Chapter 11
Jade
“Forgetting a debt doesn’t mean it’s paid.”
~ Nora O’Sullivan
“No.” I barely had the strength to hold the phone to my ear as I spoke to my mother. She’d been at the grocery store and had called to see if I wanted her to pick up a bag of my favorite cookies that they rarely stocked.
“Are you sure? I don’t mind.”
“I’m trying to cut down on sugar.” It was another trigger for migraines, and right now my head felt as if it were being squeezed by a vice. Right now I’d give up anything to make it stop.
“You sound miserable. Are you sure you don’t want me to come over? I can bring some soup.”
My stomach rolled at the mention of food.
“No. That’s okay. I have some leftovers.” I had no plan of eating those leftovers, but if my mom thought that I wasn’t eating she’d just show up no matter what I said.
“All right, if you’re sure you’re okay.” I could hear the worry in her voice and as much as I wanted to reassure her, I wanted to get off the phone more.
“I am, Mama. I’m gonna get some rest, I’ll call you tomorrow. Love you. Bye.”
“Love you, a stór.”
I grinned at the Irish endearment that my mother had called me since I was a baby. My treasure. Opening one eye, I squinted as I disconnected the call and checked the time. My stomach sank. I’d spent the day in bed. Originally I tried to convince myself that it was just a hangover from the three glasses of wine the night before, but it was time to face reality. I was in the throes of a full-blown migraine episode.
Keeping my head as still as possible, I set my phone down on my nightstand. Fighting every instinct in my body to tense up from the pain I forced myself to relax and breathe slowly and steadily. I lay there, perfectly still with my eyes closed in the hopes that the excruciating pain and intense pressure in my head would subside.
No luck.
I’d had such lofty goals for today. I was going to tackle my ever-growing to-do list that I’d been ignoring for weeks. It was full of mostly small things like changing the water filter, replacing the batteries in the smoke detectors, WD-40 the back screen door to stop the squeaking, etc.
Both my dad and brother had offered to come and do whatever fix-it projects needed doing, but I hated accepting help. I’d always been fiercely independent. My mom said that I would sit for as long as it took to and try to tie my own shoe instead of accepting help and going outside to play. The first word I said was “self” and the first sentence I spoke was, “I do it.” I said that to my mom when she was trying to buckle me into my car seat. I was eleven months old.
It wasn’t just my stuff that I’d flaked on; I was also supposed to meet Hayden at his warehouse to talk about the grand opening, his website and social media plans. I’d texted him in an effort to reschedule. In a cruel twist of fate, originally, I practically prayed for any excuse to get out of seeing him, now I was honestly disappointed that I had to cancel.
Life was a real bitch sometimes.
I was so tired of thinking about Hayden. I wanted a break from it and the excruciating pain I was in so I tried my best to will myself to sleep.
I must’ve been successful because the last thing I remembered thinking was how great it felt to hug Hayden, how right it felt to be in his arms again and the next thing I was aware of was a loud, pounding sound.
It took me a second to get my bearings but then I realized that the pounding was someone knocking on my front door. My lips parted as I sighed deeply. I loved my mom, but she could be the most stubborn woman on the planet. I should’ve known she wouldn’t have listened to me.
I thought about ignoring her and pretending to be asleep, but that would be pointless since she’d most likely just use her key to come in. If she saw how much pain I was in she’d go into full mom-management mode. There would be baths drawn, soup force-fed, and more likely than not, she’d spend the night just to make sure I slept.
Was I lucky to have a mother that cared so much? Yes. But sometimes it was too much.
My only hope was to put on a brave face and convince her that I was doing better. I forced my eyes to open in the pitch-black room. I wasn’t sure how long I’d slept, but it was well into the night now.
I slowly swung my feet off the side of my bed and sat up. The movement sent the pain crashing into my skull like a hammer. I winced and knew that I was going to have to pull out my inner Meryl Streep to convince my mom I was fine.
Lifting my head hurt so I kept my face down as I shuffled to my front door. I was still in the cutoff sweats and T-shirt that I’d worn to bed last night and the material was twisted and crumpled. This would be the performance of a lifetime.
