“I may have overslept, so my meds are overdue, and I can’t bring myself to sit up more or walk to the kitchen to get some food.”
“Call Jack. That’s why he’s here.”
“Yeah, but the ‘I love you’ thing, it’s—”
“Look, you told Jack you love him, drugs or not, and he canceled his morning skate and stayed home to take care of you, even though no one asked. So read into that what you like, but I don’t think he’s going to find it a bother.”
“He canceled his morning skate for me?” Hockey always comes first for Jack. It’s his one true love. I know he missed it the day after my birthday, but that day was filled with complications, such as a sleeping body holding him hostage and a big brother prowling the hallways. Today, none of those existed. He could have gone.
“Yes, because he cares for you, pumpkin. I don’t know what happened yesterday, but I know that much.”
“I’ll text him.”
“Thank you,” Emy says on an exhale. “Oh, you want those little French yogurts in the glass jars? You like those, right?”
“Yeah, but they’re expensive. Just get the store brand.”
“What was that? I can’t hear you. I think I’m going through a tunnel. Did you say to get the French yogurt? Sounds great. Okay. Bye.”
Deadened silence follows, and I pull the phone away from my ear,
giving myself a few seconds to collect myself before texting Jack.
Aulie
Emy said you’re here. If you’re not otherwise occupied, I could use some help.
Aulie
Please.
Mere seconds pass before there’s a soft rap on my door. Jack enters with a backward hat, a crewneck sweater with the sleeves pushed up, and his hands stuffed inside a pair of grey sweatpants.
My pulse races, confirming what I said yesterday was true.
I love this man rather hopelessly.
“How are you doing?” he asks.
“I’m fi—”
With a harsh clearing of his throat, Jack’s stare narrows on me as if to saytry again.
Lowering my eyes to my hands, I pull at my fingertips. I get why the phrase “I’m fine” bothers Jack. I know his history, and I can’t imagine yesterday was easy for him, but I don’t know if he understands from my perspective how hard a habit it will be to kill. That phrase has been more than a mask for the past ten years. It’s been my mental savior because nothing has been fine, actually. I’ve been in constant pain with no one believing me, so instead of convincing them I was in pain, I tried to convince myself I wasn’t. And it mostly worked until it didn’t. Until I got to a point where I needed surgery to fix whatever was happening. “I’m in a significant amount of pain.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. What can I do to help?”
“Can you help me up? I need to go to the restroom.”
“Yeah, of course.” He steps toward my bed, wrapping an arm under my back and offering the other to pull me up. I wince, planting my feet on the ground and taking a second once I’m standing to let everything settle.
I hope this intense pain isn’t planning to stick around for too long because there are still three more weekends of the fair to get through, and I don’t know how I’m planning on navigating those hills like this.
With a supporting arm, Jack guides me to the bathroom.
One glance in the mirror is enough to make me cringe. I try to brush through my tangled knots, but it’s useless. I look like a raccoon who just had a fight with a balloon, with the dark circles under my eyes and my frizzy hair sticking up every which way.
And the guy I love is standing outside this door.
