And oh.My.God.Did he write me index card instructions?
That man.Damn it, that man was sneaky.I don’t even recall him being in my room before he left for his team practice.How in the world.
With a shaky hand, I pick up one of the index cards.Wow, his handwriting is meticulous,I whisper.My next noise of astonishment isn’t one of wonder; it’s from his audacity.Sidney wrote out precise instructions on when to take my meds and where to find them.
And sure, I don’t remember much of the doctor’s visit or the things I was told, but I would have figured it out.Every bottle has a label, right?
No doubt predicting my reaction to this hand holding, Sidney signed the card.
Follow directions.No exceptions.You got this.— S
I groan into my hands, the card scraping the side of my face as I do.Why does the man have to be attractiveandbossy?It’s unfair to the rest of us mere mortals.
Resigned to my medicated fate, I begin my slow journey to the bathroom.After going through a quick morning routine, I step into the shower.The hot water feels glorious against my skin, washing away the grime.
I stand under the spray for a long time, taking deep breaths of the steam to clear my sinuses and feeling my aching muscles slowly unknot.When I do finally get around to washing my hair, I have to settle for using the two-in-one product that I bought for Joey.Heaven forbid he spend an extra two minutes in the shower to use two different products.
My arms are too weak to keep elevated.When it’s time to rinse, I’m so exhausted that I just tilt my head forward under the spray and let gravity do its thing.
Getting out of the shower, then towelling off and getting dressed in clean sweats is a total blur.I stagger out of my bedroom and onto the living room couch with zero grace.I fall so hard on the couch that Joey bounces up on the cushion next to me.
Geez, Mom!You almost had me miss my shot,Joey cries, paying attention completely to his Xbox game.Is it healthy for him to be playing this much?
The thought comes and goes in my head.What does it matter?It’s the weekend, his time to unwind and do what he wants as much as mine.During the school week, he knows he’s not allowed to play.
Seeing my phone on the coffee table, I reach for it with my last burst of energy.When I tap it awake, I see a list of new notifications.I don’t know whether to laugh or roll my eyes at Sidney checking in every couple of hours.
SIDNEY:Seriously.Text me when you can.If I don’t hear from you by the end of today, I’m coming back to check your forehead myself.
My throat closes, and not from the pneumonia.
He stayed.He checked on Joey.He wrote out medication instructions like I was part of his NHL medical regimen.And then he went home, after practicing with his team and having a ton of meetings with who-knows-who in preparation for the upcoming season, and…worried.
About me.
The guilt comes next, sharp and useless.I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about him and shut him out.I should have had a plan for extreme illness situations like this.I should have arranged a backup adult as soon as I started to feel off.I should have…not needed him.
But I did.And he came.
I don’t like to think about my family often—there’s no point when almost every memory was a miserable one—but the last time I was seriously sick, Joey had been a toddler.They had already stopped talking to me at that point, but I reached out, desperate for help.
Instead of one of them coming to take care of their grandson and nephew, they’d sent one of the household staff.A complete stranger.They hated me so much they’d rather let a stranger come into my home while I puked my guts up than show up themselves.
It was around that time I stopped asking for help.From anyone.I didn’t want to hold that shame again or be shown just how little others thought of me.
Sidney hadn’t done any of that.He’d shown up.No questions asked.Joey had trusted him enough to reach out when he didn’t know what else to do.
I haven’t talked to my family in over a decade.And I think the time is finally coming for me to break that last chain they had around me and start letting more people into my life.
Finally,Joey says, shutting down his game and nudging me.You’ve been out forever.
Emotion punches me right under the ribs.Sorry, buddy.
He slides and closes half the distance before pretending he didn’tleaninto a hug.He’s fourteen now, which means physical affection must be disguised as casual leaning.He bumps his shoulder into mine lightly.
You okay?His voice is steady, solid, but I can hear the underlying worry.
Better,I rasp.Still feeling gross, but better.
