Mom:Are you sick? Need me to come down there?
Millie:No. Thanks, though. I’m making it for a sick friend.
Mom:Oh, okay. I’ll send you a picture of his recipe.
Fabes:I want some soup, Mom. *cough, cough*
Fabes:You don’t have to drive an hour to make me some. I’m just upstairs.??
Tess:I’ll take some. It’s soup-er delicious.
Dad:I’m a real soup-er star for making that recipe.
Fabes:He really soup-ed in and saved the day.
Millie:Thanks for the recipe. It has soup-er powers.
Millie:Miss you guys. Can’t wait to come visit.
***
“You’re the best,” I tell Lena, pulling groceries out of the bags she brought.
I couldn’t find any medicine in the downstairs bathroom, and I don’t want to rummage around in Finn’s. So I asked Lena to go to the store for a few things and the ingredients for my favorite soup when I’m sick.
“Iamthe best.” She nods, dropping a bag of overnight clothes near the stairs and looking around the room.
Finn’s kitchen is magnificent. Dark gray lower cabinets support white granite counters. Exposed beams run along the ceiling, and big windows give a view of the backyard. The front of the fridge is covered in pictures drawn by the girls, and my dark green mixer adds a beautiful pop of color in the corner.
“You look good in here,” Lena says with a wink.
I duck my chin, not wanting her to see what that comment does to me. I don’t think I’m ready for anyone to know how comfortable I am in this house.
“Okay, I see you need to sit with that thought for a little while before you accept it,” she teases, coming around the island to kiss me on the cheek. “Text me if you need anything else.”
She slips out the door quietly, and I lock it behind her before walking back into the kitchen to start the soup.
I spend the next few hours checking on Finn and the girlsin between making chicken-and-rice soup. It feels like I’m house-sitting downstairs by myself with a cup of tea and the smell of chicken and herbs simmering. I find a blanket in an antique chest in the living room and curl up on the couch with my Kindle.
When the soup finishes, I take a break from my book and make a fresh cup of tea for Finn. Once it’s done steeping, I tiptoe upstairs and open the girls’ bedroom door. They’re sound asleep, curled toward each other. I press my hand to their foreheads to see if they’re getting fevers too, but so far, so good.
Next, I peek into Finn’s room. He’s still under the covers, but his jeans are lying in a clump next to the bed. I set the cup of tea on the nightstand and lean over to check his forehead.
His skin seems pale in the dark room, and his hair is damp against his brow. He looks so peaceful with his lips parted in sleep and deep, sighing breaths escaping them.
I have no idea how he feels besides the migraine he mentioned. Maybe a stomach bug? Or a sinus infection? I won’t know until he tells me more symptoms.
His eyes blink open and focus on me. “You’re still here?”
“Yeah. Wanted to make sure you were okay. The girls are asleep.”
He breathes a sigh of relief as I sit on the edge of the bed near his hip.
“How are you feeling?”
“Like two planets have collided in my skull,” he groans, pushing himself up to lean against the headboard.
“Does anything else hurt?” I ask, picking up the tea and handing it to him.
