“Jim, you have nothing in here that you’re going to want to eat. No one wants to throw up then make a turkey spinach wrap. Come home with me, I have a fresh supply of sports drinks andbroth and jello, and a family size box of Paw Patrol popsicles in the freezer. I can make soup if you’re feeling up to it and make sure you don’t dehydrate yourself or go into kidney failure.”
“I don’t want to burden you.”
“You won’t be a burden, I promise.”
“Really, I’ll survive here.”
Big fucking baby. I toss my hands on my hips, staring at his dying form from across the room.
He might be acting like a macho man, but he’s my friend, and I refuse to let him suffer alone. If I have to do a fireman’s carry to get him out of here, so be it.
I take the liberty and storm down the hall, peeking into the first open door to find a simple guest room with a queen size bed. I continue on, noting not one, but two full spa bathrooms, as well as another guest bedroom, and finding the master bedroom at the end of the hallway. The bed is perfectly made, so I can assume he either slept on the couch like he is now or spent the night curled on the bathroom floor, the toilet his only friend.
I maneuver through the room towards his walk-in closet, taking a minute to drool over the space. Everything is organized by color and style, scrubs even hanging on matching hangers. I’m envious of the amount of space he has, and having enough clothes to fill it. I run a hand over the sleeve of a dress shirt, reminiscing back to the night of Ryan and Lainey’s wedding and how handsome he looked in a crisp button up. I can faintly hear his weak voice calling out for me to come back, but I know he’s too frail to stop me.
Spying a gym bag on a bench, I open it up, dumping the contents in the corner of the closet. I rifle through drawers to grab sweatpants, undershirts, underwear that’s individually folded, and socks. I then go into his en suite, opening drawers to add his deodorant and toothbrush to the bag. Satisfied it’senough to get him through the weekend, I zip it up and throw the strap over my shoulder.
I stalk back to the living room, tossing the bag on the floor by the couch, returning to my spot on the armchair next to him, waiting for him to get up.
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve told you, you’re coming home with me.”
“I can’t, I—”
“Jim.” I move from my position to sit on the arm of the couch. “Please, come stay with me and let me take care of you. We’re friends, right? You have done so much for me, and for Jackson. Hell, you’re only sick because you went to that bullshit father-son cookout.” If it weren’t for him, it’d be me curled up in a ball, unable to work for God knows how long, unable to pay my bills for the month, and forcing my aging parents to take care of Jackson.
“This friendship has been very one-sided, and that’s changing.” I pause, softening my voice, keeping my gaze on his closed eyes. Having Jim in our lives has lit up something in Jackson. He’s excited every time Jim comes over, always wanting to show off his T-ball skills and his Legos. It’s the first time he’s had a man in his life that gives him one-on-one attention besides my dad, and I hadn’t realized until now how much he needed it. “Please…let me do this. Let me take care of you.”
I see him work his throat in a dry swallow. His tongue darts out in an attempt to wet his chapped lips. The air between us is thick as I notice the smell of sickly sweat wafting from him. He slumps over a little more on the couch, and I’ve about had enough.
“Alright, Jim”—I stand, reaching a hand under his arm to cup his bicep, ready to pull him up—“I’m not going to sit here andwatch you lay around like some Victorian peasant dying of the plague. Let’s go.”
“I shit my pants,” he mutters.
I drop his arm like a hot potato as I take a deep breath to assess the situation. I’ve never had to wipe the ass of a friend or family member besides Jackson, but it wouldn’t be my first time in the act. I adjust my invisible nurse’s cap and straighten my shoulders, smoothing down my pencil skirt with an exhale. “Okay then, let’s get you to the shower and washed up.” I reach an arm under his to usher him to standing.
“No, not…” He huffs a laugh and then grabs his stomach as if the laugh was painful. “I didn’t shit my pantsright now. Earlier. Or last night. Whenever it happened. I shit my pants. I was hunched over the toilet, throwing up. The feeling came and I couldn’t stop it, but I couldn’t stop throwing up to turn around. It just….happened.”
We’re both quiet as I look around the expansive apartment.
“Where are your pants?”
“I threw them away.”
I look over my shoulder into the kitchen at the garbage can.
“I threw them away and then brought the garbage to the dumpster. They’re long gone.”
I breathe a sigh of relief that I don’t have to wipe his butt for him. “You have food poisoning, that’s bound to happen. It’ll make Jackson feel better. He shit his pants at school. Not in front of everyone, I don’t think, but still embarrassing. You guys bonded over it without even knowing.”
I can’t help but let a laugh escape me. The chuckle turns into a full belly laugh, Jim joins in the best he can, gripping his stomach and laying down as he goes. The laugh dwindles and I wipe my tears.
“Are you laughing at me?”
“I can’t believe you shit your pants.”
He smiles a real smile, a tiny laugh escaping his lips. “Yeah, I shit my pants.”
