Wednesday? Is that you? Or did I sleep until Saturday, maybe? Possibly? Please, let it be Saturday
WHY DOES MY FACE hurt? Why does it feel like I’m lying on sandpaper? With effort, I press my eyelids open, blinking a few times until the space in front of me becomes clear—dark and clear. Oh my God, what time is it? I’ve been asleep—on the cheap carpet Rick had to have—on my bedroom floor, the one good thing about throwing up on it. The door is only open a crack and … Cora! “Cora?” I belt out, sounding like I swallowed a sharp piece of metal. “Cora?” I don’t hear a thing. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I press myself up onto my knees. I’m still naked. What the hell kind of flu is this? Whatever it is, it’s been eight hours, and I’m done with it. “You hear that, you shitty old body? I’m done. Mess with me all you want, go ahead … try me.” I’m delirious to boot. I get to my feet, holding the blanket tightly around me, and I spot a shadow of folded clothes on my bed. He folded my clothes. I almost forgot.
I feel around the pile, easily finding a silk pair of panties draped over the top. Come on, really? He couldn’t at least hide them within the other clothes to make it look like he didn’t see them?
I slip them on and then find a raggedy shirt and sweats. I’m dressed quickly, considering my body ate every one of my organs today. “Cora?” I call again.
What time is it? It’s pitch black out. It must be late. Maybe Rick took her back. Why wouldn’t anyone have woken me up? Why did I fall asleep? That’s irresponsible. I was irresponsible today. I don’t like it. I didn’t even call work to let them know I wasn’t coming back for the afternoon. I’m sure it doesn’t look mildly weird at all that I took off with the temp and never returned.
Cora’s door is partially closed, and I poke my head inside, searching for her curly ponytail that would be hanging off the side of her bed if she were sleeping in it, which she is.
Thank goodness.
I take a step inside, and I shouldn’t be surprised to find Logan after everything he has done for me today, but there he is, sitting on the floor, leaning up against Cora’s bed, asleep, with Cora’s favorite book in hand.
Wow.
I tiptoe over to the bed and tighten the covers the way Cora likes, listening to her soft breaths whisper through her pursed lips.
“Hey,” Logan utters under his breath. “You okay?”
I smile warmly and nod my head toward the door, afraid of waking Cora up. If she’s up, she doesn’t go back to bed. It’s been her thing since she was an infant.
Logan and I make it out into the hall, and I close Cora’s door the rest of the way. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you did today,” I tell him.
He doesn’t respond. He just smiles. I don’t know what that means.
I never did shower again after the last time I projectile puked all over the place, so that’s probably why. I likely have vomit chunks hanging from my hair.
“I should get going,” he says.
“I should shower,” I reply.
“You should.” He laughs, but I sense it’s not as funny as he’s trying to pretend it is.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your day.” I feel like I owe him that since he doesn’t look too thrilled right now.
“Don’t apologize, please. I’m glad I was here to help, really.”
“I’m glad too,” I offer.
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Enough to keep things under control here.”
“Good.”
We’re in my hall, the lights are dim, and the tension is high. What the hell happened while I was taking a nap?
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask because if I’m judging the look on his face correctly, I think he might leave the state by tomorrow morning.
“Goodnight,” he says in response.
“Okay.” I feel dumb, embarrassed—no, mortified. What is going on? Or, what did Cora tell him is probably the better question.
“Thank you again,” I say as he heads down the staircase.
He doesn’t respond. Why? Why?
I already feel sick. I don’t need to dread going into work tomorrow, having to explain a whole lot more than if I were just sick.
As the door closes downstairs, I turn for my bedroom, clipping my shoulder as I walk inside, but I hardly feel the pain shoot down my arm in comparison to the confusion buzzing through my head. This is why I don’t nap. It’s a good reason never to nap again.
The urge to wake up Cora and find out what happened while I was sleeping is overwhelming, so I’m stepping into a cold shower before I do something stupid.
* * *
Holy mother of—
“Mommy.” There’s a cold hand on my face. “Mommmyyyy.”
“Cora, what?” I open one eye and roll to the side, finding it’s six. It’s six. It’s time to get up and start the shit show. Shit show. Oh, no.
