“Love you, too. And yeah, soup is good.” However, in the short time it takes to warm a mug, he falls asleep so I put it in the refrigerator for later.
Frustrated, I sit at my computer and check my social media. Catrina, looking as lost as I feel, jumps on the table and noses my index finger, making my mouse click on random links.
“Stop.” Marching band music blares out of the ad she chose.
“Merreeooo!” She snatches a toy, zooms up the spiral staircase, and drops it to the floor. “Meow, meow, meow.”
“C’mere, kitty, kitty.” I cluck my tongue and we blink at each other. “Hey, don’t blame me, it’s your fault.”
Finally, she pads down the steps, hops on the couch, and presses her paws, one at a time, into Suds’ broad chest. Nonna calls it making-da-pasta. Missing her and all my family, my throat gets tight again.
My God, if I don’t find something to do other than feel sorry for myself, I will lose my ever-loving mind. Biting my lower lip, I research cold cases in New York until one catches my eye. About a year ago, a Mr. Lee was murdered in front of his coworkers during an online meeting. Police have no suspects.
It’s perfect. Perhaps, my father will allow me to consult. I don’t even care if he can’t pay me. I must keep my mind occupied.
I leave Dad a message, clean the bathroom, and pace. Then, I watch two Netflix movies and hop on my numb right foot until the feeling returns. Dinner time comes and goes. When Suds wakes, it’s late and while he sips soup, I reheat calzones.
Tomorrow, I’ll be forced to cook again.
Rose brought us ground beef which I’m pretty sure can be used to make hamburgers. As I recall, all I need to do is press them flat, slap them in a pan, and turn up the heat. I should be able to handle that. Do I need oil? Shit. Maybe I should check with my cousin, to be sure.
In the night, Suds talks incoherently. I give him more ibuprofen, take away his blanket, and he shivers. When he cools down, I curl on the futon behind him, in case his fever spikes again. Sleeping fitfully, I welcome the light pouring in the front window. With lead eyelids, I crawl out of bed and repeat another Groundhog Day.
Only, unlike Bill Murray, I have consequences.
Following the directions, I rip open a packet, dump the oatmeal into a mug, and add water. However, after two minutes in the microwave, it explodes.
Shit. What the hell did I do wrong, now?I swear to God, my kitchen is out to get me. By the time I finish cleaning the gooey mess, I’m desperate for caffeine. Suds always makes our morning brew or we buy at the café.
How hard can it be?“We good?” I stare at the coffee maker, imagining more ways this morning could go wrong.
Those thoughts and worse, force me downstairs but the shop has a closed sign on the side door facing the stairwell and inside is dark.
Damn this virus. “I just want a fucking cup of joe! Is that too much to ask?”
Fine. Back inside, I pour water into the top of the drip machine and add grounds into the plastic thingy with the handle. It’s not until I have a carafe full of mud I realize I forgot the paper filter. Not wanting to waste my rations, I put the whole mess through again.
“Dammit. Give me my coffee!” I shake it.
When it refuses my request, I grab my purse, and pull out my weapon. “I have a gun and I’m not afraid to use it.”
Oh my God.It’s only the first week of quarantine and this is what I have become. I’m pretty sure if I immerse the heater in water, it will electrocute me so I choose a better option and run cold water through until it unclogs.
Then, I start over.
Chapter Six
Suds
I’m not sure if I’m hallucinating but even if I am, waking to my wife threatening the coffee pot is funny as hell. Laughing, however, is a bad idea because it tickles my throat and I cough up a lung.
“Serves you right.” She stomps over to me, hands me a glass of water and threatens me with a sponge. “Do not mock the handicapped.”
“What disability is that?” Icy liquid cools my parched esophagus as I gulp it down.
“It’s ah… on the spectrum. Honestly Suds, it’s rude to make fun of the domestically challenged.” She replaces the water with a cup of hot soup but I don’t want none so place it on the floor.
Catrina sniffs and is about to stick her paw in my breakfast but Sam puts it in my hand. “Drink.”
