Fifteen
Stacy
I think death is at my doorstep.
Quite literally. I hear someone knocking and I have to imagine it’s the Grim Reaper himself coming to put an end to my pain and suffering.
I groan, pushing myself up off the bathroom floor where I’ve spent the majority of my morning.
Not long before my alarm was supposed to go off earlier, a horrendous wave of nausea and a sharp stomach pain woke me up instead.
Since then, I’ve been clutching the toilet bowl and a bottle of Zofran like a couple of lifelines.
Death knocks again as I pad through my living room, wrapped up in a bright pink Halloween blanket to combat the chills.
“Coming,” I croak.
I’m moving slowly, but the Grim Reaper will just have to be patient. What’s he in such a rush for, anyway?
I unlock and swing open my front door only to find a fate worse than death standing in my doorway.
Reece throws me a crooked smile before holding up a Walgreens bag. “Can I come in? ”
I’m stunned as I take in Reece, dressed in his Sharks cheer uniform, standing at my doorstep with a bag full of medicine. Am I hallucinating? Is this what people mean when they talk about fever dreams? Surely my temperature isn’t that high, but I haven’t checked it in an hour or so.
“What are you doing here?” I finally manage.
“I was worried about you. Wanted to make sure you were alright and bring you whatever you might need.” He gestures to the bag again.
I shake my head but wince as the motion makes my fever headache worse. “I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be getting ready for the game?”
Reece shrugs. “I can’t stunt today anyway. My stunt buddy is out sick.” His grin grows as he throws me one of his subtle winks.
Any fight left in me has been officially snuffed out by vomit as I turn around and shuffle back into my apartment, motioning for Reece to follow me.
I duly note that I’m in Snoopy pajama pants, an XXL Bengals shirt, and mismatched fuzzy socks with my dirty hair twisted into a chaotic bun.
A bun that may or may not have vomit in it, but I realize that I’m just too sick to give a shit.
“Welcome to my abode,” I say weakly as I fall back onto my couch.
Reece shuts the door behind him before taking me in. “Shit, Stace. You’re really sick, huh?”
“It would appear so.”
He nibbles on his bottom lip as he studies me and I feel flames scatter across my skin. I mean, it’s probably just the fever, but I can’t deny how well that black and blue Sharks uniform hugs his overwhelmingly fit body .
“Do you want a picture or something?” I snap, my roiling nausea and achy bones making me even more unpleasant than normal.
Reece shakes his head like he’s snapping out of a trance. “Sorry. I just… was worried that maybe something else was going on.”
“Like what?”
He starts emptying the contents of the bag while he speaks. “I know your parents were supposed to watch us perform today. I thought maybe you were worried about our stunts sticking in front of them. Maybe you were worried about disappointing them.”
I bark out a laugh as he sets an excess amount of products onto my coffee table: Sprite, Tums, Pepto Bismol, Gatorade, Imodium, saltines, Tylenol, a can of chicken noodle soup.
Dear god, he did all of this for me?
“That thought hadn’t even crossed my mind,” I tell him as he bunches up the plastic bag. “I’ve been too busy throwing my guts up to really form a coherent thought. I should probably text my mom.”
“I’ll take care of it,” he tells me, pulling his phone out of his pocket.
After he’s done texting Mom, Reece takes a seat next to me on the couch and presses a hand to my forehead. I’m too weak to swat him away and, truth be told, his cool hand feels like heaven on my clammy skin.
“If you didn’t even believe I was sick, why’d you bring me all of this stuff?” I ask, my eyes drooping shut as Reece moves his hand to my cheek.
“Just in case,” he says. “Jesus, Stace, you’re burning up.”
“Thanks, Taylor. But now isn’t really the time for flirting. ”
Reece snorts in response before pushing himself up off my couch. I feel like I can barely move, not even my eyes to track Reece’s movements around my apartment. But he must come back because the couch dips and shifts under his weight and suddenly a cool cloth appears on my face.
“When you sit up a little more, eat these.” He puts three chalky Tums in my hand and I push myself up to toss them back into my mouth. He nods in approval. “Good girl. Now, take this Tylenol for your fever. Wash it down with the Gatorade. You need to hydrate.”
I obey, letting him place the pills and plastic bottle into my hands and throwing them back as well.
“Why are you being so nice to me?” I ask, leaning back again and letting my head loll to the side.
