Early Aughts Sick Day
On Friday morning, I wake with a pain that seems to wrap around my head and also pound through it with every beat. I should’ve
expected this when I went to bed last night with a fuzzy feeling in my nose. I probably caught some horrific disease when
I was rooting around in the trash the other day.
When I get out of bed, the chills start. My left nostril shows no signs of letting any air in. The cold I’d been hoping wasn’t
real since last night, the one I noticed as soon as I got back from dropping Ernest off with Sami, is here.
Normally, a cold would be something I’d take a few painkillers for, then work from home and collapse after putting out enough
fires. But now, the only business on my plate is making sure my new friend Carmen will let Jamie in to do the electrical inspection,
which I quickly manage by emailing Jamie instructions to buzz into Carmen’s suite and do the final inspection without me.
I try to make toast, but the weakness in my knees is too much. I take a painkiller and feed Alice, who looks at me like she
thinks I might be a problem for her relaxing day alone. I tug on a pair of sweats and then set myself up on the couch with
an ice pack and throw blanket.
Pulling out my phone, I text Sami: Will be out of commission today. Can you please keep Ernest. I have a bug.
And proceed to pass out.
A few hours later, I burst upward. I’m still curled up on my couch. At some point I’d half woken enough to turn the TV on, and there’s some competition show about people making miniatures.
Then another bang hits my door, and I realize the knocking is what woke me.
I ease myself up from the couch, groaning at the stiffness in my limbs, and peek through the front door’s peephole. Sami is
standing there, rocking back on his heels.
“Hey, Sami,” I call, though my voice cracks. “I think I still have a bit of a cold.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he calls back. “I’ve got some supplies to help with that.”
I open the door a little and let him take in all my red-eyed, red-nosed glory. His hair is wet, so he must’ve just showered
after getting off the diner shift. Confusingly, he’s holding up the lamp with the naked breasts that was at Carmen’s yesterday.
I stare at it pointedly. “I don’t know how that will help me feel better, but thanks.”
“No, my special sickness kit is in this backpack.” He pats behind him. “This bonus was left outside your door.”
I open the door wider and take it from him and notice there’s a piece of paper taped to it. I tug it off and read: Saw you eyeing this one. You’re all right! Carmen.
A smirk finds its way to my lips. Sami’s eyes are twinkling with some weird reverence for the thing. “I saw the note,” he
admits. “I think that’s the highest honor from the guy. What did you even do?”
“I just, um . . .” I think of the strange pact Carmen and I agreed to. “Well, yesterday I shared a drink with him.”
“That’s cool.” His eyes sweep over me in approval as I place the lamp on my entryway’s bench. I remember then that I’m wearing
my grungy sweats, my greasy hair is in a horrifically messy bun, and I’ve got on the robe that lost its belt.
Usually, looking like a piece of shit would make me feel insecure, but Sami has seen enough of me to make it okay, which is kind of great. At this point, I can just be.
“I have some soups and medicines and things. Can I help set you up with them?” He pulls off the backpack.
“This is truly lovely of you, but I don’t want you getting sick.”
“Well, I’ve got a bit of a cold myself.” To prove his point, he takes a big inhale through his nose, which makes a horribly
stuffy sound. “Makes sense, I guess, since we’ve been hanging out lately.” His eyes draw to me. He’s right, our chats have
been getting longer when we exchange Ernest. My morning coffees have been taking longer too. Yesterday, he told me all about
his fancy restaurant days—how the walk-in cooler was designed for staff meltdowns as much as it was for keeping the food cool.
Now that he’s mentioned it, he does look a little paler than his usual shade. “Is it the chills and plugged-nose kind?” I
venture.
He nods. “The very one.”
“All right, you’re in the club.” I hold the door open. “Come on.”
We make our way to my living room and Sami rests his backpack on the floor. “Something you don’t yet know about me is that
I’m an expert sick-day curator. So if you’d allow me, I’d love to set up the space.”
I take in his serious expression and the concerningly stuffed shape of the backpack. “I . . . I don’t think I can deny you
this.”
“I was hoping you’d say that. Where are your mugs?”
“See that cupboard that won’t quite latch closed?” I point to my shitty chipped cabinet. “They’re all there.”
“Great. Just give me five minutes to prep the room. Feel free to cover your eyes if you want the full transformation-reveal
effect.” Sami’s dimples tug at the corner of his grin.
“How about I stare at my phone?”
He smacks his hands together. “I can work with that.”
After a few minutes of scrolling while Sami paces from the kitchen and back—I hear the running of the kettle and clanging glassware—Sami finally calls, “Ready.”