“Cora, sweetie, go and get dressed. I don’t care what you wear today, but go get dressed and I’ll come find you in a few minutes.” What the hell is this? I thrash my covers off and run to the bathroom, making the base just as an explosion of crap erupts from the hollow insides of my body. Hell has landed inside of me. That’s what this is. Did I sin? I don’t know what the hell I did that was so wrong to deserve this.
Okay, it just keeps coming. Yup, we can stop now. Ugh, and now I’m going to puke. I can’t sit here but can’t get up either.
“Mommmyyy?”
“Cora, go to your goddamn room, and I’ll be with you shortly. Shittttt.”
“Why are you mad, Mommy?” I have my hand gripped against the cold sink, and my toes are curling beneath my feet. Sweat is pouring from every pore on my face, and my stomach has turned inside out. “Mommy?”
The doorknob twists just as another gush of wonder floods through my pipes. “Cora!” I scream.
She continues to open the door, and a look of horror and shock fills her face. “There’s poop everywhere!”
“Cora get out of here, now!”
She doesn’t move. She just wraps her arms around her stomach and lurches forward as vomit pours from her mouth.
That’s all takes for the tears to start. I can’t freaking do this. “I’m sorry,” she says, quietly, while wiping her arm under her mouth.
The pain in my stomach eases for a moment, and it’s enough time to clean up one mess so I can tend to the other.
It takes me a full hour to clean the bathroom, but by the time I’m done, I feel better. All the pains in my body have subsided, and another quick shower rinses off every memory of the last twenty hours of my life.
I find Cora downstairs in the living room, sitting quietly on the couch with her backpack. “Are you okay, sweetie?”
“I’m sorry,” she says, again.
“Did you eat breakfast?” I ask.
“I had two granola bars, and I can buy lunch today.”
“Okay. Let’s get you to the bus.”
As we’re walking down the street, I recall my curiosity from last night. “Hey, Cora?”
“Yeah?” she says, shuffling the gravel beneath her little Ugg boots.
“Why was Logan in a bad mood last night when he left?”
She shrugs and doesn’t lift her head. “Beefcake Batman seemed fine to me.”
Ugh. Why? “Well, he seemed angry to me. Did you say anything you shouldn’t have said, maybe?”
Cora looks like she’s thinking about my question for a minute. “No, the last thing I remember him saying before I fell asleep was, ‘I’d do anything for this life.’ I don’t know what he meant by it, though, and I was too tired to ask any more questions.”
Clearly, the man is delusional, or was delusional. Who the hell thinks like that after witnessing what he saw yesterday. For the simple fact that I need to somehow face him today, part of me wants to call up all those nice men I work with and tell them to screw off because I quit. Except, I can’t. I need money. I need to adult and be a mother and crap—well, I’ll skip the crap. Had enough of that for now …
We reach the bus stop just as I hear the rumbling engine echoing from the other side of the hill.
“Are you sure you feel good enough to go to school? You can’t tell anyone you got sick this morning or they’ll send you right home.”
I kneel in front of Cora and look her straight in the eyes, seeing she still doesn’t look right. She’s a tough cookie. I’ll give her that.
Cora places her hands on my shoulders. “Are you sure you’re well enough to go to work today?”
“No, sweetie. No, I’m not.”
“Then you should stay home in your jammies like I did yesterday.”
“I wish I could,” I tell her.
Missing a half day of work for being sick isn’t my thing. The men in the office do it weekly to the point where I think they eat up more of their vacation time being sick than they do taking actual vacation days.
I kiss Cora on the head and watch her hop onto the bus as if nothing’s wrong. I feel a little like death, which means she probably feels at least half of that since she’s a day ahead of me. “Thank the cesspool at school for me,” I mutter as the bus chugs by.
I move as quickly as possible back toward the house, spotting Rick and Tiana outside with their dog, Chicklette. How freaking cute are they in their bathrobes, walking a rat through their freshly sprinkled grass.
It’s about time I find a back entrance into the house so I can avoid them whenever possible. Sometimes, I feel like they just wait outside to torture me—make me feel a little worse about my sorry life. That would be too easy for Rick, though. He could just call me up and say the words, “There’s someone out there for you, Hannah Banana. Don’t give up.” It’s been a year. I’m in my thirties. I’ve had a daughter. I have a full-time career, and oh, I live next door to my ex-husband and Princess Tiana. Mothertruckers.
“Good morning, Hannah!” Tiana shouts with her hand flopping in the air as if I were a long-lost friend she hasn’t seen in years. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine,” I grunt. “Thanks.”
