Without moving my head, only my eyes, I studied the kitchen table. It sat right behind the recliner—maybe ten feet away at best. Either way, not far. “It’s right there,” I muttered, my words comprised of confusion. “It’s not like we wouldn’t be able to talk or see each other. There’s not even a wall separating it, so I wouldn’t be alone.”
With his eyes on the show ahead of him, he brought his spoon to his lips, blew on the broth, and then swallowed it. “It’s too far away. Plus, you’d have to raise your voice to talk to me, and that’d make me feel like crap.” He turned to look at me and hesitated for a few blinks before saying, “If you don’t want me in here, just tell me. I can sit at the table. It won’t hurt my feelings. I know some people prefer to be alone when they’re sick.”
“That’s not it at all. I just don’t want you to get sick.”
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” And just like that, he dismissed my concerns.
I blew on my soup—at least, that’s what I thought it was…until I tasted it. Then I realized it was heaven in a bowl. It soothed my throat and warmed me up all at once, and I never wanted to stop eating it. Being upright didn’t help my headache, and my joints protested with every move I made, but that didn’t stop me from sitting there, hunched over my bowl in my lap, bringing spoonful after spoonful to my mouth. I slurped as much of it down as I could, and thought about how wonderful it would’ve been to have a long, bendable, wide straw so I could eat-slash-drink the broth while lying down.
That was something that definitely needed to be invented.
I managed to finish half the bowl of soup and drink almost half a bottle of Gatorade before lying back down and falling asleep. At some point, not sure when because I didn’t bother to check the time, he picked me up and carried me to bed.
It was the most comfortable bed I’d ever been in, and I thought to myself how much better a mattress felt when you’re sick. The sheets were softer and the comforter thicker, warmer. In fact, it was so warm, I finally stopped shivering. The pillow molded to my head and absorbed the weight evenly, which left me feeling as thought I were in a cocoon.
And it made me sleep so peacefully, I didn’t wake up once.
14
Holden
“Take messages, and if they need to be addressed today, please email them to me. I’ll check in periodically and do what I can from home.” When my alarm went off this morning, I checked Janelle’s forehead—not that I needed to, considering her body radiated enough heat to suffice a small town in Maine for the winter. There was no way I could’ve left her alone in that condition. It didn’t matter if she ended up sleeping all day, she didn’t need to be by herself. So I sent Matt a text and called Ronnie with instructions. “Yes, just tell them my wife has the flu, so I’m at home taking care of her. She needs me. You know how to get ahold of me if you need to.”
I made sure to keep my voice as low as possible to keep from waking her while I concluded my phone call outside my bedroom door. I had no idea why I brought her to my bed last night, and then crawled beneath the covers with her, but I told myself it was to be close in case she needed me.
Apparently, I must’ve also convinced myself that she was dying. Because I wasn’t sure what all I could do for someone with the flu, or what she could’ve possibly needed other than a drink. But that didn’t matter, because in the event she needed something, I was there. Right next to her.
All. Night. Long.
God, I seriously needed help if I anticipated making it to the end of our agreement.
When I walked back into my room, the early morning sunlight drifted in through the window across from the bed and painted the walls in a warm glow. It also made Janelle appear to be an angel in my bed…who was no longer peacefully asleep, but lying there, staring at me with intense eyes.
“Sorry, I was trying to be quiet. I thought leaving the room and closing the door would’ve helped. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” I crawled beneath the blankets and crossed my arms behind my head. I more than likely wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, but that didn’t keep me out of bed.
She stared at me, and I stared back, neither one of us making a move—physical or verbal. Finally, she cleared her throat and said, “You didn’t wake me up. At least, I don’t think you did.”
“Do you need anything? Something to eat…drink? Anything?”
“No.” Her voice was groggy, but it didn’t seem to stop her from talking. “I’m just freezing. I think that’s what woke me up. I was nice and warm all night, and now I can’t stop shaking.”
I pulled the covers to her neck and then tucked them around her body. Without delay, she curled into my side and rested her head on my shoulder, so I wrapped my arm around her and held her tighter. And as if that still wasn’t close enough for her, she slipped her hand beneath my white T-shirt and settled her palm against the middle of my chest.
“You know, you’re like a furnace when you sleep,” I mumbled into her hair.
“I’m also running a fever.”
When I laughed under my breath, it jostled her body, so I pulled her even closer into my side, as if it would protect her more. “Well, there’s that, too. I would’ve taken my shirt off but I worried about how you’d react if you woke up and noticed me next to you half-naked.”
“You’re warm, so I doubt I would’ve reacted any other way than grateful for your body heat.”
Without saying anything else, I eased her off me and sat up to pull my shirt over my head. After tossing it to the floor, I reclined against my pillow again and then lifted my arm, inviting her to reclaim her position by my side. Once she got comfortable with her head on my shoulder, cheek against my pec, and arm draped along my chest, I wrapped my arm around her again.
“You called me your wife,” she whispered while her fingers absentmindedly fiddled with the small patch of hair in the middle of my chest. “A minute ago, when you were on the phone, you called me your wife.”
“Oh, yeah. I had called the office to let them know I wouldn’t be in today. It’s just easier than explaining who you are, and if I called you my roommate, it wouldn’t have the same effect.”
“But what about Matt? What if he hears you say that?”
I grinned to myself and stared at the ceiling. “He’s the one who started it. A couple weeks ago, Ronnie had suggested we all go out for a drink after work, and I said I couldn’t. Matt’s the one who said I had to get home to my wife, and it’s been an ongoing joke since then.”