“Jessie? You hungry?”
Her sewing machine thumped. I knocked again and cracked the door open. Jessie looked up, but while doing so accidentally ran the side of her finger under the needle.
“Ah! Fuck!” she hissed, sucking on her finger.
“Shit! I’m sorry. Let me see,” I said, rushing to her side and crouching in front of her. I pulled her hand into mine to examine her wound. A little drop of blood sprang out of the side of her index finger. “Fuck, Jess, I’m sorry. Let me get you a Band-Aid, hon.”
I jogged into my bathroom, grabbing ointment and a Band-Aid out of a drawer. When I got back into her room, I put a dot of ointment on the wound, then unwrapped the Band-Aid.
“I can put it on, Ben.”
“Just hold still,” I said. “Your hands are shaky. When was the last time you ate?”
“I get food from craft services at work.”
“I hear ya, babe. But when did you eat last?”
She thought back. “I had a bagel this morning.”
I closed the bandage around her finger and gave it a little kiss. “There. It won’t get better unless I do that.”
She cracked a weak smile and blushed, making me blush, too. My stomach got some stupid flutters at how cute she was, despite being pale and wan. The Jessie I knew was feisty and full of fire. This wasn’t my Jessie, and it broke my heart.
But I had a plan.
I still had her hand in mine, and I rubbed my thumb softly over her injured finger.
“I got you some dinner. Wanna come eat?”
“Ben,” she started.
“Come eat. I’m not taking no for an answer.” I pulled her to her feet and dragged her into the kitchen. “I got you tofu pad thai in case you’re a secret vegetarian or something. But if you’re allergic, I can order you something else.”
“No. That sounds great. I’ll Venmo you.”
“Jess, I’m an actual millionaire. If I buy you something, it’s because I want to, and I don’t want to hear anything else about it.”
She rubbed her forehead. “How about a thank you?”
I grinned at her. “I’ll accept that.”
She was quiet at first as we ate, seemingly embarrassed. Whether it was from the injury incident, or me feeding her, or that she hadn’t been feeding herself, I wasn’t sure.
“Work’s been stupid busy,” she finally sighed, breaking our silence.
“Yeah? Are y’all like... filming more?” I didn’t know shit about how filming TV worked. I cursed myself for having not asked Kitty more about it.
She sighed. “It’s the normal amount. About one episode per week, but a lot of on-location stuff and my boss kinda doesn’t do shit.”
I was thoroughly confused. “Isn’t on-location good?”
“Sorry. That means we’re actually not at the studio. Backwards, I know,” she said.
“Gotcha. But your boss doesn’t do anything?”
She had a mouthful of pad thai, so she didn’t answer right away. “No. It’s just me and her in our department, and she’s supposed to be leading me. But I just end up doing everything. She strolls in like two hours after I do and does whatever she wants. And when we got in trouble for not having something ready on time, she ended up giving me a pay cut to show that at least we were under budget.”
Oh, that I could not handle. “She did what?”
