God, this sucks, though. I had a whole fun day planned, and now she’s sick and can’t go anywhere. I don’t know what to do with myself, either. I already went for a run. I’ve been watching game tape for days. I don’t want to just sit here on my ass all day, but I also don’t want to leave her alone. What if she needs something?
Plus, I’m waiting for groceries, so it’s not like I can do anything until after they get here.
But I can’t settle. I start a show, then turn it off. Find a movie, let it play for twenty minutes, but I’m doomscrolling the whole time, so it’s not like I’m paying attention. It’s just unnecessary noise, so I turn it off, then head over to YouTube to see what the indie sports commentators are saying about the upcoming season.
Everyone has an opinion, of course. My high school coach loved to tell us that opinions are like assholes—everyone’s got one, and they all stink. He said the same thing about excuses, too. Actually, he said excuses more than opinions, now that I think about it.
Even that doesn’t hold my attention for long, though. I’m either bored or irritated by all of them.
The real issue is that I want to spend time with Hailey. I’ve been looking forward to it ever since she agreed to come. The need to see her, talk to her, make sure she has everything she needs is like an itch I can’t scratch.
“At least I got her the groceries she wanted,” I mutter to myself. Plus soup—because who doesn’t like soup when they’re not feeling well?—and other things that I hope she likes. Despite feeding her several meals while I was in Wisconsin, I don’t really know what she eats normally. Other than that she’s not much ofa breakfast eater, today being a notable exception. Passing out before dinner and sleeping all night will do that to you, though.
I mean, I’d wake up ravenous after a few hours, personally. I’ve done it before after a particularly grueling set of away games, when we leave as soon as the game is over. I can kinda sleep on planes, but not well. And there’ve been a few times over the years where I came home and crashed, only to wake up starving at some ungodly hour. Usually I’ll get up, eat something, then go back to bed.
As I’m scrolling some more, I get an alert that my groceries are on their way. I force myself to stay put rather than pace the length of my condo while I wait for them to arrive.
The doorman texts when the delivery person reaches the lobby, asking if I want to come down or if he should bring them up.
Be right down
Any excuse to get up and move is welcome at this point. If I had to wait for the doorman to get my groceries up to me, I think I’d tear the door off the hinges in my impatience.
Grabbing my keys, I slip on some shoes, pocket my phone, then head down to the lobby, where I nod at Dave, the doorman, grab my bags, and head back up to my place.
Hailey appears in the entrance to the living room as I’m putting things away. “Hey!” I call, trying to sound cheerful but not in a way that makes her want to punch me in the face. I hate when people are overly cheerful when I feel like ass. “Your honey and tea and everything are here. Do you want me to make you a cup?”
“That’d be so wonderful,” she croaks, then disappears into the bathroom.
Ah, so that explains why she left her cave.
I rummage around until I find the tea kettle—I’m not much of a tea drinker, so it doesn’t get used often—fill it with water, and set it on the stove, happy to have something useful to do. I get down a mug, open the new box of tea, and put a bag inside it, ready and waiting for the water to heat up. I also pull the honey out of the bag, tossing it in the air end over end, then catching it before setting it on the counter next to the mug.
“What else, what else, what else?” I chant, scanning the kitchen. What goes good with tea and isn’t murder on a sore throat? Toast seems too scratchy. Should I have gotten popsicles?
My mom always let me eat my fill of popsicles when I had a sore throat as a kid.
I’m not sure I can handle waiting for another grocery delivery, though. If she wants popsicles, I’m going to go get them myself.
The bathroom door clicks open just then, and I step out of the kitchen so I can see her. “I’ve got the water on for your tea. It should be ready any minute. Do you want to drink it out here on the couch? Or …”
She’s already shaking her head before I can make another suggestion, her shoulders hunched and her arms crossed around herself. “No, that’s okay. I’d rather be in bed. It’s warmer in there. I’m freezing.”
That … that has me worried. “You’re freezing?”
She nods.
I take a step closer, but she backs up, hands going up as though to ward me off. “Seriously, Jason. This is the worst cold I’ve ever had. It’s hanging on for a stupid long time. You donotwant it. Aren’t you supposed to be playing hockey again soon? Iknow you said not for a couple more weeks, but if I feel this awful thesecondweek, I don’t want you to get it. You’ll be in no shape to play when you need to go back to work.”
Pressing my lips together, I cross my arms. “Fine,” I bite out, not liking that she won’t let me near her. “When your tea’s ready, am I going to have to step out on the balcony while you get it? Or can I bring it to you?”
She eyes the balcony, then looks back at me. “Probably that wouldn’t be a terrible idea, but I feel awful enough that I’ll let you bring it to me.” Pointing at me, she narrows her eyes and glares. “But you have to hold your breath while you’re in my room.”
“Whatever you say, Hailey.”
“Promise,” she demands.
Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. “Fine. I promise.”
