Chapter Three
“What do you mean, norovirus?”
I screw the cap back on the orange juice one-handed, and return it to the fridge.
“’Tis the season,” Annette says tiredly over the phone.
“But there was norovirus last month,” I protest.
“That was rotavirus.”
Of course it was.
“The nursery will be closed until after Christmas,” she continues. “We don’t want to risk it spreading any more than it has.”
“Or we take the risk. Survival of the fittest.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know it’s rotten timing. But better this than lice.”
She’s got me there.
We say goodbye, and I tap my work laptop to life as I look at Tiernan watching television in the living room.
Mam and Dad minded him for the weekend while I stayed in bed and tried to trick my body into healing faster.
But the only reason I did that was so I could go back to normal this morning.
Which means getting him to the nursery so I can do adult things like go to the bathroom in peace and participate in capitalism.
I guess I would prefer my child, whom I live with, not to have a wildly infectious vomiting bug, but it’s been two days since the accident and I’m already losing my mind.
I don’t know how I’m going to manage two more weeks of it.
I never realized just how much effort goes into day-to-day life until I had to do it one-handed and doped up on painkillers. I can’t even sleep well because I’m a committed side sleeper, so every time I roll over, I wake myself up.
And no, the glue did not come out when I tried to wash it this morning.
Not to mention the apartment is a complete mess. I’ve always been pretty tidy. But everything takes ten times longer now and hurts and I need out of this apartment and possibly a martini.
I pop two pills into my mouth and swallow them down with the juice as I open my laptop to video-call my boss.
She picks up after a few seconds. “Zoe?”
“Morning! I won’t be in until lunch. The nursery is closed, so I have to drop Tiernan off to my parents and then—”
“You’re not coming in today,” she interrupts. “We talked about this.”
I pause, confused. “But that was Friday.”
“Yes.”
“And this is Monday.”
“You’re still on sick leave.”
“I don’t want to be on sick leave,” I tell her. “I want to work.”
“And I’m not letting you work,” she says patiently. “Look, the whole office is winding down. Half the team’s already on leave or working from home. I’m working from home. Barely anyone’s in. Your work is being covered. You need to rest and get better.”
“I don’t rest,” I tell her, and she gives me an amused look.
“I know. So think of this as an official task that I, your boss, am assigning to you.”
“But—”
The doorbell rings, cutting me off, and she seizes the opportunity. “Sit on the couch and watch some movies,” she says and promptly hangs up.
“I’m emailing HR,” I say to the blank screen and get the door to find Christian on the other side. He frowns as soon as he sees me.
“You look terrible.”
Megan jabs an elbow into his side as she moves in.
“I won’t hug you,” she says. “But I’m hugging you mentally.”
“Creepy. I like it. Why are you— what the f … udge?” I step back as she grabs a bunch of shopping bags and barges past.
“Just be glad she didn’t come over and play nurse for the weekend,” Christian says, strolling in after her.
“Molly already ordered a million things to the house,” I call to Megan as I follow her to the kitchen. Christian wanders over to Tiernan. “And she doesn’t need to come up here because I’m fine, so if you hear anything from Andrew, tell him I said no.”
“On it,” Christian says, staring at the television. “You know he’s watching The Godfather, right?”
“He’s a big Brando fan. Why is no one at work today?”
“It’s Christmas,” they say in unison.
“Next week.”
“And we all have office jobs, Zoe. The PowerPoints will survive a few hours without us.” Christian glances around. “This place is a mess.”
“Then feel free to clean it,” I tell him sweetly.
“I brought you dinners,” Megan says. “And snacks. And other things.”
“You know I’m not bedridden, right?”
She takes out two bottles of wine and plants them on the counter.
“Never mind.”
“You just need to heat these up,” she says, patting a stack of supermarket ready meals. “And I picked up some toiletries to help with the glue.”
I glance at Christian. “If you don’t marry her, I will.”
He smirks, drifting over as she heads back to the hallway. “You know there’s a serious lack of festive cheer in this place.”
