Page 84 of Man Flu

“Of course, I can understand that,” he says. “Let me help you, though.” He hops out of the truck, and I open my door at the same time, so I’m not acting like some priss who needs her door opened, as well as needing to be carried inside.

Logan helps me down into the snow, and I somehow need to figure out how to either lift my feet or use enough of my muscles to shuffle against the snow. “I can’t move,” I tell Logan, who’s waiting for me to walk ahead. He reaches into the truck and grabs the bags, then slides an arm around my back and opposite hip. He lifts me enough so it looks like I’m walking on top of the snow. If Tiana peers over, she’ll surely know something is up, though. Please don’t look over here.

We make it all the way to the front step before she turns around with her arms wrapped around her chest. “Oh, hi!” she shouts over. “Just taking Chicklette for a tinkle.” A tinkle. Who talks like that? I reach into my pocket for my key and unlock the front door, now staring at the one last step before we make it inside. Logan stands still for the moment, waiting to see if I make a move, but I don’t because I can’t figure out how to lift either of my legs without the tearing sensation resurrecting. “Is everything okay, Hannah?”

“She just sprained her ankle at work, she’ll be fine. Nothing a little ice can’t fix.”

“Oh no, I can look at it for you. I had to take first aid during my yoga certification class. Do you want me to look?”

“No!” we both shout at the same time. That doesn’t seem weird or obvious at all. “Thanks, though.” I don’t think our exasperated response was helpful because she’s looking at us like we’re lunatics. Whatever, it’s the same way I look at them all the time.

Finally inside, Logan closes the door and locks it, then helps me over to the living room couch. I haven’t spent so much time in this damn room in forever, and now I can’t seem to escape it. I don’t think I’ll ever have a good memory of this end of the house. “I’m mortified,” I tell him.

“My ex-wife had to put ointment on my ball sack scar for a month. While she did that, she curled her lip in disgust and touched it with a Q-tip as if she were touching a piece of dog shit. It was pretty much the highlight of my adult life,” he says, sarcastically.

“Can you dim the lights first. I don’t even know what my ass looks like in broad daylight, and I don’t think I want you to know either.”

“Hannah, I can handle whatever it is, okay?”

“What are you using to … fix … this?”

“Warm coconut oil,” he answers. So normally, I would think that sounds amazing, and kind of sexy hot as well, but I’m sure this occasion will ruin the idea of hot oil for me.

“Just lie down on your stomach and try to relax.”

The last time I heard that I slapped Rick’s dick. That went over as well as this is probably going to go.