Reece uncaps the Sprite and hands it to me to sip. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn’t take care of my sick fake girlfriend?”
“There’s no one here to see,” I protest weakly.
Reece shrugs, taking my drink back and setting it on the coffee table. “Consider it me waving my white flag.”
I want to fight but I’m too weak to do so and too sick to care. Not to mention, being taken care of feels good . No one besides my mother has ever cared for me this way, sick or otherwise, and despite my nearly unbearably sour stomach, my heart warms slightly at the gesture.
I sigh, leaning against Reece’s shoulder while he holds the cold cloth to my cheek. “I don’t want you to get sick.”
“Don’t you worry about me,” he says. “Just focus on getting yourself better.”
I hum in response as Reece reaches for my remote and flips the TV on. I don’t move my head from his shoulder as he turns on reruns of The Office and I hate to say that I don’t have the urge to. Maybe it’s the fever, but having Reece next to me is a comfort I wasn’t expecting.
We watch the show in companionable silence, Reece moving the cloth around my face every so often. Perhaps the illness is to blame or maybe I just don’t give a shit about boundaries anymore, but the words in my head tumble out before I can stop them.
“Will you tell me about your brother?”
Reece freezes beside me, his hand stilling on the cool cloth, but after a few seconds he starts to relax. “Uh, yeah.” He clears his throat. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Only if you’re comfortable,” I tell him, my words blurry with fatigue.
“I’m comfortable. Promise.” His voice is barely above a whisper as he leans forward to put the cloth on my table. He settles back into the couch and I go back to laying my head against his shoulder as he begins. “I don’t really talk about this a lot so bear with me, yeah?”
I nod.
“He was six years older than me. Three years older than Gemma and Evan. Even when we were kids, he was… the funniest and kindest person. You know how you always say I’m this happy-go-lucky guy? How my mom called me sunshine at the engagement party?”
I bob my head again, hanging onto every word.
“My optimistic outlook on life doesn’t hold a candle to what my brother was like.
He’d light up a room, any room he walked into.
We were always similar in our positive mentalities but Lance…
Lance was so warm. He was the guy who you couldn’t help but smile around, no matter what wa s going on in your life.
He was hilarious but it was more than that.
He cared about people, really cared about them.
When he listened, you knew he was listening to understand and not just to respond.
It was never a challenge for him to find a silver lining in whatever situation he was in. ”
“Reminds me of you.” The words slip out before I can stop them. Blame it on the fever brain.
I feel the heavy pause Reece takes due to my words but he clears his throat and collects himself, winding an arm around my shoulders as he continues.
“It’s funny you say that. I’ve always been this way, I’ve always looked on the bright side, but Lance dying made me…
I don’t know, more? I felt like he left such a huge hole, he left a void that was supposed to be filled with sunshine and I felt like I needed to fill it.
I want to live like my brother, to laugh like him, to be so full of love and happiness that the bad emotions barely have room to grow.
” His voice breaks and my chest tightens at the sound.
“Anyway, when he died, my family and I all started to try and live like Lance. I was just the best at it,” he chuckles sadly.
“That’s why I do so much for my family, you know?
I used to be one half of a whole sun when Lance was around but now it’s just me.
I’m the sunshine for my family, I’m the one who has to make sure everyone’s looking on the bright side…
” I feel him shake his head. “That’s why I couldn’t say no when Evan asked me to be his best man.
Why I can’t just… tell him to go to hell or stay away from his wedding events or even express to anyone that I still harbor resentment for what he did to me. ”
My throat’s thick as I continue to stare at the show and say, “You are so very sunshine-y, Reece. But you’re still a human. You still have emotions and it’s fair to feel them. ”
Reece sniffs and I can’t bear to glance up at him because if this boy is crying in my apartment, I will never be able to be annoyed with him again.
He’s already too fucking endearing as it is.
“I feel them, don’t worry,” he tells me.
“I went to a grief counselor after Lance died. We all did. She suggested I journal as an outlet. It felt way too serendipitous because Lance was a big writer. In school to study English, actually, and he was convinced that journaling about your feelings was life-changing,” he chortles again.
“So, I started doing just that and… it helps. I still do it, not just about Lance but about everything. That’s why I can be so happy and positive around everyone else, why it’s easy for me to be the sunshine in a room, because I get all the confusing feelings out on paper. ”