“So I’ve been told. But I’m not taking any Christmas advice from a Fitzpatrick.”
“Because you’re scared to compete with us?”
“Because you guys are weird when it comes to tinsel.”
“We’re passionate. There’s a difference.” He looks around, obviously still bothered by my lack of glitter. “I’ll buy you some miniature reindeer.”
“No.”
“And some fake snow for the window.”
“You know I had to go to the emergency department, right? That means you’re supposed to be nice to me.”
“I’m always nice to you. How are you feeling?”
The question is genuine, and I sigh. “Like I got hit by a bus.” I shrug. “I’m fine. Bruised, but they gave me painkillers. My arm is sore, but I dressed myself. Even brushed my teeth.”
“What did your office say?”
“Not to come in.” I snort. “Even though my brain works just fine. Except for those squiggly lines everywhere.” I slide a box of pastries toward me. “And that constant ringing in my ear. Thank you for all this, by the way. But you didn’t need to.”
“She wanted to,” he says. “She was worried about you.”
“And you weren’t?”
He raises a brow. “With that sturdy head of yours?”
I open the pastry box, not liking the look in his eyes. The one that says he sees right through me. “Don’t.”
“People are allowed to worry about you.”
“I know that,” I say, fighting back my irritation. “They just don’t need to be.”
“Because you’re fine.”
“Correct.” I smile serenely at him. “The finest. No,” I add, batting his hand away when he reaches over. “Those are my sorry-you-fell-onto-the-road treats. And you’re on a diet.”
“A reset. You should come down to Cork with us,” Christian adds, ignoring me as he grabs a Danish. “For Christmas. You can bunk at Megan’s. There’s plenty of room.”
“Absolutely not. You country people scare me. I’m staying up here with the cool kids. And I …” I trail off as Megan comes back in with more bags and disappears into Tiernan’s bedroom. “What’s she doing?”
“She made him a teddy bear.”
“Another one?” When Megan and Christian first started dating, I could barely see the girl without her handing me some sort of stuffed animal.
“And a hat.”
I glance sideways at him. “She wants a bunch of kids, you know that, right?”
He shrugs.
“Can you afford your fancy gym when you’ve got to pay for childcare?”
“Can we stop talking about this now?”
I whistle softly. “Christian, the dad,” I tease. “Christian with stains on his shirt. Christian with no sleep. Christian with— umph.”
Megan re-emerges as he shoves the cinnamon twirl into my mouth. “Did you ask her about it?”
“She doesn’t want to come,” Christian says as I chew a chunk of pastry.
“I’ll be too busy here,” I explain. “I’ve got work and Tiernan’s birthday and—”
“Rest,” Christian interrupts. “You’ve got to rest.”
“You try resting when you’re hosting eight four-year-olds in your—” I break off with a gasp, slapping my hand across my mouth. “Norovirus.”
“What?”
“Norovirus,” I whisper, glancing at Tiernan who’s still intently watching the movie. “The nursery’s closed.”
“So?”
“So that’s where all his friends are! No one’s going to want to come to the party when there’s a freaking vomiting bug frolicking around society.”
“You don’t know that,” Megan assures me, but I do.
“They won’t risk it. Not this close to Christmas.” I grab my laptop and open my email. Sure enough, I’ve already got two messages from other parents pulling out. “I can’t believe this.”
“Do viruses frolic?” Christian asks.
“You can just have it in the new year,” Megan says, shooting him a look. “Honestly, Zo, it’s not a big deal. And this way, we can come, too,” she adds.
Christian nods. “It’ll be grand.”
“I guess.” I blow out a breath. “Yeah. You’re right. I didn’t order the cake yet and I can ask the other parents to—”
“Remember what I said about taking it easy?” Christian interrupts. “Maybe do that first.”
I’m about to clap back before I stop myself, aware that he’s only nagging me because he cares. They both do.
“I know,” I say. “And thank you. For everything.” I gesture to my sling. “A few more days of this thing and I’ll be back to normal.”
“And in the meantime, you’ll rest,” Megan says, looking worried.
I smile at them both. “I will. I promise.”