Chapter 5
INA
Iknew something was wrong the second I walked into the apartment and heard the sounds of cabinet doors being opened and slammed shut with increasing desperation.
“Abby?” I called, dropping my bag by the door and toeing off my shoes.
“Kitchen,” came the response, except it sounded less like a word and more like a frog being strangled.
I found my roommate standing in front of our open cabinets staring at the shelves as if she was waiting for some magical ingredient to materialize.
Her dark hair was falling out of its usual neat bun, her face was flushed an alarming shade of red, and she was shivering despite the fact that our ancient radiator was working overtime.
“Oh my God, Abby.”
“I’m fine,” she croaked, then immediately started coughing. The woman sounded like an old man who’d been smoking for eighty years.
“You are the opposite of fine.” I guided her away from the cabinets and toward our threadbare couch. The couch she’d found on the street corner when she first moved into the apartment. The poor thing had been disinfected within an inch of its life. “Sit. Now.”
She collapsed onto the cushions without argument, which told me exactly how not fine she was.
Abby Canton was the most stubborn person I’d ever met.
She was a native New Yorker who’d been working in restaurant kitchens since she was sixteen, and she had opinions about everything, and of course, her opinions were always correct. She never admitted weakness.
The fact that she was sitting without protest meant she was near dying.
“I just need some cold medicine,” she mumbled, her eyes already drooping closed. “Then I can go to work.”
“Absolutely not.” I pressed the back of my hand to her forehead and immediately pulled it back. “Abby, you’re burning up. You’re not going anywhere except urgent care.”
“Can’t afford urgent care. Cheaper to die.”
“Good thing we’re about to commit some light insurance fraud then.”
That got her eyes open. “What?”
I was already pulling out my phone, navigating to my insurance app. “I have health insurance through Cupid’s Arrow. You don’t. So congratulations. For the next few hours, you’re Ina Lavin, executive assistant, and I’m just your very concerned friend who’s taking you to get medical attention.”
“That’s illegal.”
“So is going to work in a restaurant kitchen with whatever plague you’re currently incubating.
” I found the nearest urgent care that was still open and grabbed an Uber.
“We can debate the ethics later. Right now, I need you to not die on our couch because I can’t afford to fumigate this thing again.
And I’m not strong enough to drag your dead body to the trash chute. So there will be no dying on my watch.”
Despite looking like she had one foot in the grave, Abby managed a weak laugh. “You’re a terrible influence.”
“I’m a Midwestern girl with a can-do attitude and a complete inability to watch my friends suffer. Now come on. The Uber’s three minutes away.”
Getting Abby down five flights of stairs while she alternated between shivering and sweating was an adventure I never wanted to repeat. By the time we made it to street level and into the waiting car, I was pretty sure we both needed medical attention.
The driver took one look at Abby and hit the gas. I had no doubt in my mind the little can of Lysol I spotted in the passenger seat was going to be emptied after we got out of the car.
The urgent care waiting room wasn’t too busy. A few coughing babies, a guy holding his bandaged hand, and a kid in an ice hockey uniform with a missing boot and a purple foot.
I got Abby checked in using my insurance information, then settled into the chair next to her while we waited.
“So, are you really going to be in a commercial?” she asked. “Or have I been hallucinating all that?”
I had mentioned my big break Tuesday morning. “If you’re hallucinating, so am I. But yes, as of now, I’m stepping into the spotlight. You might be sitting next to the next Julia Roberts.”
Abby made a sound that might have been a laugh or might have been a death rattle. “Ah yes, the big commercial break. Who knew you were a star in waiting?”
“I minored in theater,” I said with a shrug. “Although I rarely let anyone see that side of me.”
“Ina, the first thing you did when you moved to New York was blow half your savings on Broadway tickets. Before you even had a roommate confirmed. You literally showed up to look at the apartment carrying a tote bag from the Book of Mormon gift shop.”
I laughed at the memory. “I was excited! And I’d never been to New York before. What if I never got another chance to see Broadway shows?”
The truth was, I’d been obsessed with theater since I was a kid growing up in Wyoming.
Back home, the closest thing we had to Broadway was the high school’s annual spring musical.
