The next morning, I wake up feverish. I crawl out of bed and hunt for my thermometer, but I don’t remember where I put it when I unpacked. I debate going into the main house to find one, but I decide to stay in, just in case I infect anyone. I check the clock—7:00 a.m.—and decide to textNick. Hopefully Cecelia can cover for me.
Me: Woke up feverish. Can Cecelia cover today?
Nick: I’m home today. There’s this thing called Columbus Day. You might’ve heard of it. I’ll bring you some soup for lunch. Feel better. That’s an order!
Me: Ok, thank you. Noneed for the soup. I have some canned chicken noodle somewhere around here. I wouldn’t want to infect you with whatever illness I happen to have. Hey… that’s what Christopher Columbus should’ve said to the Native Americans. How ironic. You know… because it’s Columbus Day.:)
Nick: Canned chicken soup is the saddest thing ever. I’ll bring some by around noon. I don’t care if I get sick. You’re worth it.
My heart stops dead when I read his text.
You’re worth it?
Maybe he didn’t mean it in the way that I’m thinking he meant it… maybe he just meant it in a friendly way. My eyes scan over the words again, trying to will their meaning out of them via my phone screen.
Before long, another text from Nick pops up.
That came out wrong. I just meant that you’re worth it because your health is important to me, as my employee. Get some rest. See you at noon.
I stare at this text twice as long.
Ouch.
I angrily throw my phone to the other side of the bed and pull the covers over my head. My head is pounding, and I feel too sick to contemplate Nick’s hidden meanings right now. I just want to go back to sleep.
*
A few hours later, I wake up and look around, surprised. I almost never sleep in anymore, and I don’t feel as sick as I did earlier this morning. The pounding in my head is gone, and I don’t feel jittery and weak anymore. I glance at my phone. It’s half past eleven.
I slowly get out of bed and take off my clothes. I hop in the shower and discover that if I move too quickly, the pounding comes back. I stand under the stream of hot water for what feels like forever. The steam feels so good.
I dry off and throw on a pair of sweatpants and an old college sweatshirt. I didn’t wash my hair, so I just brush it through and leave it down—I’m honestly too weak to even attempt to do anything other than to just let it be. I brush my teeth quickly, and when I feel borderline presentable, I go into the kitchen for a glass of water.
I try not to think of Nick’s text, but his words keep regurgitating in my mind.
You’re worth it. You’re worth it. You’re worth it.
He meant nothing by it. He even said so in his follow-up text. It was nothing, just a stupid remark. Right?
I try to drink the glass down, but I can only stomach a few sips. I glance around and wonder if I should tidy up for Nick, but I settle on opening a window and lighting a candle. It probably smells like a sick person in here—stuffy and warm. Ick.
Someone knocks on the door around noon, and I shuffle over in my slippers to answer it. At this point, I just don’t care how I look, or how the apartment looks. I feel like complete crap again. Now I understand why my mother always had me stay in bed when I was sick. Doing things always made me feel worse.
I swing the door open, and Nick is there, holding a large bowl of soup and a large glass of water. He’s wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, and I notice that he’s barefoot. He also hasn’t shaved, and his scruff and the flannel shirt are an intoxicating mix of manly and sexy.
“Hey,” he says. “Bria’s watching Beauty and the Beast again, so I thought this was a good time to drop off some soup.”
“Be careful. She might start to believe in love,” I say, and I’m impressed with my quick wit, considering my head feels like it’s in a cloud right now.