Chapter 23
By Monday, I fall back into my routine, and all is right in the world again.
At this point, the date with Jameson feels like a fever dream.
He messaged me again yesterday and I was slightly short with him.
Polite, but short. I can’t believe I almost had sex with an older—very sexy—stranger I barely know.
Or at least, that’s what I keep trying to chastise myself for. Deep down, I still feel that high, still crave more of him. I thought maybe if I backed off for a couple of days, the intensity would dwindle to a tiny, breakable thread.
It’s still as strong as a thick, sturdy rope. And I want to climb it.
Stupid biological needs trying to control my body. I’ve already contributed to the continuation of our species once. Can’t it leave me alone?
I finish up a lunch shift at the restaurant and then have some time to kill before school ends, so I head to the pharmacy. There’s no way I’m running that low on supplies for my daughter ever again.
On the drive, visions of her frail little five-year-old body invade my mind.
I still remember the day like it was yesterday.
We had noticed she’d been acting weird for weeks, but it wasn’t until that day that she passed out and we rushed her to the hospital that we found out she had diabetes.
A bad case of ketoacidosis had landed her there.
The helpless feeling you get when your child is sick is incomparable, in my experience.
Things seemed so grim for a while after that, but she adapted like a champ. Better than I did.
I pull up to the store and head toward the pharmacy in the back, perusing the snack aisle on the way.
I grab a pack of mini chocolate donuts and continue on.
I’ll cram these down in the car and toss the evidence before I grab Jess from school.
She can have treats in moderation, and I try not to make her feel like she’s always missing out at birthdays, holidays or parties, but I’ve always had a major sweet tooth.
So, sometimes, when I’m stressed and alone, I’ll scarf down a treat or two.
I do feel guilty for it, but I’m only human. A PMSing human.
“Hey, Madeline,” I say in a sing-song voice as I step up to the counter.
My favorite pharmacist is front and center with a welcoming smile on her face.
Madeline has worked here for a couple of years, which is crazy, because she already seems so young to be a pharmacist. She’s always so kind and helpful to Jess and me, and I’m eternally grateful for her.
She has a strong sense of confidence and a certain sparkle in her eye, and she lights up when she gets to chatting about her area of expertise.
Sometimes I think in another life she may have been a dancer or some sort of performer. A Rockette, perhaps.
“Hi, Carly. Picking up a prescription?”
“Yep. Know if it’s ready?”
“Yes, one second.” She types something and then glances behind her.
“How’s Jessica doing?”
“She’s great. Crushing it at school.”
“Atta girl.”
I turn and look around while she fiddles with something in the back, though I’m really not looking at anything—just lost in my thoughts.
The bill for these is never fun. Even with insurance, they cost a ridiculous amount. I wish I could stock up on a ton, but I can only afford so many at a time.
Madeline calls my name, pulling me from my thoughts, and I step back to the counter to pay as she hands me my bag.
“See you next time. Tell Jessica I said hi!”
“Okay. I will.”
After I pick Jess up from school, I ask her about her day as we head home.
She mostly keeps to herself and doesn’t have a big group of friends, so she doesn’t say much.
I think I need to get her in more activities.
She was in a running club over the summer and loved it, but now that’s over and I sense she’s bored.
Kids with diabetes can do anything regular kids can, after all. They just need more snacks.
When we get home, I grab the medium-sized box sitting on the porch, not thinking much of it.
I set it on the counter and unload the rest of my things, then fill two cups of water for us both.
I take a big gulp after setting the other one on the table, and then I return to the box.
I’m still not sure what it is, but I order stuff all the time and then forget.
I tear the seal with scissors, pull the flaps open, and my mouth drops. It’s an entire box of neatly packaged insulin pumps and glucose monitors. A much more expensive brand than the ones we currently use. I know this.
I’m at a loss. I may be spacey sometimes, but I know for a fact I didn’t order these.
Jess peeks over my shoulder and gasps. “Why did you order so many?”
“I…didn’t?”
“Well, where did these come from?”
“I’m not sure…” My gears are turning as I try to sort through the possibilities. Definitely not my mother—she can’t be bothered with anything but materialistic things for herself.
My dad? Did he feel bad when I didn’t pack an extra the other night and think maybe I was struggling? I mean, he’s right that I wouldn’t tell him if I was…
Or could it have been my brother?
Somehow, I don’t think that’s the case.
I grab my phone and tap my dad’s name, then wait a couple rings until he answers. “Hello?”
“Hey. Did you by chance send a big expensive box of medical supplies?”
“Did I…No, honey. Wasn’t me. How much stuff are we talking?”
“A lot.”
“Hmm. Yeah, I have no idea. Could it be your brother?”
“I mean, I guess, but I doubt it. He’s never done anything like this before.”
“What about that client of yours? Seems an odd gift to give your realtor, but didn’t you say he’s involved in medical devices and such?”
I freeze. I hadn’t thought of him as a possibility. He wouldn’t go out of his way to do that for me, would he? Or spend all this money…but I guess this is probably nothing for him. Still, it was only two days ago I told him about her diabetes…
I haven’t told my dad that I’ve gone on a real date with him yet. He doesn’t usually ask me what I do with my Saturdays when he takes Jess, but I know he wants me to get out there and do things for myself. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to share any of this with him just yet, though.
“I’m not sure. I’ve got to go. Love ya.”
“Love ya, peanut.”
I pull up the text thread with Jameson and read through it.
Yesterday, he wrote me to wish me a happy Sunday.
I wrote back the same, and then we had some light small talk where I was a little short with him.
He wrote the last message, and I never responded.
Granted, it wasn’t really a question, but I could have easily kept the conversation going.
I was still trying to process the night before.
What I almost did isn’t exactly like me, and it’s kind of freaking me out how attracted to him I am.
I don’t know if I can trust myself around him.
I put my phone away again, convincing myself it couldn’t be him, so there’s no point in asking.