23. Theo
TWENTY-THREE
THEO
It should feel good to be home.
As I walk through the entryway and drop my bags by the door, I hang my head low, shame and humiliation pooling in my gut. It’s like I’m coming home with my tail between my legs, having been rejected by the owner I thought cared for me.
That’s not fair .
It’s not. I decided to come home because I knew it was the only way to resist temptation. While I hate that I have to miss out on the camp, and while I did bond with Noah and would've loved to spend more time with him, I know it’s for the best.
“Clara!” I shout as I head up the stairs. “I’m home!”
I hear a loud cough followed by a sharp cry coming from our bedroom. My eyes widen, and I race toward our room, barreling through the door to find my wife leaning over the bed, puking her guts out.
“Jesus, Clara,” I say, rushing to her side to hold back her hair, getting vomit on my shoes in the process. “It’s okay. Let it all out.”
She blinks up at me, wiping her mouth with the back of her pale hand. “Theo? Honey, what are you doing home?”
“Has it been this bad since I left?” I ask her, grabbing some tissues from the nightstand to wipe the vomit away from her lips. She nods, gesturing for me to hand her some water. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wanted you to enjoy your vacation,” she explains through a cough. She sits up abruptly, slamming her hand over her mouth. “I’m going to be sick again.”
I help her up and we walk quickly to the bathroom, barely making it in time for her to throw up in the toilet. I rub her back the entire way through, trying to calm her trembling body. I place my hand on her forehead and feel that she’s burning up. Once she’s done, I move her to her feet and take her back to bed.
“You have a fever,” I tell her, pulling the covers over her legs. “I’m going to grab you some things, okay?”
“Okay,” she says. “Maybe a mint?”
We both chuckle as I bend down and kiss her heated forehead. “Sure. Be right back.”
I make my way downstairs and hurry to gather everything Clara needs. When I head back upstairs, it’s with my arms full of medicine, hot towels, and sports drinks.
“Take this,” I say, handing her a drink and some pills. “That should take the fever down. Put this hot towel over your face and maybe it’ll clear your sinuses a bit.”
She does as I say, taking her medicine and letting out a relieved moan once the towel is placed over her face. “Oh, wow. This feels much better.”
“Good,” I say, sitting down beside her. “You really should have told me you were this sick. I never would have gone.”
She shakes her head under the towel. “No. I would rather you be having fun than here with me like this. I didn’t want to ruin anything.”
My heart swells at my wife’s kindness. She was willing to lie sick in bed for a week by herself just so I could enjoy myself. It makes the humiliation I felt earlier return, the shame bubbling in my stomach.
“Drink it up, precioso.”
“So, how was it?” she asks, removing the towel to reveal her bright red face. “What made you come home?”
“I… I didn’t like it,” I lie, shrugging to cover it up. “It just wasn’t for me.”
She pouts. “That’s a shame. It sounded like such a good time.”
For a minute, it was. I thought that after our first breakfast, Matteo and I were at a place where we could be just friends. Friends who have seen each other come, granted, but friends that knew everything needed to remain platonic.
But when I saw him naked, wet, and hard in the wooden shower stall, every thought of being just his friend flew into the wind.
“Remember when you got the flu senior year?” Clara asks after a brief second. “Remember the broccoli casserole?”
I snort at the memory. “Oh, I don’t think I’ll ever forget that.”
This was shortly after my parents passed. I caught something nasty that had me out of school for two weeks. The first couple of days were the most miserable I’ve ever been. Not only was I sick, but I was also alone. All alone. If the flu wasn’t going to kill me, the loneliness was. I told myself at that moment that I never wanted to be alone like that again, so lost to the world, hollowed with the empty space that somehow suffocated me.
“I still remember my mom’s face when you threw up on her,” Clara laughs, patting my hand. “Honey, you should have told her you didn’t want anymore.”
I chuckle sheepishly. “I didn’t want to be rude.”
I couldn’t be, not when after three days alone my saving graces came. Noreen and Bill barged into my house with medicine, games, and company. They insisted that one of them was to stay with me at all times, and they nursed me back to health. Sure, I got broccoli casserole all over Noreen’s favorite dress, but she laughed it off instantly.
Having them around felt like the love my parents had for me. It had been so nice to feel it again, being reminded of what it was like to have somebody looking out for me. They took me in shortly after that, giving me everything I needed to survive in a world where it was just me. I don’t think I would have been able to move on without their support and their love and their patience.
I owe them and Clara everything I have.
“Do you want to watch a movie?” Clara asks, grabbing the remote, but not before she wrinkles her nose in disgust. “And maybe burn your shoes while you’re at it?”
I laugh, taking off my shoes and crawling into bed with her. We put something dumb on the television, but we’re really not paying any attention. We spend the day reminiscing about high school, the start of our marriage, and all our favorite moments together.
It feels like a flicker of hope that maybe whatever is broken between us can be fixed.
But to do that, I have to stop taking a sledgehammer to try and shatter it.