Page 39 of Wrong Number, Right Unicorn

We didn’t see anything that “grabbed” us, but we decided to check out a couple of places on Sunday.

“Would Grams consider moving?” If so, we could look even closer to Errol’s gym and wouldn’t be constrained by searching in an older neighborhood.

“Not happening.” He explained there were so many memories tied up in that place. “And besides, I worry that the trauma and stress of leaving the home she’s lived in for decades might trigger a health episode.”

Errol didn’t want to receive a message in the middle of the night saying Grams had been arrested again.

Sunday arrived, and it was hot and sunny. A day we should have spent outdoors, but my mate had a client at the gym, and afterward, we went from open house to open house, peering in cupboards, examining tiles, and trying not to make faces at dark bathrooms with bright purple tiles.

Errol had a water bottle slung over his shoulder, and he’d packed snacks. Lately, he hadn’t been hungry in the morning, preferring to eat later and graze during the day.

By mid-afternoon he was pooped, and I suggested we forget the last listing and go home. But he insisted since we were out that we should continue on. He’d eaten the last of his crackers, so I stopped at a convenience store and bought more.

“It doesn’t look promising,” he said as I drove past the house we were going to look at. There were cars parked either side of the street, so the place would be full of people hoping it was “the one.”

“Shall we skip it?” I was ready to zoom home, shower, and order takeout. The house-hunting business was not for the faint-hearted.

Errol was already out the door, but he sagged against the car, and I held him upright. There was no color in his cheeks, and he leaned over the gutter, retching, but brought nothing up.

“That’s it. We’re going home.”

He sipped his water and nibbled on a cracker, saying he was fine.

He wasn’t and neither was the house. We got out of there pretty quick and showered off the day’s dust when we arrived home.

I had to wake my mate up when the food was delivered and he fell asleep again after he ate half his curry.

Humans suffered from so many different ailments, and Errol’s symptoms were so vague, I didn’t do an online search. Sleep, plenty of water, and good food and he should be okay.

The next morning he bounded out of bed as if yesterday never happened. He brought me coffee before heading off to his first client.

He’s fine. I was concerned. My unicorn was worried.

Me too.

Errol was fine, with boundless energy during the week, but when Saturday arrived, he threw up first thing before dragging himself to the gym for a day jam-packed with clients.

I considered asking Grams if my mate had ever suffered similar symptoms but didn’t want to worry her. My parents were away for a week hiking and had no phone reception. That was another reason I couldn’t live away from the city because the phone was my constant companion.

We’d have to install a landline when we moved so I could keep the same number. The one I had when my grandfather was still alive. And how Errol first got in contact with me. That was the priority, though my mate would say an indoor toilet was top of the list.

With Errol being unwell, I was distracted at work, and whenever my phone beeped, I expected to hear he’d been rushed to hospital.

But my mate’s condition improved, and we talked about looking at more houses. Neither of us had the appetite for more dirty tiles and moldy ceilings.

“I suppose living with Grams would be an option. She’d probably like the company, and it’s better than what I’m doing now.” Errol leaned against the kitchen island while I cooked. He made a face and flapped a hand in the air.

“You don’t like chili? Since when?”

“Since just now. The smell is yucky. Did you add different spices?”

I hadn’t, and he ate it when it was done, though as I studied his face, he struggled to swallow and he held his nose. No five-star review for me.

We muddled along for another week, with Errol being alternately sick in the mornings or at night, full of energy or exhausted, craving certain foods and disliking his favorites.

Maybe this was a thing with humans who mated shifters. Their bodies adapted and changed. I’d never read anything that said this was a symptom of interspecies mating. We might be the first.

“I think we have to move in with Grams.” Errol put down his spoon. “I can’t take the long commute anymore.”

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