I feel like roadkill.
My dad’s a taxidermist. I’veseenroadkill. I can verify it is, indeed, what I feel like.
So when I stumble downstairs to refill my and Bash’s water bottles around three a.m.—seriously need to go out and get Pedialyte today—and find Jonas camped out on my couch, I’m not sure if I’m hallucinating.
If I am, the hallucination is moving.
“Hey.” And it’s talking. “You feeling any better?”
I subtly pinch myself.
Still feverish, but also, that hurts. “Are you actually here?” I croak out.
His grin is illuminated by the glow off the oven light carrying in from the kitchen. “Actually here,” he confirms.
Did I say goodbye to him last night?
Or did I just run inside and toss my cookies?
Can’t remember now. “You should go. There are germs everywhere. We’ll get you sick.”
“Goes with the parenthood gig, doesn’t it?”
My heart absolutely cannot take this.
The hope that he means it. That he won’t disappear this time.
The fear that he means it. That he’ll disrupt our lives in a massive way if he stays.
“We’ll be okay. Honestly. Been here, done this a couple times. And Lucky’s popping in to check on us in the morning, which I couldn’t stop him from doing if I tried.” Having a friend who’s a nurse has come in pretty handy as I’ve navigated snotty noses and fevers and digestive issues.
No doubt he’ll arrive with—I amdefinitelyhallucinating.
This time with what I’m seeing on the counters and floor in the kitchen.
“I tried not to go overboard,” Jonas says sheepishly, “but I didn’t want to leave, so I let my security team handle quantities.”
If there’s one box of crackers, there’s a dozen.
Same for bottles of Pedialyte and Gatorade.
Bunches of bananas.
Industrial size cans of applesauce.
Organic. Naturally.
“Did they think an entire football team was down with the flu here?” I ask. “Is there any left at the store for anyone else?”
“They said the store is fine. They hijacked a delivery truck.”
“What?”
“Kidding. Whatever’s left, Begonia and Hayes will take. They run Razzle Dazzle’s summer camp program. Most years. Not this year. My mother threatened to disinherit all of us if Begonia didn’t take an extended maternity leave. And speaking of, I can’t go back to their house here. Not if I want to live. Hayes would disembowel me if I shared germs with Begonia right now. And I meandisembowelin thepermanently deadkind of way.”
I rub my head, still staring at the mountain of stomach bug supplies.
I don’t have to go to the store.
