“Do you get them often?”
“No,” he answers. “It has only happened a few times before. I went to a doctor in Kluvberg, who suggested some lifestyle changes. None since.”
“Did you go to a doctor here?” I ask, worried by how heavily he’s leaning on the frame, like it’s the main reason he’s vertical.
“I did not want to drive,” he tells me. “I was supposed to have an appointment for my shoulder. I had to cancel. And there is nothing the doctors can do. It will pass.”
“How long has it lasted for?” I ask, like I have any medical knowledge to offer.
“I woke up with it.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, remembering something Ramona griped about. “It’s not because we…”
Mercifully, Otto understands my meaning without me spelling out specifics. “It has never triggered one for me before.”
I nod, then step inside his apartment. The shades are drawn, only a thin strip of daylight sneaking in between the curtains. There’s no evidence he’s eaten in the kitchen, no indentation on the couch. I glance through the open doorway at his unmade bed.
He’s alone here. Thousands of miles from home. From friends, from familiarity, from his usual doctors. Injured and now sick.
Otto always seems so capable, so assured. I assume he must miss his former life. I never considered how lonely being here might be.
Sympathy is the easy explanation for why I’m still here. But the full reason is more complicated. With Otto, it always is. After what happened between us last night, I can no longer hide behind the nonchalance I’ve used as a shield since he showed up in Boston. Not while we’re alone.
“Have you eaten?” I ask, opening his fridge door.
Hehasfood at least. More than is in mine since it was Cassidy’s week to grocery shop. I’m convinced she and Tommy lived on takeout in Florida. I’m going to have to stop at the store after I pick him up from preschool.
“I’m not hungry.” Otto’s moved, leaning against a framed map of Boston. Maybe it’s just the white wall, but he looks paler.
“What’s helped before?” I question, feeling…helpless.
“Nothing,” he says dully. “I wait for it to end.”
I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, thinking.
A flash of inspiration appears. Who knows if it’ll work? But it’s better than nothing. I open the freezer, searching for a bag of frozen peas.
He has some.
I grab the bag, shut the freezer door, and head toward his bedroom. “Come on.”
I don’t wait to see if he’s following. I’m also careful to keep my gaze as far from the messy sheets as possible as I pass the bed and continue into the bathroom. It smells like him in here, the scent of his shampoo and soap and aftershave distinctively masculine.
His bathroom’s neater than I expected. The counter is completely clean. I’ve never lived with a guy, but my experiences with their spaces have mostly been traumatic. He even has the toilet paper on the roll.
I reach into the tub, pulling the stopper and then turning the hot tap.
“What are you doing?”
He did follow me.
“I had a roommate in college who got migraines,” I say, watching the tub fill. Steam swirls, coating my face and coiling my curls tighter. “She said this helped.”
Once there’s about a foot of water in the tub, I shut off the water.
“Take a seat on the edge and stick your feet in the water.”
Otto looks skeptical. But he listens, making the tub look tiny as he settles on the side and submerges his feet.
