I sat, and she produced a lap table and set up the plate for me, then looked over at Lu. “Food?”
She nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”
She repeated the process with her.
Trella worked around us while we ate, and didn’t seem even slightly distressed that Lula was drinking blood.
“The ankle is a bad strain,” she said, her hands careful on Lu’s foot. “Let’s get some ice on it and elevate.”
She got busy doing that, and I lost myself in some of the best fried chicken I’d ever put my teeth into.
Trella narrated our injuries:bruises, stitches, rotator cuff strain, slight concussion, bruised ribs,while moving to apply the fixes as she talked.
The doctoring went a lot faster than I expected, though I might have lost track of time while cleaning off the plate.
Franny took the empty dishes and made sure we had water on both sides of the bed. Then she and Trella left.
Lu was lying on her back, her foot propped up on pillows, an icepack wrapped around her ankle. She had needed a few stitches and butterfly bandages, but there wasn’t much to do for the bruised ribs or strained rotator cuff other than to put her left arm in a soft sling.
I’d gotten my share of stitches—more than her—but Trella assured me my concussion wasn’t too severe for me to sleep.
Lorde had refused to leave the bed, and now that they’d left, she wormed her way back between us.
I’d meant to ask about Variance and Rhianna, I’d meant to ask if Abbi was okay.
But Lula was already breathing deeply and evenly, the soft sounds of music and voices in the main bar a pleasant ocean of white noise. She reached for me, resting her hand on Lorde’s back. I lifted my hand and threaded my fingers through hers.
Lorde sighed and made a happy grumbling sound.
We slept.
Someone was staring at me.
I opened my eyes.
“Hi,” Abbi whispered. “Are you awake now?”
It took me a second. “Uh.”
She leaned back in the chair she’d pulled next to the bed.
“I think you’re awake now. It’s morning. But morning is almost over. Do you want breakfast or lunch? Oh! Or breakfastandlunch?”
I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to scrub thought back into my brain. “What time is it?”
“Almost lunch,” she said. “I’ve had cookies, and cake, and a donut. No, two. Two donuts.”
I rolled my head to look for Lu. She sat on the other side of the bed, the pillow propped behind her back.
She’d re-braided her hair and was wearing a clean, soft yellow tank top and a pair of shorts.
She looked like sunlight and sweet water.
“Morning,” I said.
“Afternoon,” she replied. “I’d go for lunch. They’re making up more of that chicken you fell in love with last night.”
I gave her a look. “I was hungry, not proposing to it.”
