couch.

"Getting you a glass of water won't kill me. Why don't you find something for us to watch," he said, handing me the remote.

"You sure you want me to be in charge of the remote?" I asked, switching on the television. "That means you'll be stuck watching my new favorite chick show that's filled to the brim with estrogen."

"And what show would be?" he quizzed, handing me my glass of water before settling on the couch beside me.

"I've been on a Sex in the City rerun kick now that it's on demand," I admitted. "It's jam-packed with helpful information on the opposite sex," I added flirtatiously, though I kept out the fact that it was Sex in the City that had given me the idea to pick up a stranger in a bar. Of course, the bar scene in New York where the show took place was a far cry from Woodfalls.

"I've seen them all. They're not all that bad, though Samantha is a major slut and pretty obnoxious. I've always liked the brunette the most," he said, snaking an arm around me and pulling me in the crook of his arm. "I forget what her name is though."

"Charlotte," I answered for him.

"That's it, Charlotte," he clarified.

"So, you're telling me you've watched every episode? What about the movies?"

"Those too. Television is my guilty pleasure. My job requires a lot of travel, so I stream a lot of episodes on my iPad."

"What else do you watch?" I asked, switching to the demand channel.

"You name it, I've probably seen it. Especially if it's on cable. Those are edgier and they show boobies and stuff. There's a new one on HBO that's absolutely brilliant about a news channel. There's a few on Bravo and a few other channels I like."

"As long as they have boobies, right?" I teased.

"Heck yeah," he laughed.

"CW shows?" I inquired.

"Sadly, no. I think I'm just too old to relate to teenage shows about vampires or werewolves," he said, shuddering distastefully. "What about you?"

"I'm a bit of a novice. I didn't watch a whole lot of television in college, and I was too preoccupied in high school. I'm kind of just now discovering what I like. I find I'm a bit obsessive when I find a show I enjoy. I'll stay up late watching five and six episodes until I've seen the whole series," I admitted, starting a Sex in the City episode where I had left off.

"That sounds like me too," he said, pulling me snugly in his arms before reaching over to switch off the light on the end table.

We were only halfway through the first episode when I fell asleep, cocooned in his arms.



***



I woke up the next morning in my bed, feeling disoriented. I had no recollection of how I got here, let alone stripping off my clothes. The other side of the bed was empty, but the head imprint in the pillow made it clear I had not slept alone.

"How you doing?" Nathan asked, breaking through my thoughts as he entered my room with a bottle of Advil and a tall glass of water.

"Not bad," I lied.

"Liar," he mocked, reaching over to feel my forehead. "You were pretty warm when I woke up a couple hours ago."

"Did you leave?" I asked, taking in his jeans and flannel shirt that were different than what he had on the previous day.

"Yeah, the cold front everyone was buzzing about yesterday definitely moved in. They're now saying we may get up to a foot of snow."

"Really? It's not even October," I exclaimed. Forgetting I was clad in only my bra and panties, I sat up and just caught the blanket as it slid down exposing my lace bra. His eyes rested on it for a second before returning to my face. I flushed. My confidence from the other night was long gone, and I was unsure what the proper behavior was for what was going on between us.

"Here," he said, handing me a couple of pills.

"Thanks," I said, still clutching the blanket to my chest.

"You're going to have to release your death grip on the blanket to take a drink," he chuckled.

"Nuh-uh," I mumbled, popping the pills in my mouth before reaching for my glass of water with my now free hand.

"You don't have to be shy with me," he said, lifting my chin with his fingers so our eyes met.

"This part is new to me," I confessed.

"It is for me too, but I'm not going to lie, I like seeing you all sleep-rumpled in the morning," he admitted.

"Really?" I asked as a warm feeling that had nothing to do with my fever spread through me. I knew I shouldn't be happy. I should be keeping him at arm's length, but the idea that he wanted to stay made me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

"Really," he answered, leaning in to rub his lips against my cheek. "Hmm, you feel warmer than earlier," he observed, placing his palm against my forehead.

"It's just a cold. I guess that picnic in the rain you planned the other night wasn't the best idea," I said, pulling back slightly to dislodge his hand. I didn't want to make a big deal over my fever.

"Maybe I should take you to the doctor."

"It's just a fever. People get them all the time," I argued, tamping back my panic. I most definitely did not want to go to the doctor.

"I guess you have a point," he said, gently pushing me back against my pillows. "You should at least rest," he said, tucking my blankets around me.

"I should call Fran," I protested, reaching for my phone.

"I kind of already told her," he said, looking sheepish.

"What? When?" I asked.

"I stopped off at her store to stock up on some supplies in case it really does snow. I told her you felt feverish and she told me to tell you to stay home. She seemed quite worried about you. She told me if it snows like they think, that you're to take tomorrow off too, and that it was an order, so no arguing."

