But he sees me lurking and shifts himself to sit up.
“I was wondering if I’d dreamt you,” he murmurs, I think not quite realizing what he’s saying. I try to shake it off.
“Nope, your friendly neighborhood shower forcer and medication pusher isn’t a fever dream, I’m afraid,” I joke, pulling a chair from the corner of his room to sit down next to the bed.
The cat that was by the door has wandered in and hopped onto the bed, too, so now Eli is framed by little furballs on either side.
His stare on me is disquieting. I fidget and pull up the bag of all my drugstore purchases. “Start with this,” I say, unwrapping the cold medicine and handing it over to him.
He dutifully takes it and downs it with some of the water I left by his bedside. I pull out the rapid strep test and prep it. “Let’s swab this, too, because if you have strep, it’s actually an easy solution to get antibiotics. If it’s a virus, it’ll just be a lot of hydration, cold medicine, and waiting for it to pass.”
He nods and takes the swab, going through my prescribed motions without hesitation. I swirl it around and set it aside to give it time. I hand over the thermometer.
“Why does it matter?” he says. At my confused look, he continues. “I just mean ... I get that I’m ill. I’m not pretending anymore that I’m not. I just don’t see what I gain from knowinghowill.”
“Well, if you’re over a certain temperature, that becomes more of a medical issue.”
“Do you think it’s that bad?” he asks, his uncertainty making it clear he’s feeling even worse than his particularly rumpled state already suggests.
“I think knowledge is power,” I say, as kindly as I can, while I hand over the thermometer.
He sticks it in his ear without complaint, and we wait for the beep.
“I have no idea what Fahrenheit temperatures mean,” he says, handing the thermometer back over. I look at the display and try not to let the shock show on my face. His temperature is at 103.4, which is sort of on the cusp of where I’d want to take someone to the hospital. But even after spouting myknowledge is powermumbo jumbo, I’m not sure he needsthatinformation.
“It means you’re sick, but I’m guessing you’ll live,” I reply with what I hope is a comforting smile. He blows out a sigh and crumples back onto his pillow.
I pull the strep test back over and see, unsurprisingly, that it’s positive.
“Well, we have a winner,” I say, turning the test so he can see it.
“What do I do?” he asks, unsure.
I pull out my phone. “We’re going to input your information and schedule a telehealth doctor’s visit,” I say, typing as I’m talking. “Since we have the rapid test, they can prescribe you antibiotics without seeing you in person, and you can start taking them ASAP. I know it seems worse than a virus, but this means it’ll actually be gone faster.”
I put us in the queue and then get started on the forms. “What’s your middle name?”
“Eli.”
“Not your first name,” I say, hoping I can get him to focus long enough to do this before conking out.
“No, Eli is my middle name,” he replies. I stare at him. “What?”
“Okay, so what’s your first name?”
He purses his lips. “It’s Jarvis,” he says begrudgingly.
My eyes go wide, but I keep my mouth shut. I’m not going to ask him what it’s like having a name most associated with a robot. But maybe since he goes by Eli, he didn’t like the namebeforeit became an Avengers accessory.
“All right,” I enunciate, ignoring my natural urge to rib him. I type in his address (since I obviously know that) and estimate his height and weight. “Do you have insurance?”
“Not for my body, eyes, or even teeth yet, I’m afraid,” he says, and I quirk a small smile, thinking of his strong opinions on the roof.
“Well, it’s not a big deal. These telehealth things are usually like fifty bucks anyway. And I’m sure your antibiotic can be a generic, so that won’t be bad either.”
“Okay,” he says. “Thank you. I guess I really did need a friendly neighborhood shower forcer and medication pusher.”
The sincerity is etched into the exhaustion on his face. I’m imagining him fighting this all day—sending emails and texts, trying to get work done, and feeling so frustrated to not be able to muscle past it. He’s used to gunning through life on his own, even when he’s had people around him. I can obviously relate to that. The permission to stop and rest is probably not something he gives himself often.
