I didn’t have many memories of my grandmother. She died when I was still in elementary school, but the ones I had were good ones. I’d go to stay with her when I was little and I remembered her giving me a bath at night, wrapping me in a towel and holding me close. I’d felt safe and cherished. Jake’s care made me feel the same.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” I said as he laid a fresh towel under my damp head.
“Of course.” He slid on a new pair of boxer shorts and climbed into the bed next to me. “I like taking care of you. It’s nice to look after someone else for a change.”
He pulled me into his arms, curling his warm body around me. In some ways, it was more intimate than anything we’d done together. I thought about pulling back. I didn’t know what any of this meant. Before yesterday, we’d never even been on a date. Now we’d slept together, showered together, and I’d been sick in front of him. The last thought made me shudder, and he wrapped his arms tight around me. All of it should freak me out. But instead, I felt safe and cared for.
“Are you warm enough now?” He pressed his lips to the top of my head and murmured the words against my damp hair.
“Mmm hmm.” I snuggled deeper under the covers and let my eyes drift shut for just a moment.
When I woke up, daylight flooded the room, and my head felt slightly less achy. It didn’t take as long this time to figure out where I was, and not just because of the arm wrapped around my mid-section.
“Did the TV wake you?” Jake pressed a kiss to my head before sitting up.
“No, I didn’t notice it.” He had the volume turned so low; I could barely hear it. I wriggled to a sitting position, tucking the T-shirt under my ass so I didn’t feel so naked. “What time is it?”
“A little before noon. I was going to wake you if you didn’t get up on your own soon.”
Of course he’d want me out of his hair. He’d expected an afternoon of mind-blowing sex and instead ended up with a sick houseguest.
“I’ll be ready to go in two minutes.” I glanced around the room, in search of my bag and phone. I must have left them in the other room.
“What? No.” He rested a hand on my shoulder and pressed me gently back against the pillows. “Mark said you need to make sure you drink enough so you don’t get dehydrated. I was going to wake you up to give you some Gatorade. Be right back.”
Mark must have been the doctor I thought I remembered from the previous night. That meant it wasn’t a hallucination, which was reassuring. I heard Jake banging around in the other room and debated following him. I’d been enough trouble. He didn’t need to keep waiting on me. I swung my legs off the bed but before I could steady myself enough to stand, he was back, carrying a tray loaded down with three kinds of Gatorade and a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
“You have to go slow.” He pushed the legs out on the tray so he could set it over my lap. “If you need to be sick, there’s a trash can next to you.”
If I needed to be sick, I was going to will the floor to open up and swallow me alive.
“I’ll be okay. Thanks.” I opened the lid on the blue Gatorade and took a small sip.
I swallowed and took another one, letting the sweet drink wash the stale taste from my mouth. The temptation was to chug it, but I didn’t want to risk getting sick again. Not with blue vomit this time. I allowed myself one more sip before setting the drink aside.
“The soup is hot if you’re hungry. You need to be careful about the noodles, but the broth counts as a liquid. I got ginger ale, too, if you’d rather have that, and a bunch more Gatorade.” He started to stand, and I put my hand out to stop him.
“This is great. You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.” Not only had he cleaned up after me—I still cringed, thinking about it—he put me to sleep in his bed and got a doctor to make a house call. And by the looks of it, he’d bought out the sports drink aisle.
“Don’t be silly. All I did was order groceries. Eat your soup.” He crawled under the covers next to me, his body a warm, reassuring presence. “What do you want to watch? We could do a movie.”
He clicked the remote and the TV at the end of the bed sprang to life. It took up the width of the mattress. I couldn’t believe I’d missed seeing it even in my feverish state, until I looked closer and realized it slid in and out of the cabinet at the foot of the bed. The cabinet itself wasn’t much more than a thick footboard. It was an exceptional piece of design—functional and attractive—exactly the kind of thing I’d have chosen for him. I wondered if he’d picked it himself.
“Does anything look good?” He scrolled to a My List icon and clicked. The giant screen filled with a mixture of Marvel movies, which I would have expected, and documentaries on everything from mushrooms to ancient civilizations, which I didn’t expect.
“You can choose.” I liked an occasional documentary and there were a few movies on his list that interested me, but thinking clearly enough to decide on something felt beyond my reach at the moment.
He shot me a look that made it clear that wasn’t an option. “What would you watch if you were home sick in your own bed?”
“My Big Fat Greek Wedding.” The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about his reaction to my choice.
Given the movie’s age and its place at the pinnacle of the rom-com list, it seemed unlikely to make it onto Jake’s watch list. My mom and I started watching it when I was a girl. Despite my only child status, I think, on some level, the idea of a big family appealed to her. Even one as noisy and over-the-top as the Portokaloses. She loved a good makeover too. Being beautiful, making the most of her assets, was fundamentally important to my mom. She passed that on to me, and I expanded it to include more than just my physical appearance. I wanted it for all the spaces I touched as well. At least that was the healthier version I told myself.
In the beginning, I loved the movie because it meant time with my mom, with no expectations or performance necessary. I just had to snuggle next to her and try to feel better. Sometimes my mom chose it herself when things with one of her conquests crashed and burned.
As I got older and paid more attention, I realized my favorite part wasn’t the makeover or the big family, although I did sometimes wish for a sister to play with. The part I liked the best was when the hero realizes he’d already met theheroine. She says back when she was “frump girl,” and he says, “I don’t remember frump girl, but I remember you.” The idea of someone seeing through everything, past all the artifice and makeup, to recognize the real you did something powerful to my adolescent heart.
“Ready?” Jake’s voice pulled me to the present.
