“Don’t act like it’s not an apt description.”
“Vicks is God’s gift to sick people.”
“I appreciate everything you’ve done—truly—and I will use all the Vicks products that don’t involve rubbing shit on my body,” I promise. “How much was this? I can Venmo you.”
I freeze. It’s 2012. Is Venmo even out yet? Is it popular? I wrack my brain trying to remember.
He doesn’t seem fazed by the reference, so my tension eases.
“You don’t owe me anything. It’d be kind of an asshole move to come over unannounced with stuff to make you feel better and then charge you, don’t you think?”
I shrug, thank him, and continue eating. We sit in silence for a few more minutes, and then I tell him mournfully, “I don’t think I can eat any more.”
He hops out of my bed, puts the food away, and brings all the medicines and Vicks products over so they’re easily accessible. Then he stands there for a moment, making it clear that he doesn’t want to leave but also doesn’t know what to do next.
“You want to watch a movie?” he asks, his voice soft.
“I’m going to get you sick.”
“So I’ll get sick,” he says with a shrug. He can see that I’m about to relent, so he sits down on my bed next to me, puts a hand on my ankle, and rubs slow, hypnotizing,dangerouscircles into my skin. “I’ll get sick, and by then you’ll feel better. You’ll feel obligated to take care of me and bow to my every whim. There might even be a nurse’s costume involved—”
“There willnotbe a nurse’s costume involved.”
He grabs my laptop and says we can watch anything I want, my choice. I pick the ultimate sick-day movie,Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, but we barely pay attention, talking the whole way through. I complain about how my entire body aches. He massages my joints while explaining that they ache because my immune system is sending white blood cells to fight whatever virus I’ve contracted, as well as histamine to dilate my blood vessels and allow more white blood cells to pass through them.
Once, I might have been annoyed with him for explaining this. I would have called him a pretentious ass. Not now, though. Maybe I’mtoo tired to be annoyed. Or maybe I’ve just grown to like how he seems to know everything. Not long into the movie, I begin to doze off.
As I fall asleep to the rhythmic feeling of him rubbing circles on my back, I realize that whatever is going on between us, he’s no longer just a distraction.
I’m not sure he ever was.
18
Things come to a head the Sunday before Thanksgiving. Campus has started to empty out, but we technically have classes Monday and Tuesday, so some students linger. I’m surprised to find Madison on her way out as I’m coming back from work. It feels like whenever she’s not working, she’s hanging out with Patrick—which Ilovefor her, but I miss my best friend.
I’ve missed her for years—not that I can express that to her.
I know this is partially my fault. I spend a lot of time with Alex and Helen, and that takes a toll on my friendship with Madison. I’ve suggested we all get dinner together a few times, but Madison seems to always be busy.
I keep getting this irrational feeling she’s avoiding me.
“Hey,” I greet her now. “Wanna grab dinner?”
I’m supposed to hang out with Alex, but I know he’ll understand if I postpone.
Madison freezes, and for a moment I get the uncanny sense that she’s about to lie to me, but then she sighs, looks down, and mumbles something.
“What was that?”
“I have a date,” she repeats, a little louder.
After I register her words—she has a date, and I didn’t know—my mind whirls back to Ellie’s party, when Cat asked how Madison was doing, and I couldn’t answer her. It was easy to tell myself that friendsgrow apart when they’re separated by half a country. But here we are sharing a bedroom, and I feel as distant from Madison as ever.
This is supposed to be my chance to make sure we never grow apart in the first place.
“Holy shit, Mads, that’s awesome. With who?” I say, trying to mask the conflicted feelings rushing through me. She averts her eyes as if she’s not sure what to say. I prompt, “It’s Patrick, isn’t it? You’re finally admitting you’re into each other.”
Another pause, then she looks up, locks eyes with me, and nods. “Yeah. It’s Patrick.”
