“Hey, Sydney,” I manage to squeak out.
“Oh, honey, you sound miserable.”
“Geez, thanks.”My voice drips with sarcasm.
“I was calling to check on you before my flight to Portland.”The sound of a flight attendant telling everyone to switch their phone to airplane mode comes through the line.“I didn’t know if I should call the local police station for a wellness check.”She teases me, but I can sense a hint of concern in her voice.
Sydney—my best friend for life—my ride or die.If I ever needed to bury a body, I would call her before my brother, Owen.When my family first moved to Eagleton, when I was eight, she was the first friend I made.We were inseparable growing up, always spending time at each other’s houses.When I got my period, Sydney was the first one I called.When she kissed her first boyfriend, we stayed up until midnight discussing the event.Over time, she became more like a sister to me than a friend.
“I feel like death, and I blame you.”I sniffle, sounding like Sneezy from Snow White.
“Me?”She whisper-shouts, no doubt she’s already in trouble for still having her phone out while the plane is about to take off.
“Yes, you’re the only one I’ve been in close physical contact with.”I readjust to a more comfortable position, and my head stages a full riot.“Did you maybe pick it up from Xander?Is it confirmed to be the flu?What does he have?”
“I’m so sorry, sweetie.I wish I could tell you,” she says apologetically.“But I’m not seeing Xander anymore.”
“Oh, I didn’t know.I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine—he just wasn’t a fit.”Her voice softens.“Now, tell me, is there anything you need before my flight takes off?”
“No, I should be okay.I put in a DoorDash order for some soup.Hopefully, it gets here soon.”
“Sara—canned soup?Why didn’t you get fresh soup delivered?”
“I crave chicken noodle soup, and the canned version always provides comfort.”I grab another cough drop from the bag, popping it in my mouth and depositing the wrapper in my growing mountain of used tissues.
“Hmm, does it?Or does the idea of talking to a certain delivery guy soothe you?”She teases.I regret letting her know about the flirtatious conversations Dave and I have been having.She’s been pressuring me to ask for his real number.I know she means well, but it’s too much right now for me.
“It’s not that—you know I’m not ready to jump into another relationship.”
She scoffs lightly.“Sara, it’s been five years.You need to give yourself a chance again.”
“I know, maybe soon.”I slump into my blankets, finding comfort in the warmth of my bed.“Hey, I’m starting to get sleepy again, I’ll talk to you soon?”I say, wanting to end this conversation about me and any potential guy.
“Okay, I’ll check on you once I’m in Portland.Love you.”
“Love you, too.”I hang up the phone and curl back into bed, drifting in and out of consciousness.
The next time I wake up, it’s from the buzzing of my phone.There was a buzz at my doorbell.I open my phone to check who it could be when I see a DoorDash notification with a cancellation to my order.Great.I’m already feeling like shit and now I can’t even get my damn soup.
I drag myself out of bed for another cup of tea and to investigate the front door.When I open it, I’m greeted by a brown, wicker picnic basket.That’s odd.Who would be going on a picnic in this cold season?I look around the porch, I try to see if the person who left it was still around.Seeing no one, I grab the basket and take it inside.
Please be empty.This isn’t the fire station.I’m not mentally equipped for that story line.
I place it on the kitchen island and look inside.The first thing I see is a handwritten note:
You deserve better than canned soup when you’re sick.
I hope you enjoy it, it’s a family recipe.
—Dave
Inside the basket is a container of soup that smells like heaven.It’s hot too, super hot—like it just came off the stove.Along with flu medicines, tissues, cough drops, Tylenol, and six bottles of BODYARMOR.
If my body wasn’t already achy from being sick, I would be a puddle on the floor.I can’t believe he made me homemade soup—and I have no way of telling him thank you.
7
