Me:Mom’s getting some stuff from the store.
Ana:Did your dad ever take care of you when you were sick as a kid? I don’t think mine did.
Me:Once. I had a sore throat and he brought me a bag of chips.
Ana:Yikes. Well, don’t worry, I can give your mom a hand if she needs. I’m going in a couple hours early, so tell her to knock. I’ll let her in and lock up after her tonight.
Mom comes back and a few minutes later brings me a glass of Canada Dry ginger ale, a tangerine nestled in the peel like a flower, and honey-lemon ginger tea. She hands me two Tylenol and a glass of water. Having so many hydration options makes me feel rich. “Ana will be at the store to let you in.”
She nods. “There’s more fruit in the kitchen and I bought some white bread.”
I close my eyes. “You hate white bread. You think it’s tasteless pap.”
“That’s true, but you’re sick.”
Mom puts her hand on my forehead and it’s nice and cool. “Go to sleep, Luling.”
I guess I listen to her, because when I wake up it’s a few hours later and the apartment is empty. There are texts from Ana.
Ana:Your mom is here. All good! She brought me tea with a big-ass flower in it. It was super pretty but tasted like hay. Don’t tell her that because I told her it was yummy.
Ana:Holy shit your mom is a selling machine.
Ana:Jayne came over and took her to the bar for lunch.
Ana:Your mom is working in your lab space. Also she put a sign for Ile de Grasse in the window. Looks good.
Ana:She went for a walk and Jayne told me she came in, said the bar smelled, and I quote, “like poor people,” and gave her a bottle of diffuser oil, which Jayne says and I quote again “Is the best fucking thing I’ve smelled in my life.”
Ana:Oh my God, that blogger from BlogToronto came in and your mom sold her so much of your stock, then told her to go to Jayne’s to check out the diffuser. I told Jayne so she’s ready. Your mom is something else.
I let the phone drop.
***
A sharp knock on the door wakes me up again, but I ignore it. Then my phone buzzes. It’s Rafe, asking me to let him in.
I stumble to the door, the sticky taste of ginger ale filling my mouth, and open it.
“How do you feel?” he asks.
“How did you know I was sick?” I run my fingers through my greasy hair to tidy it. I look like a mess, but Rafe has seen me look worse.
He comes in. “Your mom told me and suggested I come by.”
That spiky feeling rises with this further evidence of Mom’s meddling. “She didn’t need to do that.”
“I wanted to, once I knew.” He raises a white bag. “I thought you’d like some congee. You always liked that when you were sick.”
I brush my teeth and do some basic grooming as Rafe sets out a bowl. Only one, so when I come back, I ask, “Aren’t you eating?”
He makes a face. “I ate so much of this and ramen in university, I can’t stand it anymore.”
I sniffle and drink the glass of water he’s put out. “I did the same with hot dogs.”
He laughs and I eat about half the bowl before I risk a look up. Rafe is sitting on the other side of the counter with his sleeves rolled to the elbow, gazing at the wall, chewing on his cheek. Then he smiles at me and my heart gives a running jump. I wondered if being alone so long had made me susceptible to any attention that came my way, but no. It’s Rafe. I want him in my life, smiling at me just like this. I want to care for him the same way he’s caring for me.
I spoon up more congee and Rafe chats about his day, making me laugh. He pours me ginger ale and tidies the kitchen while I have a shower. Returning in clean sweats, with my hair damp, I accept the tea Rafe hands over, taking pleasure in him being there. Rafe is the only one I can be silent with as well as chatty.
