21
Brandon
I feel like death warmed over. My head hurts like there’s an actual ice pick in my forehead, and all my muscles ache. But I have five texts from Annie so, all things considered, it’s a pretty good day.
Annie
Sorry to leave without saying goodbye
You were sound asleep and I didn’t want to disturb you
Your parents told me to take your car
I hope that’s okay
Please give me updates. I’m very worried
Why does it make me so happy that she has my car?
Brandon
I’m good.
Annie
You’re awake! Are you REALLY good, or are you just saying that because you never admit to physical pain?
Brandon
What is this pain you speak of?
My phone rings. It’s Annie.
“I need to hear your voice to properly assess the situation.”
“I’m not sure what you can assess over the phone.”
“Plenty, but it would be better if we face-time.”
My phone rings again. Annie’s requesting to FaceTime? Why does this feel like a big step? Despite my splitting headache, I feel a smidge giddy. I need to remind myself that she’s just a concerned friend.
Her welcome face appears on my screen. She’s out in her flower garden looking radiant with her curly hair up in a messy bun. “Hi!” She smiles wide. I could look at her all day.
“Hey!” Illness has made my voice an octave lower and scratchy. I notice myself in the tiny screen. My hair mussed, my eyes bleary. She looks like a princess, and I look like a troll.
“You don’t look so good.”
“Thank you!” I say sarcastically.
“I didn’t mean it like that. You actually look very handsome, but also really sick—like maybe you still have a fever.” Come to think of it, I do have the chills.
“I might.”
“Okay, promise me you’ll call me after your doctor’s appointment. You know what, I’m just going to text your mom and tell her to call me and give me all the details.”
“I should have never given you her number,” I groan. Though I only half mean it. I feel like crap, but it feels really good to have the two of them fussing over me.
***
I have pneumonia.
I’m sent home with antibiotics, an inhaler, and the recommendation to rest.
I call Annie as soon as I can. “You were right. It’s not a man cold. I have pneumonia.”
“Oh no! People die of pneumonia!”
“I’m not going to die. I’m going to take some antibiotics and then a really long nap, and perhaps by tomorrow I’ll feel a little better.”
“Call me when you wake up?”
“Planning on it.” I hang up, but when my head finally hits the pillow, I find I can’t fall asleep. I’m too excited thinking about calling Annie after my nap. After thirty minutes of tossing and turning, I call her.
“Brandon, what are you doing up?” I love when Annie scolds me. “You haven’t slept long enough.”
“I couldn’t sleep,” I admit.
“Are you in much pain?”
“A little.”
“I feel terrible that you got sick because I was being a drama queen.”
“I like that you’re a drama queen.” I’m not sure if it’s the drugs or that I’m finally feeling some relief, but tonight my tongue is loose.
“That’s sweet of you to say. . . .” She hesitates. “Brandon?”
Something about Annie’s tone takes me from drowsy to completely awake. “Yes?”
“We should talk about that kiss.”
I’ve never been more tempted to pretend I’m asleep.
I’m not sure I’m ready for this conversation.
I’ve been uncertain of Annie’s feelings for me all summer, but the way she begged for that kiss gave me hope—enough to carry her down the mountain.
I could have powered a city block with the hope that kiss provided.
But I still feel a little sheepish about kissing her when she was injured and exhausted—and possibly not in her full senses.
“Brandon? Are you still awake?”
“I am.”
“Why did you call that kiss a mistake? I thought it was nice.”
“It was—very nice. But you were hurt. I should have waited until you were safely back home. I just . . . I was so relieved that you were okay, and I . . . I had been wanting to kiss you for so long, I got carried away.”
“Well, I’m extremely glad you didn’t wait,” Annie says with a mischievous note in her eye.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah . . . so . . . what are the chances you might kiss me again?”
“Very high—that is if you’d like it.”
“I would. Very much so.”
“Now how am I supposed to sleep?”
“Sweet dreams,” she coos.
“Oh, they will be.”
***
We talk nearly every day. We are limited to phone calls and video chats while I’m still recovering and Annie is swamped with the Labor Day crowd. We talk about anything and everything. Annie tells me about her flower garden, the customers at the cafe, and her continuing job search.
“I still think you should do something with flowers. You should do what you love.”
“I tried that with poetry, and it didn’t work. And I totally lost my love for it.”
“I get that. I would never turn my woodworking into a job. But just because that’s what happened with poetry doesn’t mean the same thing would happen with flowers—there are a lot of different things you could do, and you have a real gift.”
“I don’t know. I’ve wasted enough time being the artistic dreamer in the family. I’m determined to start being serious.”
“Okay, then be serious about your flowers. If you think you could be happy pursuing that, then go for it. I’m not saying it won’t be hard work. But you’re a creator, Annie. It’s who you are. Who else would put flowers in my beard?”
She laughs. “Will you do that for my birthday next year?”
“Every year.” A little bold of me, I know. But the more we talk, the more confident I am about our relationship.
“Good.” Annie smiles wide. We stare at each other through our phone screens, and I count down the days till I’m well enough to see her again.
We start watching shows together. We’re on the second episode of a British detective show when Pepper comes into my room.
“Hey Dad!” She puts her backpack on my bureau. I pause the show.
“Pepper’s home. I better pause for a bit and see how the day went.” While I’m recovering, my parents have been driving Pepper to and from school.
“Tell her hi from me,” Annie smiles and waves from the phone screen. “We’ll finish later?”
“Absolutely.” I hang up as Pepper climbs up on my bed, snuggling next to me. “Annie says hi,” I tell her as I put my arm around her.
“You were on the phone with Annie?”
“Yes, we’re watching a show together.”
“Like a date?”
“Well, not exactly. But . . . I’ll tell you what. As soon as I’m better, I’m asking her out.”
“Finally!” Pepper hops to her feet and jumps on my bed. “I thought this day would never come. Hallelujah!”