Chapter Eleven
EDDIE
The next time I wake up, I feel…marginally less like human roadkill.
Not good. Barely functional. But I can take a small inhale and not feel like a fireball and a cactus are fighting for supremacy in my throat. Progress, I guess.
Squinting toward the far end of my room, I can see the light leaking around my curtains is soft and gray. I’m getting really tired of not knowing what time it is. Every pill and cough syrup I take seems to have a sleeping aid in it. Or maybe I’m just exhausted from this damn illness.
My hand instinctually reaches toward my nightstand…but my cell isn’t there. It takes me an embarrassingly long time to realize where it must be. With Joey. Hadn’t Sidney said something last night and this morning about Joey calling him?
My lungs still burn when I inhale too deeply, and my head is doing this dull, persistent thud-thud-thud that feels like someone’s rhythmically kicking the inside of my skull. But the fever haze is thinner. My thoughts move less like sludge and more like…very thick pudding.
I snort a laugh at my dumb joke and trigger a coughing fit.
You okay in there, Mom? Joey calls from the other room. Is there a bit of annoyance mixed in with his concern?
Fine, I croak back as loudly as I can. Which isn’t loud at all.
I force myself upright, gripping the blanket until the room steadies.
The door to my bedroom is cracked open, and from the living room, I hear the unmistakable sound of TV chatter.
Relief loosens every muscle in my body. Good, Joey’s distracted and will give me some space for the next thirty minutes so I can clean up a bit.
I feel like sweat is caked onto me. And I don’t even want to look in the mirror to see what’s happening with my hair. If I have the strength today, I’ll double condition it in the shower and pray it all brushes out in the end.
I sit there for a second, not ready to attempt standing again and breathing carefully. It’s then I notice a bright yellow square note on my nightstand and a basket filled to the brim with sick-girl supplies.
And oh. My. God. Did he write me index card instructions?
That man. Damn it, that man was sneaky. I don’t even recall him being in my room before he left for his team practice. How in the world.
With a shaky hand, I pick up one of the index cards. Wow, his handwriting is meticulous, I whisper. My next noise of astonishment isn’t one of wonder; it’s from his audacity. Sidney wrote out precise instructions on when to take my meds and where to find them.
And sure, I don’t remember much of the doctor’s visit or the things I was told, but I would have figured it out. Every bottle has a label, right?
No doubt predicting my reaction to this hand holding, Sidney signed the card.
Follow directions. No exceptions. You got this. — S
I groan into my hands, the card scraping the side of my face as I do. Why does the man have to be attractive and bossy? It’s unfair to the rest of us mere mortals.
Resigned to my medicated fate, I begin my slow journey to the bathroom. After going through a quick morning routine, I step into the shower. The hot water feels glorious against my skin, washing away the grime.
I stand under the spray for a long time, taking deep breaths of the steam to clear my sinuses and feeling my aching muscles slowly unknot.
When I do finally get around to washing my hair, I have to settle for using the two-in-one product that I bought for Joey.
Heaven forbid he spend an extra two minutes in the shower to use two different products.
My arms are too weak to keep elevated. When it’s time to rinse, I’m so exhausted that I just tilt my head forward under the spray and let gravity do its thing.
Getting out of the shower, then towelling off and getting dressed in clean sweats is a total blur. I stagger out of my bedroom and onto the living room couch with zero grace. I fall so hard on the couch that Joey bounces up on the cushion next to me.
Geez, Mom! You almost had me miss my shot, Joey cries, paying attention completely to his Xbox game. Is it healthy for him to be playing this much?
The thought comes and goes in my head. What does it matter? It’s the weekend, his time to unwind and do what he wants as much as mine. During the school week, he knows he’s not allowed to play.
Seeing my phone on the coffee table, I reach for it with my last burst of energy. When I tap it awake, I see a list of new notifications. I don’t know whether to laugh or roll my eyes at Sidney checking in every couple of hours.
SIDNEY: Seriously. Text me when you can. If I don’t hear from you by the end of today, I’m coming back to check your forehead myself.
My throat closes, and not from the pneumonia.
He stayed. He checked on Joey. He wrote out medication instructions like I was part of his NHL medical regimen. And then he went home, after practicing with his team and having a ton of meetings with who-knows-who in preparation for the upcoming season, and…worried.
About me.
The guilt comes next, sharp and useless. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions about him and shut him out. I should have had a plan for extreme illness situations like this. I should have arranged a backup adult as soon as I started to feel off. I should have…not needed him.
But I did. And he came.
I don’t like to think about my family often—there’s no point when almost every memory was a miserable one—but the last time I was seriously sick, Joey had been a toddler. They had already stopped talking to me at that point, but I reached out, desperate for help.
Instead of one of them coming to take care of their grandson and nephew, they’d sent one of the household staff. A complete stranger. They hated me so much they’d rather let a stranger come into my home while I puked my guts up than show up themselves.
It was around that time I stopped asking for help. From anyone. I didn’t want to hold that shame again or be shown just how little others thought of me.
