Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
JO
July
Jordan
[Picture attached]
Me
Wait. Are those men’s dress shoes?
Jordan
They sure are.
Me
Where did you find our dinosaur a scarf with men’s dress shoes on it?
Jordan
I know a guy.
Me
You really won’t tell me?
Jordan
I really won’t.
Me
Fine. Be that way. Just know that I’m making you dance tonight, and you can’t get out of it.
Jordan
I’ve been carb-loading in preparation.
So, what does one wear to swing dance at Lincoln Center?
Me
Something dapper, of course.
Jordan
It should not surprise you to know I have no idea what that means.
Me
[Picture attached]
Something like this, maybe?
Jordan
I’m not wearing a fucking fedora.
Me
So that’s a yes to the 3-piece suit then?
Jordan
Even if I owned a 3-piece suit, that would be a hard pass.
Me
You know I’m kidding, right? Wear whatever you want.
Just know that I’ll be properly dressed in full swing era attire. Don’t be embarrassed.
Jordan
I would never. I’ll miss your pink Converse though.
Me
You’re my favorite human.
Jordan
You too, Hurricane.
Me
Okay, so since you’ll be at the hospital and I’ll be at home, Lincoln Center is right in the middle. Let’s meet there. 7:30?
Jordan
I’ll come to you, and we can walk there together.
Me
I appreciate it, but that’s kind of ridiculous since you have to pass Lincoln Center to get to me.
Jordan
Ridiculous or not, it’s happening. I’ll pick you up at 7.
Me
Listen, if you want to walk an extra thirteen blocks to me and then thirteen blocks back downtown to Lincoln Center, who am I to stop you?
Jordan
I’m glad we agree.
Me
If you’re picking me up, we’re getting tacos on the way.
Jordan
You got it. Heading into surgery. See you later, Jo Jo.
Me
Later, J. Can’t wait to get our dance on.
Jordan
Can’t wait to see your face. I’m indifferent, leaning towards full dread on the dancing.
Me
There’s my grumpy guy.
“Ms. Jo, can you help me with the puzzle?”
I look up from my phone and smile at the adorable redheaded girl missing her two front teeth. “For sure, Mia. Let’s see what you’ve got.”
I set my phone on the table and stand from my chair at the edge of the museum’s activities room, but before I can follow Mia, I’m hit with a wave of dizziness. Leaning forward, I plant my hands on my knees and close my eyes, breathing through gritted teeth as nausea churns in my stomach and sweat beads on my forehead.
I felt off when I woke up this morning, but I figured it was mostly from not getting enough sleep when I was hanging with my sisters all weekend and then the late-night double feature Jordan and I had yesterday. We’re working our way through all my favorite disaster movies, and last night was Twister , but you can’t watch Twister without watching the absolutely impeccable sequel Twisters . By the time movie night was over, it was after two in the morning, and I had to be at work at eight for a meeting. So there was not much sleep to be had.
But I’ve been feeling progressively worse all day, and now, as I supervise a room full of first and second grade-aged kids as they dig for tiny dinosaur bones in bins of sand and try to fit the bones into the correct puzzle to form a full fossil, the dizziness just won’t quit. The shiver that wracks my body as sweat slicks down my back tells me I might be just a little bit sick.
But I can’t be sick because I have thirty kids in this room and a night of swing dancing planned, and being sick just doesn’t work with any of that. So, not sick. Definitely not sick.
It’s a mind over matter thing.
Two hours later, the kids are gone and I’m sitting at my desk, wrapped in a sweatshirt that says Game of Bones I bought at the gift shop to stave off my full body chills, trying to keep my throbbing head upright as I attempt to proofread the program guide I’m creating for the museum’s new summer programs.
A cough wracks my body, and I reach into my desk drawer, grabbing a bottle of ibuprofen I left here a few weeks ago when my period cramps were inferno level bad. I shake three out of the bottle, swallowing them down with the Dr. Pepper sitting on my desk, making a face when I realize it’s from early this morning and is now totally flat. Really adding insult to injury today.
My entire body aches, and I just want to lay my head down on my desk for five damn minutes to let the medicine kick in, but I promised Monica a draft of this program guide today and I have five more pages to proofread, so my pounding head is just going to have to get on board.
I cough pathetically and then sniffle because my sinuses have evidently now decided to join the party. I groan and bury my face in my hands. I hate being sick. I never get sick.
I am absolutely not sick. I have way too much to do and way too many plans to be sick, and that’s all there is to it.
“You okay, Jo?”
I whip my head up at the sound of Monica’s voice and wince at the throb of pain.
I give her what I hope passes for a smile. “Totally fine! Just had a late night last night.”
“Are you sure?” She studies me. “You don’t look so good.”
“One hundred percent. I’m just finishing my proof of the first draft of the program gui—” I break off, interrupted by a coughing fit. I hold up my hand, rasping, “Just give me a second,” in between coughs.
“Sorry,” I croak when I’m finally finished.
Monica gives me a concerned look and walks straight to me, laying her hand on my head like she’s my mom and not my sort of boss, whom I adore and also really want to impress. “I think you have a fever. You should take the rest of the day off.”
I shake my head, closing my eyes against the shot of pain across my forehead. “I’m totally fine. I just have to finish up this proof, and then I’ll shoot the draft over to you.” I cough again, and it sounds bad even to my I’m definitely not sick ears.
“Uh uh, no way. You’re done here for the day.” Monica opens the bottom drawer where I keep my bag and tucks my phone and water bottle inside. “I’m putting you in a cab, and you’re going home to rest. If you feel like this tomorrow, don’t you dare try and come in. Get well, Jo. The program guide can wait until you feel better.”
“Fine,” I mumble, standing up and gripping the edge of my desk when the room spins. With Monica’s help, I make it outside and into a cab, and then I drag myself up the four flights of stairs, stopping on every landing, my breath wheezing in and out of my lungs.
Stumbling into my apartment, I drop my bag just inside the door and head straight to my bedroom.
“Just an hour,” I mumble, falling face first onto my bed, on top of the covers and fully clothed. All I need is to rest for an hour or so, and then I’ll be good as new.
It’s my last thought before my brain fuzzes and sleep drags me under.