I look up. There are four mugs on my basic Ikea coffee table filled with different colored liquids. Beside them are two glasses
of water, a giant bottle of Canada Dry ginger ale, a pack of Fisherman’s Friend, a box of Kleenex, and bottles of both DayQuil
and NyQuil—all of it laid out like I’m in a hotel.
“This is really something,” I praise him.
He smirks with pleasure. “Let me give you the lay of the land. The NyQuil is a best-before-June-2028 vintage. A remarkable
year for the artificial flavors and—” He cuts off as he starts to cough. “I can’t make it funnier, I’m starting to feel like
shit.”
I pick up the closest mug to me, and the warm salty smell of bouillon wafts toward me. The best thing in the world. “Seriously,
this is amazing. Thanks for doing all this.”
“Like I was saying, I’m an expert. And I have access to the diner’s resources.” He points to the table. “One of your mugs
has lemon tea and the other has Lipton Cup-a-Soup soup.” He sniffles before picking up one of the glasses of water to take
a gulp.
“I feel more hydrated already,” I say, picking up my own glass.
He gestures to my TV. “I’ve also determined what you’re going to watch. I’m sorry but it’s the only way to kick this—so first
you have Bob Barker episodes of The Price Is Right, followed by Maury Povich.”
“Oh my god!” I can’t hold back the delight in my voice even in my current state. “It’s an early 2000s sick day!” I grab a
tissue and dab it under my runny nose. “I’ve never had one!”
Sami gives me a sad little grin. “Like I said, it’s the only way. But fair warning, the Maury show didn’t age well, or maybe
it was never right, but you can’t feel bad about that, because you’re sick. It’s our right to stare at the TV for eight hours
and feel nothing.”
I cock my head. “Were you working today?”
“Dad’s handling things. Allegedly. I think I’ve bestowed too much power upon the guy.
” His brow raises. “He’s living his best life wreaking havoc on the regulars, singing all weird and loud while pacing between tables.
If anyone new comes in, they’ll be so freaked out.
Good thing it’s always dead.” Sami chuckles at his own joke, but his eyes cast down.
“Nah, they’ll love him,” I say encouragingly.
“Hey, since we’re both playing hooky, and I’m a first-timer at this, wanna hang out?” With Sami around, it’s like a tiny boost
of energy found its way to me, and now I can’t go back to being alone in my misery.
We end up on the couch, sipping on various liquids and throwing salty comments at the TV. The thing is, I love everything
about it. I lean back and watch the inadequate assholes try to guess how much a kitchen set is in the ’90s. We’re both way
off in a way that freaks us out about the cost of living and the state of the world. But like, in a fun way.
“I remember watching this show eight years ago and I saw a guy win a trip to West Edmonton Mall.” Sami’s eyes bug out. “Imagine
that’s what you get after making it so far and winning the Showcase.”
I shake my head. “Someone from Tourism Alberta must’ve blown one of the producers to get that feature.”
Sami’s laugh warms the room. He smiles at me while the family of the winner of the current episode comes out to enjoy the
prizes a little too much. One jerk even wiggles his hips like he’s about to hump a Jet-Ski.
Then there’s a sudden knock on the door. Through the wood, Abu calls, “Sami! Mona! Come, this dog is scared of me, I think.
He is not trained.”
Sami’s face drops into his hands. “I knew they’d show up eventually.”
I ease myself up, but Sami shakes his head. “I’ll go; you relax.” A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Nobody should have to deal with Abu when they’re already down.”
He makes his way across my apartment, steps creaking on the ancient wood floor. I hear the sound of the lock unlatching. “Baba,
how did you get into the building?”
“Long story short, come take the dog.” Abu’s voice is bubbly. “I think he’s a weird guy. He just stared at me when I threw
him a ball. But don’t worry, he did his business like a professional.”
“Okay, we’re happy to take him, but you can’t stay,” Sami retorts. “I’m contagious.”
The sound of Ernest’s toenails clack across the floor, followed by Ernest’s little body shuffling by until he is pawing at
me to pick him up. I take him into my arms as he presses his wet nose into my hands.
“This letter came for you, Sami!” Abu continues.
“Yeah, you could’ve held my mail until I got home.”
“Well, I don’t know what’s what. And remember, this fruit is mostly for Mona!”
“Thank you, Abu!” I call and lean around the arm of the couch enough see him at the door, handing a giant container to Sami
with an envelope on top.
“Anything for you, darling,” Abu calls, a giant smile filling his face. “This will bring you to good health.”
“Dad, seriously, I don’t want you to catch it,” Sami urges. “Please go take it easy. It might rain soon.”