Sidney hadn’t done any of that. He’d shown up. No questions asked. Joey had trusted him enough to reach out when he didn’t know what else to do.
I haven’t talked to my family in over a decade. And I think the time is finally coming for me to break that last chain they had around me and start letting more people into my life.
Finally, Joey says, shutting down his game and nudging me. You’ve been out forever.
Emotion punches me right under the ribs. Sorry, buddy.
He slides and closes half the distance before pretending he didn’t lean into a hug. He’s fourteen now, which means physical affection must be disguised as casual leaning. He bumps his shoulder into mine lightly.
You okay? His voice is steady, solid, but I can hear the underlying worry.
Better, I rasp. Still feeling gross, but better.
He nods a little stiffly. Yeah. You were really out of it.
Reaching for his hand and intertwining our fingers, I give him a little tug. Could you remind me again what happened? I don’t recall much after picking you up from school.
He nods, eyes solemn as he runs me through what happened. I couldn’t wake you up after that, so I…called Sidney. Like you always say, find an adult if something’s wrong, right?
My eyes sting. You did the right thing.
He shrugs. He came fast. Like crazy fast. And after we checked on you, we ordered burgers. He’s bossy like you, he snorts, and he kept making me wash my hands and drink water, so that was lame. But…
He lets his words trail off, his attention going down to where his hand was playing with the fabric of the couch.
But, what? I prod, needing to know what he’s thinking.
But it was nice. Having another guy around. He was…easy to talk to. He shrugs, still not looking at me.
I get what he’s trying to say. Doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t ache because of it.
You know, Joey, you can talk to me. About anything. You know that, right?
I know, he sighs. But it was just different with him. We talked about hockey, and burps, and video games.
A laugh sputters out of me, followed immediately by a coughing fit. Joey grabs the water bottle off the table and hands it over.
The bottle has a sticky note on it:
Drink this. — S
I roll my eyes and immediately regret it. A zapping pain goes through my head. I take a drink of the stupid water.
You talked about burps? Why?
He shrugs again, this time peering at me with a mischievous grin. Why not? We burped and then talked about burps. He’s fun.
I just shake my head gently, unsure of what to follow that up with. Seeing that I’m finished with the water, Joey grabs it and places it back on the coffee table.
Thanks, bud.
Sid mentioned, since you were sick, I’m in charge of keeping you hydrated. And he gave me tips, like I’m running a training camp. Joey rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. He’s…kinda intense.
Soft warmth spreads low in my chest. That sounds accurate. He left instruction cards for me about my meds.
A humorous snort escapes Joey that makes my heart sing.
I love seeing him like this. We sit together while he fills me in on the nonessential teen details of last night—how he beat Sidney at two hockey game modes but not the third, how Sidney is way too competitive for an adult, how he didn’t even complain when Joey ate the last onion ring without him noticing.
My phone buzzes again.
SIDNEY: Final text check-in before I head over myself for proof of life. Did you survive the day?
Heat crawls up my neck. Joey watches me type with blatant curiosity.
I angle the screen away. Privacy, child.
I’m not a child, he calls out, already refocusing on finding something new to watch. Also, you’re smiling again. Which is nice. But weird.
I make myself frown, but it doesn’t last. There’s no point fighting it. My smile grows again.
I text him back.
EDDIE: Barely survived. Your index cards bullied me into functioning.
EDDIE: Drinking water. Resting. Joey’s fulfilling his hydration duties with great enthusiasm.
His reply is immediate.
SIDNEY: Excellent. Tell Lt. Hydration he’s due for a promotion.
SIDNEY: Take your Tylenol at noon.
SIDNEY: Don’t roll your eyes at me.
SIDNEY: After practice, I can swing by and bring soup IF you’re up for company.
My heart does that stupid melting thing it’s been doing since I met him. I hate how good it feels. I hate how easy it is with him. I hate—
Okay, no, I don’t hate anything about Sidney. I’m just overwhelmed. The old, familiar part of me, the one who had to hold every piece of life together alone when the people who should have been on her side vanished, whispers that depending on someone is dangerous.
But another quieter voice, one I haven’t heard in years, murmurs back a hopeful message. Maybe I don’t have to hold everything alone anymore.
I swallow hard.
Joey glances at me again. So…you gonna say yes to soup? He pops the p, having fun teasing me.
I roll my eyes again and curse. Joey bursts out in a laugh, then hands me a bottle of pills. An ache spikes through my brain. Okay, yeah. It’s time for some meds. Maybe.
Mom. You literally haven’t stopped smiling since you woke up.
Go back to your robots. I wave my hand at the TV. He mimics me and rolls his eyes dramatically but does as told.
I send the message before I can overthink it.
EDDIE: Soup sounds good. But only if there are no new index cards. I’m already haunted by the ones I have.
SIDNEY: Zero promises.
I lean back into the couch cushions, exhausted but emotionally lighter than I’ve been in weeks.
One night off sick didn’t break the world. It didn’t break me. Everything kept moving. Possibly even in a better direction than before.
And for the first time, I don’t feel like my world is shrinking.
I feel like it’s expanding.