My second napof the day is interrupted by something less gentle than Lucia's knock on my bedroomdoor.
A loud, tinny sound barges through my sleep and continues while I pull myself from my groggy state. It stops, and a few moments later, my door opens. Lucia's eyes open wide when she sees meawake.
“I hope my cooking didn't wake you.” She's wearing a green apron with flowers embroidered on the waist, just above thepockets.
“No, not at all.” I smile weakly through myfib.
“I made you something I always make Isaac and Lauren when they're sick. I'll be right back withit.”
She cooked for me.Something she makes for her own children. There's an odd feeling in my chest right now, and it's not related to my illness. It's heavy, but it's...happy.
Lucia comes back with a tray. I sit up, and she puts the tray across my lap. It has little legs that fold out so I don't have to balanceit.
“Albondigas.” Lucia grinsproudly.
“Excuse me?” I say,confused.
She laughs, the sound musical. “The soup. It's called albondigas. Mexican meatball soup,basically.”
The steam swirls up from the bowl, and I lean in, sniffing. “It smells likeheaven.”
“Tastes like ittoo.”
Lucia's unabashed opinion of her own cooking makes mechuckle.
“What?” she asks, smiling, her hands lifting while her elbows stay at her waist. “I know how good itis.”
I take my first bite andoh, oh, ohit's what heaven must taste like. I look at Lucia and nod my approval, then spoon more into mymouth.
Like a proud mama bird, she sits carefully on the end of my bed and watches me eat. The bowl is half empty when she leans back on her hands and opens her mouth. She closes it, opens itagain.
“How are you, Aubrey? Aside from this temporarysickness.”
I set my spoon on the tray and pick up the sparkling water. I take a long sip before I set it backdown.
“I’m fine.” I'm always fine.Always.
Lucia eyes me. “Are you sure? You've been through a lot in the past month. If I were in your position, I don't think I'd befine.”
I pick up the spoon and dip it into the bowl, picking up only the broth. I taste tomatoes, garlic, and onions, plus bits from the meatballs. I was wrong last night. This is the best thing I've ever had. The ice water doesn’t even comeclose.
I swallow and pick up more. Lucia watches me intently, waiting for me to answer her question. She's not like my dad. She won't accept myI'mfine.
With a full spoon suspended over the bowl, I say “Technically, I'm OK. I have Claire, her arm is healing, we have a beautiful place to live, and she's happy. There isn't much more to it than that.” I shrug, offering a small smile. I’m proud I can speak in long sentencesagain.
Lucia surveys me with shrewd eyes. “But what aboutyou?”
“What about me? My job is to take care of Claire. And I'm doingthat.”
She shakes her head. “Who takes care ofyou?”
“I don't need taking care of.” I learned that a very long timeago.
Lucia's face tells me just how much she disagrees with me. Her eyebrows rise and the corners of her mouth turndown.
I finish my soup and drink the water. The bubbles tickle mythroat.
Lucia stands and takes the tray off my lap. She sets it on the nightstand and looks back at me. Her eyes are kind, but they're alsoconcerned.
