I take a sip and then lean back, closing my eyes again.
“You take care of Jane, but who’s been taking care of you?” she asks, her voice sharp.
“I take care of me,” I grunt. “There’s no one else here.” I crack my eyes open. “If you don’t get sick, then how do you know about ginger ale?”
“I’m the second oldest of five kids under the care of a couple of narcissists. Who do you think took care of my siblings when they were sick?”
She turns me sideways so I’m not lying down on the sofa, then props several pillows under my head.
“You don’t have to take care of me, Holly. I’m not six years old.”
“God, I should hope not since your daughter is eight. That would be hard to explain.” I start to protest, but she cuts me off. “Look, I’m here for Jane too. You’re obviously sicker than the typical man flu, and I’m sure you’re neglecting your own health to take care of her.”
“So you’re going to be my nurse? Does that mean you’re going to wear a sexy nurse costume?”
“So you’re into role-play, duly noted, but you must be delirious if you’re suggesting such a thing with Jane in the next room.”
Shit. She’s right.
“Go to sleep, champ. Let me take care of things for a little bit.”
She’s like magic, because I do, sleeping more deeply than I have for the past two nights because I know she’s here if Jane needs something.
When I wake up, I can hear Jane and Holly talking behind me.
“Don’t worry about missing coding class,” Holly says. “I’ll catch you up. Remember, I brought your flash drive.”
“I like my new computer,” Jane says, “but I haven’t had a chance to use it much yet. I got sick on Sunday night after I got home from Betsy’s.”
“I’ll make sure you know how to navigate it,” Hollys says. “Now eat more applesauce.”
“Applesauce is for babies,” Jane grumbles.
“It’s the ABCs,” Holly says. “Applesauce, bananas, and gruel. You chose applesauce.”
“Gruel doesn’t start with C,” Jane says. “It starts with G.”
“How would you know how anything is spelled?” Holly asks with an air of superiority. “You’re only eight.”
“Eight-year-olds know how to spell.” I can practically hear Jane’s eyeroll.
“Really? Go figure.”
“You’re joking,” Jane says. “You wouldn’t be teaching us coding if you didn’t think we knew how to read.”
“Busted. The C stands for cereal, but you don’t seem like an oatmeal or Cream of Wheat kind of girl, so I got you Cheerios.”
“What’s Cream of Wheat?” Jane asks.
“Exactly. No one knows. Google just threw it out there to confuse us.”
“Grandma used to make it when me and your uncles were little,” I say from my position on the sofa. “And Holly’s right. It’s like gruel. Or porridge.”
“I love it when a man can admit I’m right,” Holly says. Then she appears around the corner and holds up the thermometer and points it at my forehead. “Well, what do you know? Your fever’s almost gone.”
I grin up at her. “Guess all it took was a little ginger ale and a nap.”
“And don’t forget the great nursing care,” Holly says in a teasing tone. “That was what really hit it hard.”