“Aww, Hannahbannana, the bug still got you down?” Rick coos.
“You know what, Rick?” I say, stopping halfway up my driveway. “I hope you get this bug, and I hope it hits you like a sack of bricks. We all know how weak your poor little tummy is. Just wait.”
“Oh, don’t worry about Rick,” Tiana says, cheerfully, “I’ve been giving him vitamins in his power drinks in the morning. His immune system is like ‘pew pew,’” she says, making shooting motions, using her hands as pistols, like an idiot. “He has nothing to worry about.” She smiles, flashing her blinding veneers.
I wonder what would happen if one of those things fell out of her mouth. I heard they usually end up filing the tooth all the way down to the nub or something before they attach them. So, there’s a nub there somewhere, I bet. Oh, it would be so unfortunate if her nub was showing.
I don’t have the stomach to continue this conversation, so I offer my fakest smile and head into the house.
I’m not sure how I’ll make myself look human in the next fifteen minutes, but I pray I have enough makeup to do so.
It takes me less than one coat of lipstick to remember my car is at work. Logan is disgusted by me, or so it seemed … can’t imagine why, and there is no way in hell I’m asking Rick for help.
I drop the lipstick tube into the sink, hearing the clang as it bounces against the porcelain. Why?
As if it were an answer to my answerless question, the doorbell rings. What now? Let me guess, Rick needs to come spit in my face? Maybe it’s Tiana still jogging in place so I can watch her boobs bounce in synchronicity. It’s hypnotizing, really.
I hobble down the steps while trying to get my shoes on at the same time. “Coming!”
Every stair is another small reminder of the hollowness in my stomach and the fire that might still be burning somewhere in that area.
I open the door and take a step back from surprise. I didn’t think I’d see him here after last night, and certainly not with a smile on his face. “Logan?”
“Need a lift?”
“Well—”
“You have no car. I remembered at about four this morning.”
“Right,” I tell him.
“How are you feeling?” he asks. There’s a definite switch in his mood. Maybe he turns into a jerk after dark or something. It’s a common issue I’ve found in men throughout my life.
“I’m better, not completely cured, but I’m heading in the right direction, I think.” If my stomach doesn’t explode again today. “Thanks again—”
“Don’t mention it. Really.” Really. I got it now. I won’t mention it.
“Did I do something to upset you?” You know, besides projectile vomit all over you and my house, among everything else I put you through.
“Not at all. Why would you think that?”
I laugh, trying to hide the nervous inflection I can’t control. “You just seem—”
“Tired?”
Okay, maybe he’s a jerk during the day too. Maybe I’m just being sensitive. I shouldn’t care what he thinks anyway. I’m his boss, and he’s already seen way too much of me.
“Let me just grab my bag,” I tell him.
He stands at the door politely as if he has never been inside before. It’s like yesterday didn’t happen. I probably imagined the whole thing. Maybe my sandwich was drugged yesterday, or maybe that bitch at the coffee shop slipped something in my coffee. That would explain everything.
Let it go. Just let it go.
I grab my bag and head back to the door. After locking up the house, I find Rick and Tiana still pacing along their lawn. Does he even go to work anymore? Or is he a full-time caretaker for a miniature dog?
“Hey man,” Logan calls out, waving at Rick. I guess I wasn’t lucky enough to imagine that part of yesterday happening.
“How’s it going?” Rick replies. “What a guy, picking up the leftovers.” My eyes bug out of my head. Did he just say that?
“I forgot I left them here last night,” Logan says with a chuckle.
Confused for a moment, I finally spot a Chinese food bag in Logan’s hand. “They brought over some food for Cora and me last night since your fridge was empty.”
Dear God, why does my life have to keep shitting on me? Please, make it stop.
I climb into Logan’s truck without offering anyone another word. I just can’t come up with anything of any intelligence at the moment.
“You two BFFs now or something?” I ask as Logan climbs in. Oh, it all makes sense now. That’s why he’s acting this way. Rick must have filled his head with made up shit last night. “What did he tell you about me?”
Logan starts up the truck and backs slowly out of the driveway, offering Rick one more wave before shoving the gear into drive. “He didn’t say a thing.”
“You’re a liar,” I tell him.
He looks over at me and grins. “Don’t worry about it, okay?”