Laura:Night. Text me if you want.
Me:Will do.
I swallowed some pain medicine when I got home, took a hot shower, and am now lying in my bed staring up at my ceiling. Sleep seems to be evading me, but I know if I stare long enough, it’ll happen. It can’t be soon enough for me. All I want to do is sleep away these feelings: the memories of the worst date in history and ones relating to my ex.
* * *
I hearincessant knocking on my front door, and I open my eyes to light glaring right into my eyes. “What?” I mumble to myself. The knock sounds again, so I roll over and wince at the ache in my back.
Up from the bed, I stumble into my living room as Laura shouts, “Open up, Prudence. Right fucking now.”
“Hold on.” Geesh. I slide off the chain and flip the deadbolt. The door is pushed up from there. “Cripes, woman. What’s the deal?”
She’s sweating like she just ran a marathon. “Jesus. You had me scared to death.”
“Me? Why?”
“It’s Monday, Prudence.”
“Monday?” I’m not sure I get where she’s coming from?
“You had a date on Saturday. That’s also the last I heard from you––with a couple of texts telling me you had a headache.”
“It’s Monday?” What the heck happened to Sunday? “I’m sorry.” I remember feeling terrible. There was a fever at some point. I know I took a couple of tepid showers and lots of aspirin. “I must’ve been out of it.”
“You think?” Her face changes from sweaty anger to something much softer. “If you were that ill, you should have called me. I would’ve have dropped everything to help.”
“I know. I––” What? “I missed work?” Crap on a cracker. I hate missing work. Laura is probably swamped.
“You did. When you didn’t show up for your shift today, I called in backup and rushed over here.”
“I’m sorry. You rely on me.”
“Okay. Stop that shit right now. If you’re ill, fuck the shop. My first concern is you. I know you’d never stay home unless you had good reason.” She reaches up and touches my forehead. “You’re warm.”
“I’ve been running a fever off and on.”
“Do you want to go to the clinic?”
I shake my head. “No. I’m feeling better.” That’s not necessarily the truth.
“You’re full of shit.”
I smile, and it hurts. Why does our body hurt like this when we’re ill? “I will be.” I’m lightheaded, so I sit down on the sofa. “Maybe you could cover for me one more day?”
“You take care of you. I’ll be back after work with some soup and crackers.”
Why does that sound terrible? “Thanks.”
“Come on.” She slips her arm through mine. “Let’s get you back to bed.”
“Okay.”
ChapterSixteen
Nate
My Sunday sucked.Not the part when my kids came over to hang out but all the other time. I couldn’t stop thinking about Prudence. And when Zoe asked me about the date, I lied and said, “It was great. We had a great time.” Then, for good measure, I added, “Yeah. Great.”
