Mairead has her eye on a set of pink, diamond earrings to go with the eccentric fruity dress she just purchased. I can’t continue on like this. I’ve hit my limit.
“Mairead!” I called over to her from my seated position. “Hey… I’m not feeling so well. Could you please call that driver to come?”
She makes a pouty face but seems to realize my poor state. Fortunately, she pulls out her phone to make the call. Without stopping at any more stores or retrieving her previous purchases, she wraps her arm around my waist and walks me toward the closest exit; where we find the chauffeur waiting for me.
“Feel better, sis’! Tell that lover boy of yours, Mairead says ‘hurry up!’”
I must have been running a fever, because nothing she said made any sense. She gently helps me into the car and kisses my forehead before waving us off.
The driver is very kind, insisting he walks me all the way up to my apartment door. Maybe he started growing concerned when I asked to pull over so I could empty my guts onto the side of the interstate or perhaps the fact I stripped off three layers of clothing and was down to only a tank top on a frigid, autumn day. Either way, I was thankful for him and Mairead’s generosity.
Once inside, I drop my bag, shoes, and everything else I carry as I make my way to the bathroom. I shakily draw myself a cool bath and check the medicine cabinet for anything to help bring down the fever. Expired Tylenol will have to do, until I run to the store or have some kind of delivery service bring something stronger. I felt as though my head was being crushed within an invisible vise.
My teeth chatter as I lower myself into the tub, my body throbbing as if I fell down a flight of stairs. I just need to stay here long enough for the medicine to do its job. When my fingers start to prune, I reluctantly lift my trembling body from the tub, just managing to wrap a towel around me. Instantly, another wave of nausea consumes me. Lucky me, the bathroom has anything and everything I could need.
After multiple episodes of heaving in the toilet, nothing is left in my stomach. Regardless of how close I was to my bedroom, I gathered clean towels from the shelf, along with an extra bathrobe; dropping them right onto the floor. I didn’t want to be far if another bout of nausea courses through me. The only thing I brought into the room with me was my cell phone. It lies somewhere in this room. I barely have the energy to claw at the piles of random linens to form a soft nest for my body to collapse into. I also didn’t bother putting my hearing aids back in. Notonly was I too weak to care, but I honestly couldn't remember where I set them.
Was Andrea home? Would she stumble into the bathroom and find me like this? Did I have work tomorrow? What day is it tomorrow? The room was bright, light still on, but it didn’t matter. Sleep consumed me.
When I finally managed to pry my eyes open, it only felt like seconds had gone by, but I wasn’t in a pile of rogue fabric any longer. I was in my bed, and it was light out. The sun still hung in the sky. Was it the same day?
Instinctively, I reached for my phone to find it on the nightstand, plugged in. Today was Saturday, November 2nd. A whole day has gone by.
I sit up trying to get my bearings and notice three separate medicines next to me. They're all new and unopened, with a full glass of water within reach.
I scan the room to find most of my room in order, but more in order than usual. Clothes that normally litter the floor now sit neatly folded on my vanity chair. The trash bin beside it has been emptied, and even the closet doors are closed. One of the accordion door tracks is usually janky, never lining up properly, so why does the closet actually shut tight?
I look down to find my normal swirl of blankets is laid out, smooth and tucked into the edges of the mattress. Is my bed made? Am I made into bed?! I search for my hearing aids, thankfully finding them nestled on their charger beside me. There’s no way I did all of this! Maybe Andrea took care of me? She must be home.
Carefully, I put on my aids, tear open one of the packages of cold and flu. Then drain the water from its glass. Pulling my shaking body from bed, I’m surprised to find that I’m no longer naked, fresh out of the bath, but I’m dressed. In duckpajamas? What kind of time travel paradox took place between the bathroom floor and now?
My stomach grumbles and I smell something delicious, wafting through the house. Gingerly I pull myself from bed, making my way through my room, when I find something on the floor next to the foot of my bed. Holding onto the mattress, I bend down to pick up a tiny splinter of wood from the floor. Where did this come from? It’s a toothpick. I flick it into the fresh garbage bag and follow my nose to the kitchen.
A large pot sits on the back burner of the cooktop. I take a quick look inside the simmering pot, I wonder if I’m hallucinating from the fever. Inside is an orange broth with tiny little stars. Italian Penicillin! Honestly, I don’t even care how it came to be. I grab the ladle from the spoon rest and give the pot a stir. Perfect creamy consistency, pastina pasta, and even a rind of parmesan bobs within. Just like when I was little.
I serve myself a heaping bowl, then shuffle over to the table. “I really want to keep this down,” I whisper to my stomach. I try to start off slowly but it’s difficult. Switching between blowing and inhaling the soup, I’m instantly brought back to a cozy kitchen where my dad stood over a stock pot and hummed a merry tune. Soon, I find myself serving another helping. Filling my belly to its capacity before turning off the stove and letting the meal cool. I’m pleased that everything seems to be staying within my gut, where it belongs.
Andrea walks through the front door as I begin to rinse my bowl. Her face contorts as she takes me in.
“Oh my god! What happened to you?!” She drops her bags where she stands and rushes to my side.
Man, I must really look like shit. I turn off the faucet and turn to face her. “Sick. Maybe food poisoning? Not sure. I took the medicine on my nightstand.”
She cradles my arm, escorting me to the couch. She has a quizzical gaze as she searches my face, like she’s seeing me for the first time.
“You didn’t know I was unwell?”
Her lips point downward, and she shakes her head from side to side.
“Where were you?”
She helps me lower onto the couch. Then proceeds to turn away but speaks loudly for me to hear.
“My team has been working tirelessly to meet a deadline for a client. Most of us crashed at Todd’s place last night.” Her back was to me, as she busied herself putting away items, she previously carried in. She continues talking quickly about what the project entailed, really not looking at me as she spoke.
“Todd?” I press.
She stops what she’s doing, turns and glances at me over her shoulder, giving a tight-lipped smile. “Ya, Todd. He’s new to the firm.”