I’d done every school production, taken every drama class, and spent hours watching bootleg recordings of shows I figured I would never get to see in person.
I had seen a few of them now. Because I’d taken the biggest risk of my life and moved to New York. I was living my dream.
Unlike poor Abby, who was currently disintegrating in the chair next to me. I felt a wave of affection for my new roomie.
Meeting Abby had been my second biggest risk.
Finding a roommate on Craigslist, when you’d never set foot in the city and had no way to verify whether the person was legitimate or a serial killer with a skin-lamp collection, was objectively insane.
But I’d gotten the job offer from Norma right away and I had exactly two weeks to find a place to live before my start date.
So I had prayed there was still some goodness left in this world and scrolled through Craigslist. Abby’s posting caught my eye, looking for a roommate in a fifth-floor walkup on the west side, so I sent her an email.
We video chatted once. I smiled remembering how Abby looked exhausted in her chef’s whites.
Apparently, I was the best option because she immediately offered me the room.
We had clicked immediately. Now, we were each other’s emergency contacts.
“Ina Lavin?” a tired-looking physician’s assistant called from the doorway.
I helped Abby to her feet and guided her into the examination room, where I proceeded to list off every symptom I had observed with the kind of enthusiasm usually reserved for describing a surprise party. I was thorough. That’s what made me a good assistant.
“Fever, chills, cough. Deep and rattling, very concerning. She’s also got fatigue, body aches and I would guess a sore throat based on the way she keeps wincing when she swallows. General malaise. You know.”
The PA looked at me, then at Abby. “And you are?”
“Dying,” Abby croaked.
“Her very concerned friend,” I added quickly. “I just wanted to make sure you had all the information.”
The PA gave me a look that suggested she’d seen this exact scenario about a thousand times, then proceeded to examine Abby while I hovered anxiously in the corner.
Fifteen minutes later, we had a diagnosis. My poor roomie had a nasty case of bronchitis, possibly heading toward pneumonia. She was given a prescription for some heavy-duty medicine.
“Listen,” the PA said, pointing at Abby. “You are not going to work for at least three days. I’m writing you a note.”
“But—”
“Three. Days. Minimum. Or you’re going to end up in the hospital, and that’s going to be a lot more expensive than missing a few shifts.”
Abby looked heartbroken but she nodded.
A simple visit to urgent care on my insurance wasn’t a big deal. But a hospital stay would be way too risky. I wasn’t trying to commit any major felonies If I could avoid it.
By the time we made it back to the apartment it was past nine and I still needed to get Abby’s prescription filled.
The pharmacy on the corner was open twenty-four hours.
It was moderately sketchy but it was close and Abby needed the meds.
Plus, I had committed some light crime today.
If anything, I would be the sketchy one in the Walgreen’s.
I got Abby situated on the couch with strict instructions not to die while I was gone. She promised she would do her best.
The pharmacy was blessedly empty, and the prescription was ready within twenty minutes. As I was leaving with my little paper bag, my stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten since the sad desk salad I had for lunch.
More importantly, Abby needed to eat something with her antibiotics. And wasn’t chicken noodle soup a known cure for everything?
The bodega next door sold everything from sandwiches, to batteries, to individually wrapped roses. You could get groceries, a cell phone, and a payday loan. I’d been there once before and had been completely overwhelmed by how many people could pack themselves into such a cramped space.
But it was late and the crowds should be thinner. Abby also needed soup, and I could use a little something myself.
The deli counter was way more packed than it had any right to be at this hour, but I supposed it was a testament to how good their food was.
The line to order was more of a mob pressed against the counter.
The guys behind the counter would point at someone, and they would shout their order back at him.
With multiple people hollering their orders at the same time, I had no idea how any of the food came out correctly.
I took a deep breath and tried to wedge myself into a gap near the register.
Immediately, someone cut in front of me.
Then someone else.
Then someone elbowed past me to grab napkins, nearly knocking the pharmacy bag out of my hands.
“Next!” one of the counter guys shouted.
“I’ll have the—” someone yelled.
“Pastrami on rye!” someone else interrupted, pushing the other guy aside.
I opened my mouth to order, but a tall guy in a business suit literally stepped in front of me like I didn’t exist.