I rub my face and gather my hair into a ponytail. “Like I was hit by a bus.” Turning to Emma, I ask in rapid succession, “How are you feeling? Have you been okay? You should’ve woken me up.”
She takes a long drink, unbothered by my frazzled state. “Why? Max had stuff delivered and we’ve been watching One Direction music videos on YouTube.”
Sure enough, on the TV is one of Emma’s favorite songs. The video is moving way too fast with way too many bright colors for me to keep an even stomach. I opt to turn back to Max. “Wait. You got us supplies?”
He looks at me for a moment with a hint of teasing in his eyes. “To somebody as put-together as you, one look at memight make you think, ‘now there’s a guy who looks totally useless,’ but I promise you I’m not.”
“You know that’s not what I meant.”
Max gives a half smile and rubs the back of his neck. “I wasn’t sure what to do in Emma’s case. I haven’t been around sick kids since I was one myself, and I had no idea what to look for or when I should be worried. While you fell asleep, I called Violet. I asked her a few questions. She suggested electrolytes and popsicles for now. I made the grocery order and it was delivered a few minutes ago.”
“They’re all-fruit, Mom, so you can’t get mad at that. In fact, I have plans to eat the whole box.” She doesn’t peel her eyes from the band singing “What Makes You Beautiful” even though she has to have seen it close to one hundred times.
He looks at his watch. “Hey, kiddo. Pause the song and go take a long shower now that your mom is up. Violet said the steam will help with the congestion and yuck.”
Emma makes a face but points the remote and freezes the five of them in place. She pushes off the couch and carries her drink with her down the hall.
“I wanted her to wait until you were awake in case she needed help, but I did do a load of blankets so she’ll have clean ones.” He stands and sets the laptop on the coffee table to collect the quilt and a few other blankets from the couch. “I’ll go throw these in now. Can I get you anything? A popsicle?”
“No,” I smile.
“Well, if you change your mind, I’m thinking of grabbing one before she lives up to her promise.” With his arms full, he looks at me seriously. “Have you actually listened to these lyrics? For being a group of teenagers, their songs are oddlyemotional and fixated on finding love.” He’s dismissive and I chuckle.
“Eh, they’re harmless.” I wave my hand. “Belle was obsessed with them when they were popular years ago, and she introduced Emma last summer. She’s gotten her friends into it and it’s become a whole thing. You gotta pick your battles as a parent. If this is what is on repeat at our house, I’ll take it.”
This makes him scrunch his face like he’s considering my parenting stance. “I’ll have to take your word for it, I guess.”
“Hey, Maxford,” I say before he can walk out of the room.
“Yeah?”
“She called you Max.” Thanks to my fallen state, when Emma casually said his name, it hadn’t crossed my mind we weren’t a little family and that was her usual. Now, a few minutes later, it hits me. It’s still surrounded by a warm and comfy feeling, but I’m wondering if it made Max uncomfortable.
“Yeah.” A small grin tugs at the corner of his lips.
“Is that okay? Is that something we need to talk about? I mean, she’s only referred to you as Coach this whole time, and Max has a much more familiar ring to it.”
He shifts the pile of blankets, catching one as it slips away. “I’m okay with it if you’re okay with it.”
“Are you sure?”
“I promise.” Max turns to go to the laundry room and stops. “It’s nice having this weird little life with you two.”
Nice.Weird little life. Not exactly the same adjectives I’d use to describe it, but maybe it’s guy code for better than he could have imagined. I lie back down, close my eyes, and listen to the washer start.
A body plops down next to mine on the air mattress and Icautiously open an eye. Max battling the wrapper of a lime popsicle, a lemon one already in his mouth. He discards the wrapper and says, “Here, you need to stay hydrated too.”
Not waiting for me to take it, he pops it into my mouth. I don’t fight him; it’s been hours since I had anything to eat or drink. Once Emma started throwing up, I put together our living room beds and joined her in her misery soon after.
“You should not be lying next to me. You’re going to catch this, and I mean what I’m about to say with nothing but love, but just looking at you makes me think, ‘now there’s a guy who doesn’t handle a man cold well.’ Chances are, this flu will kill ya.”
“Shhh,” he puts his index finger over my mouth. “You keep saying crazy things when you’re sick.”
Maxford Hutchings cannot touch me when I’m not firing on all cylinders. The slight graze of his finger on my lips sends sparks through me. I stay still long after he’s removed his finger and is back to eating his popsicle. Emma gets sick—really sick—once a year. As hard as I try not to, I usually catch it, and we both camp out for a few days like this. Last year we subsisted on toasted bread and questionable applesauce that, in hindsight, had expired beyond that shelf-life window everybody still accepts as edible. Knowing there are not only frozen treats and drinks available, but a person watching out for us, is the best.
“Penny for your thoughts?” he asks when the silence has gone on too long.
I pull the popsicle from my mouth and place it in the mixing bowl. “We haven’t had anybody take care of us like this in forever.” I let that float in the air. Let him do with it what he wants. Infer what he will, or make a comment about being our hostage and having no other options.
