Chapter 17
Seventeen
My only consolation this week is that Grammy went to visit Mom. She isn’t here, she didn’t spend an hour holding that precious little angel baby, so she isn’t sick.
While I, on the other hand, feel like crud. My head won’t stop pounding. I’m leaking mucus from everywhere possible on my face, and my body feels like someone used it for a trampoline.
I lie in bed, tissues surrounding me, stupid game shows on in the background because my head hurts too much to read, and I’m not sure I have the mental capacity to understand anything an audiobook is saying.
“Ugh,” I groan. And then I do it again. “Ugh.” This time louder, and a little more like a grown child.
Fran’s coming to visit later, but she’s working. Some famous YouTuber is getting married in Tesoro, and they’ve hired Fran to be their wedding planner. She meets with them today.
My Fran is all grown up and planning weddings. I mean, it makes sense. The girl is in love with love. But in my head, she’s still that college student waiting tables at STACKS.
I don’t want to bother Mom during her week with Grammy. And Grammy’s already bugging me with suggestions. Her number one—text the redhead. Not happening. Still, for something to do, I pick up my phone and scroll through my few contacts… until I get to that very last contact.
Zevulun Hayes.
Yes, I added the man to my contacts and then never texted him.
What am I supposed to say?
Making friends when you are twenty-six years old feels hard and weird, and I don’t wanna.
Except that a small part of me might want to. I like Zev. And he brought me a book. A book I haven’t read yet because my head hurts. But still—he’s sweet. And a friend.
I lick my dry lips and cough into my shoulder before landing my eyes back on Zev’s name. Staring at my phone screen is starting to hurt my eyes more.
“Ugh. Dumb cold.”
“Hey Siri,” I say aloud and nasally, but somehow Siri still knows it’s me. “Text Zevulun Hayes.”
“What do you want to say to Zevulun?” Siri’s overly sweet voice hurts my ears, but I press on. That’s how bored I am.
“What’s up, Mr. Hayes?” I say, knowing I have zero intention of actually sending this message. But I need something to do, so I am thoroughly distracting myself.
“Your text says: ‘What’s up, Mr. Hayes?’ Send it?”
Ick. So perky and annoying. “Send it, Siri?” I mock. “I don’t think so.”
“Sent!” Honey-sweet Siri says.
“Wait!” I yell, my voice hoarse. My phone becomes a hot potato in my hand, and I juggle it along with my tissue box. “Unsend! Unsend! Siri, unsend!” My phone and my tissue box land somewhere at the foot of my bed.
But Siri chooses now to decide she isn’t speaking to me anymore. Ugh.
That wasn’t a real text. It wasn’t planned.
It was a sick girl, high as a kite on pain meds with her grammy’s voice in her head, trying to find something to do.
In my Advil Cold if my body wants to, it probably needs to.
But crying will solve nothing, and it’ll make my head hurt even worse.
So, I ignore my very nice, very expensive therapist and force those tears to stay in my head.
I’m counting in my head and trying not to panic, when—ping.
Crap.
“Let it be Fran. Let it be Fran. Let it be—” I peek at my phone. “Ugh. Not Fran.”
Zev: Hey. I thought maybe you threw my number out.
He’s been waiting to hear from me? I can’t imagine Mr. Hayes needing to wait on anyone. The man is built and cute and sweet. And, while I’m not looking, I still clearly see him.
I can no longer trust Siri. She has no concept of sarcasm or when to send and not send a message. So, I pull up my big girl pants, take two more Advil, and write the man back—old-fashioned style—with my fingers.
Me: I wasn’t sure what to say.
Zev: Anything. I could use a friend. Maybe you could, too. And we do keep running into one another…
That’s true enough.
Me: I could use a friend.
Zev: Do you want to grab dinner? Dutch—because I speak English and I’ve heard you. Friend.
Me: Dinner would be nice—but I’m sick.
And in truth, I’m not sure it’s a great idea. Zev is too sweet. Too cute. And I am too human to not feel some sort of attraction. Even in my broken brain state. Even with the memory of Robert looming.
Me: Like, possibly on my deathbed sick.
Zev: What’s wrong?
Me: Just a flu. It’s kicking my butt.
Zev: I could bring you a new book.
Me: Reading kills my eyes. I haven’t even read the one you already gave me. Seriously… I’m so bored.
Zev: Ahhh… now I see why you’ve texted.
Me: You caught me.
Zev: That’s okay. I don’t mind being your backup boredom buster.
Me: Nice alliteration.
Zev: What if I brought dinner to you?
Me: So I can share this nasty bug with you? I don’t think so. Our friendship is too new for such cruelty. We’d never make it.
Zev: Oh ye of little faith... Besides, I got a flu shot.
Me: Clearly, I did not.
Zev: Does that mean operation chicken soup is a go?
Me: No. And just FYI, whenever you use the phrase “operation anything,” it gives away that you might be a dork.
Zev: I thought we were both dorky. We met reading, then again at a bookstore.
Me: That doesn’t make me dorky. It makes me well-read.
Me: “Operation whatever” absolutely makes you dorky.
Zev: I’m learning so many things today.
Zev: So… soup?
Me: Seriously, Zev, you don’t want this bug. It’s awful. I caught it from a very innocent-looking baby. Believe me, it’ll sneak up on you.
Zev: At least let me drop soup off on your doorstep.
Me: It sounds like you’re trying to get my address.
Me: Creep?
Zev: Creep? Why’d you jump there? Friends. Remember?
I’m blowing my nose when another text comes in.
Zev: Fine, no soup. No address.
Zev: But I’m worried about you.
Me: You should be. I might not make it.
Zev: See, you can’t say things like that and then expect me to sit over here and do nothing.
Me: You’re one of those… aren’t you?
Zev: One of those?
Me: It’s fine. I am, too.
Me: A fixer.
Zev: Yes, I am one of those.
Zev: And for the record, I’m relieved you aren’t the kind of girl that gives her address out to just anyone.
Me: You’re a worrier, too. Nice.
And then—
Me: 14 Marigold Rd.
Who knows what possessed me? Maybe Siri. Siri has it out for me today. But he sounds so genuine. So worried. Plus, he backed off quick. He isn’t trying to make a move. Zev’s simply a good friend. Not to mention, I could really use some chicken noodle soup about now.