"She acts tough, but she's nothing but a softie," I said, trying to sound blasé. I could imagine why she was worried. Fran was the only person I had confided in. I knew my secret was safe with her, though I knew my refusal to see a doctor worried her. I felt bad about the stress I was adding on her already frail shoulders, but not enough to have my fears confirmed. I didn't want hospitals with their endless tests, poking and poisonous toxins. I wanted to do things on my terms this time. It was my decision, and I planned to stick with it even though some doubt had begun to creep in. I was pretty convinced the man beside me had something to do with that.

"I like her. Her crusty attitude is highly entertaining."

"Yeah, I like her too, a lot," I agreed. "I forgot to ask you yesterday if you were able to retrieve everything."

"With the help of some locals. Needless to say, I owe a handful of guys a round at Joe's. Turns out, it was more of a pain in the ass than I thought it would be," he admitted. "Not to mention, I may have been called a pansy when they saw the lanterns and candle remnants."

"I bet. Some of those guys are pretty gruff and set in their ways. It's best to just ignore them," I said, stifling a yawn.

"Oh, I didn't ignore them. I told them at least I got the girl," he said, chuckling as he pulled the drapes closed.

"That'll show 'em," I said, closing my eyes. "Thanks for checking in on me and telling Fran I'd be out today," I added, fighting my drowsiness. I figured he'd be ready to leave now that he had checked on me.

My assumptions were wrong though. I drifted in and out of a fever-induced sleep the majority of the day, and he was always there when I woke. I knew I should send him away. We were breaking every rule I had set, and would only be making things harder for ourselves in the end, but I couldn't find the will to send him away. His presence was oddly comforting as he pushed more Advil and water on me whenever I woke up. By the time the sun was setting, my fever had broken and I was ready to eat the hearty stew he had cooked for me in my kitchen.

"A man who cooks is a rare treasure," I observed, balancing my bowl on my lap as I dunked a hunk of French bread in the thick broth. I was perched on my couch, bundled up in the same quilt from the night before, glad to finally be out of my bed. My relief that my fever had passed was tangible. I wasn't ready for my symptoms to be known.

"Is that the only thing that makes me a treasure?" he said, sitting down and lifting my feet onto his lap.

"Hmmm, I'll have to get back to you on that," I answered, lost in his touch. Who knew getting your feet massaged could be so sensual? It seemed the more time I spent with Nathan, the more items I realized had been solely missing from my list. Even something as simple as having him cook for me had made my chest ache from the sweetness of it. I'd been so focused on experiencing things like jumping off bridges and getting drunk that actual human contact activities had never occurred to me. I was so bent on keeping everyone at arm's length that somewhere along the way I'd shut myself completely off from the things that should have mattered. The fact that I'd actually taken Fran's and Tressa's advice was a relief. Of course, I knew a big majority of the sensations and feelings I was experiencing had a lot to do with the person I was sharing them with.

"Do you like that?" he asked when I sighed with pleasure as his fingers kneaded the ball of my foot.

"It's fair," I answered, giggling when he tickled the bottom of my foot.

"Fair?" he growled, pulling on my foot.

I set my empty bowl on the table. "You can't be good at everything. How ever will we fit your head out the front door," I laughed.

"I'm far from perfect," he said quietly.

"Nobody's perfect," I clarified.

"Not even you?"

"Ha, I'm far from perfect," I snorted.

"Why do you say that? From everything I've heard from Fran and your best friends, you practically float on a gold cloud playing a harp. I quote, 'she's the nicest person you'll ever meet and if you hurt her I'll cut off your balls.'"

"Let me guess, Fran?"

"Would you believe she and Tressa pretty much gave me the same speech?"

"I'm touched they think so highly of me, but they really haven't known me that long. I have an uncanny habit of disappointing most people I know," I admitted. I instantly regretted my words. I knew it sounded like I was painting a woe-is-me picture of myself, and that was the last thing I wanted.

"Shit, that had an after-school special ring to it," I joked, trying to make light of the moment.

"Maybe you just don't see yourself clearly, or maybe you've set the bar so high for yourself that when you don't quite make the mark you think you've failed."

"Maybe," I agreed, though I knew he was wrong. If he knew the facts, he'd know just how wrong he was, but then that was the point. He'd never know the facts, so there was no reason I should obsess over it.

"Okay, so now that we've established we're not perfect, whatever will we do with our tarnished selves?" he asked, trailing his hand up over my calf. "Maybe we should work on perfecting this," he added, trailing his hand farther up my leg.

"True, practice makes perfect, doesn't it?" I agreed as he hauled me into his lap.

"And god knows we definitely want perfection on this," he said, dropping his lips on mine. Any other talking was forgotten as I lost myself in the touch of his lips as they discovered parts of my body they had missed the first night we spent together. No longer needing the quilt, I pushed it off me so he could have easier access to the places I wanted his lips the most.

"I think you must like that," he said when his tongue made my sensitive nipple hard.

I nodded, pulling his head back to me.

"And this?" he asked, trailing his lips down my stomach. My only answer came out as more of a pant as he shimmied my pants down over my hips. Desire roared through me like a runaway train as his mouth continued to move down before settling between my legs.