As I put my hand on the doorknob and turned it, I curled my lips into what I hoped was a believable smile. The porch light hit my eyes and they automatically closed. “Mama. I told you, you di—”
My sentence dropped off when I opened my eyes again and saw Ranger standing beside jeans and work boots. I lifted my head just enough to see Hayden staring down at me with a concerned look on his face.
Both my shoulders and my fake smile fell. “I told you that I would meet with you tomorrow.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
“Why are you here?” If he wanted to talk, tonight was not the night.
“I ran into your mom at the market. She told me you had a migraine and that she was going to bring soup over even though you told her not to.” He held up a paper bag. “So I offered to stop by with the soup and check on you.”
Inside I was secretly awwwing that he’d saved me from a Nora O’Sullivan Nurture Session. But outwardly I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that I thought it was sweet. Playing interference and volunteering to bring me soup that I had no plans on eating did not make up for abandonment. Hayden deserted me and I felt the same way about that act as the military did. I’d sentenced him to an emotional court-martial.
“Can I come in?”
The rich depth of his voice spread through me and my body automatically relaxed. Muscle memory was a funny thing. My entire being remembered that hearing that voice was the first step to feeling better. When Hayden and I were together, whenever I’d feel a migraine coming on, I’d tell my mom I was going to Bella’s and sneak into Hayden’s room. We had a whole routine that we did where he’d use his magic hands and give me massages while I watched my favorite movie. Over the years that we were together, as our relationship and intimacy progressed he’d also used his magic mouth and tongue to combat my headaches. Once the pain subsided he’d relax me with a very special, intimate massage to ensure I was totally relaxed.
It worked every time.
A throbbing tingle began between my legs and I felt myself begin to blush. Not because I was shy or embarrassed about the act that I was thinking about, it was more likely due to the fact that I hadn’t been with anyone in two years and no one had ever made me feel the things that Hayden had.
Ranger whimpered and placed his head beneath my hand.
“He senses you’re in pain.”
“Good boy,” I praised him.
“Can we come in?” Hayden rephrased.
My pride was saying no, but my head was saying yes. My head won. It was the one in pain, after all.
“Fine.” I opened the door wider and went to lie down on the couch.
“Have you eaten anything today?” His voice drifted past the grinding pain that filled my head.
“No,” I answered weakly as I gently lowered onto my sofa.
“Have you taken medicine?”
That was a stupid question. Of course I had. “Yes.”
My heavy lids shut as I situated the throw pillow beneath my head. I felt Ranger’s head pressing against my cheek and I leaned into the warmth. I pressed my eye socket against the crown of his head and it gave me a modicum of relief.
I could hear Hayden in my kitchen. It was odd. He’d never been in my home before, yet it felt so natural, so normal. I kept my eyes closed and leaned against the best dog in the entire world. He stayed perfectly still, letting me use him as a warm compress. There were more sounds from the kitchen. I heard the fridge door open and shut. Cabinets, too. Then I heard footsteps and sounds around me.
I kept my eyes shut but the familiar sounds of a movie I hadn’t watched in years filled the room at the same time I felt a dip in the couch.
When I opened one eye I saw that the opening sequence of The Little Mermaid was on my television. Tears filled my bottom lids.
“You remembered,” I whispered.
He didn’t answer, he just put a paper plate holding a piece of toast in front of my face. The toast was buttered with cinnamon and sugar sprinkled on top. It had been my favorite growing up, but just like the movie that was playing, I hadn’t indulged in it in years.
It was all too much. The food. Hayden. The movie. The migraine. It was sensory overload.
I turned away from him so that he didn’t see that I was seconds away from bawling like a baby. “I’m not hungry.”
He didn’t argue with me. Instead, he lifted my right foot and began massaging the arch. A moan that sounded like he was doing a lot naughtier things than giving me a foot massage ripped from chest. Those hands. I’d missed those hands so much.
Just as I felt my body become jelly beneath his touch, he stopped.
I turned back to him, looking over my shoulder and he held the plate in front of my face again.
“Are you bribing me to eat with a foot massage?”
“Yes.”
I tried not to smile but my lips had a mind of their own. With great effort, I lifted my heavy arm and took the cinnamon toast from him. When I took a bite he started massaging my foot again and in that moment, both the pain of my migraine and the pain of the past started to fade away.