Matthew tugged his blankets over his shoulders and buried his nose, hiding from the world. In Fiji, he’d had the privacy of his own bungalow, but now that he was back in his father’s house, it felt like there were eyes and ears everywhere. With Emily and Violet around, not even his room was safe.
I took Emily and Violet to the park,Matthew wrote.I got them to eat a lunch that wasn’t mac and cheese or chicken nuggets, and then I washed and dried all the dishes and put them away. While they were napping, I sneaked away and took a shower and even had time to put on a load of laundry. Alex took care of dinner, so I gave both the girls a bath and was able to put them to bed at a decent time.
He had done a lot today, hadn’t he? Matthew scrolled up and read through his message again, smiling at his accomplishments. It was easy to trick himself into believing that he hadn’t had a productive day, but Damien had convinced him that getting any work done around the house with two young children around was nearly a superhuman feat, and that he should be proud. Every night since then, he’d asked Matthew what good he’d done during the day, and he’d celebrated Matthew’s achievements no matter how small.
You worked hard today. I’m so proud of you.
Matthew grinned and tangled the blankets around his legs, cocooning himself. The screen of his phone showered him in light.I’m proud of me, too.
After all that, what have you done today to spoil yourself?
Nothing yet,Matthew replied,but here I am, in bed, with you…
In anticipation of Damien’s response, Matthew squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath. It had been five weeks since Damien had given him his number, and four weeks since Matthew had returned to the United States. Since then, they’d been in constant contact. Sometimes it was nothing more than a few quick messages and a heartfelt goodnight. Other times, Matthew wrapped himself in his sheets and stayed up until the early hours of the morning while they chatted about anything and everything. Damien never pushed for sex, but when Matthew instigated, he was always willing.
As usual, he didn’t disappoint.Tell me what you want and it’s yours.
I want something different,Matthew answered.If you could have your way, what would we do tonight?
Damien began to type. Attention glued to his phone and heart lodged in his throat, Matthew waited for his answer. What kinds of things would a man like Damien want? The question burrowed into Matthew’s mind, but instead of disappearing, it took hold of Matthew in a strange way.
It prickled.
Matthew frowned and wriggled, hoping that if he changed positions, he might get over what he was feeling. It didn’t help. Instead, it got worse. The words on the screen became blurry, and shortly after that, the room started to spin. At last, he had to set his phone aside.
The dizziness didn’t stop.
Miserable, Matthew rolled onto his stomach and closed his eyes. The darkness behind his eyelids offered him no reprieve—the world continued to spin, and soon enough, the contents of Matthew’s stomach churned in solidarity. Too dizzy to keep his footing, but too sick to stay in bed, Matthew lunged across the room in his boxers and stumbled out into the hall. The bathroom wasn’t far, but Matthew bashed into the wall more than once on his way there. By the time he sank onto the floor in front of the toilet, lights off and door open, Matthew thought he might never be able to walk again.
What the fuck was happening to him?
Bile burned the back of Matthew’s throat. His stomach clenched, and at last, he couldn’t hold back anymore. He heaved.
“Matthew?” his father asked from the doorway when he was done.
Matthew spat to chase the foul taste from his mouth, then lifted his head weakly to peer at the bathroom door. His father’s silhouette occupied the entryway, lit up from behind by the track lighting in the hallway.
“I’m okay,” Matthew said. “I don’t know what came over me. One second I was fine, and the next I was so dizzy, it made me sick. I just… I need to stay here for a while until I feel better.”
The statement did nothing to reassure his father, who took a step into the darkened bathroom. “What have you had to eat today?”
“Normal things. I didn’t skip a meal.”
“Are you running a fever?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
To Matthew’s distress, his father came to stand at his side. Matthew flushed the toilet defensively. It didn’t matter that neither of them could see the mess he’d made—the anxious part of his brain insisted that his father would judge him. Getting rid of the evidence felt like a good first step toward not looking like a total baby who couldn’t even handle the flu.
“Dad,” Matthew griped, but his complaint did nothing to stop his father, who started to riffle through the medicine cabinet. The dark obscured what, exactly, he was doing, but a few pill bottles rattled as they were disturbed, followed by a crispclick!of plastic as something was taken from the shelf. Matthew squinted at it in an attempt to figure out what it was.
“Here.” His father handed the object to him—it was the household’s digital thermometer. “In twenty minutes, take your temperature. If it’s elevated, I’m taking you to the ER.”
“The ER?” Matthew squawked. “It’s the flu or something, Dad. It sucks now, but I’ll probably be okay in the morning.”
“And if you aren’t?”
“Then… I don’t know.” Matthew frowned. He jiggled the thermometer between his fingers. “If it’s worse in the morning, then you can take me to see the doctor. It’s not like I’m going to die.”
