Page 84 of Give Me a Shot

“Jess,” Steph said.

“Jessica, love,” Alice said. “Steph, we shouldn’t have talked about this while she’s by herself.”

“You’re right,” Stephanie said. “Jess, Jess. Look at us. Open your eyes.”

Jess was surprised at the need to pry them open. She didn’t know she’d closed them; she’d thought the dark was the anguish gaining on her. She sniffed hard but couldn’t unlock her grip on the comforter.

“Love,” Alice said again softly. “Can you call Mo? Do you think he could come over and sit with you? Just so you’re not on your own right now?”

“I don’t…” She sob-hiccupped. “I don’t want to bother him,” she said.

“Okay,” Stephanie said, wiping a hand down her face. “Then I need you to give me his number. Though based on what you’ve said about him, he might panic if the call comes from me.”

Jess gulped. Stephanie was right. If he got a call from a stranger asking him to check up on her, Mo might think the worst and race over. What if he had an accident on the way? Her lungs seized at the thought, and she coughed.

“I’ll…I’ll call him,” she stuttered.

“Now,” Alice and Stephanie said in unison.

—

“It’s ready, m’lady.”

Mo’s hand was heavy on her shoulder, warm and gently shaking her awake. The light hurt when she pushed her swollen eyelids open. But Mo’s gentle smile from where he’d crouched in front of her stretched out on the couch made it worth the effort.

“Hey,” he said when she focused on him.

“Hey,” she said, smiling back. “How long have I been asleep?”

“Less than thirty minutes, I think.” He tossed the dishtowel in his hands on his shoulder. “Do you want to eat here? Or should I set the table?” he asked.

Jess started to sit up but froze when she realized that Steinemhad curled himself into a ball against her stomach after she’d fallen asleep. “Aww, Sty Sty. Thank you,” she said, running her hand down his back. He began purring. “I’d prefer here,” she said to Mo.

“Be right back,” he said, heading to her kitchen.

Jess sat up slowly, pulling Steinem along with her. She tucked him more comfortably into her lap and scratched him behind the ears. The aroma of the cooking food caught her attention, making her stomach growl.

“Mo, that smells wonderful, what is it?” she called out to him.

“Algerian chorba,” he said, returning to her with a soup. “The chicken soup of my family.” He placed the bowl on the coffee table and left again.

A few bright green coriander leaves decorated the top of a fragrant red-orange soup. Jess thought she recognized chickpeas among pieces of carrot and stewed meat. Her mouth watered enough to force her to swallow. Mo returned with utensils, a napkin, and a glass of water, sitting down next to her and scooting close.

“Mo, this looks…you’re not eating?” she asked.

He shook his head.

“I’m good. This is the ‘I feel terrible’ soup. The, ‘It’s not okay right now, but it will be’ soup. It’s all for you today,” he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze.

“Oh,” she said, hugging him back. “Thank you so much.”

He shrugged.

“Thank you for reaching out,” he said, smiling.

Jess smiled back and then dug in. She’d been right about the chickpeas and the stewed meat. It was delicious, but she couldn’t identify what kind it was. The urge to ask was there, but the soup was so rich, so delicious, that she couldn’t stop eating to speak. Hunger slammed into her, and she remembered that she’d barely eaten anything all day.

“Mo, are you sure you don’t want any?” she asked quickly between mouthfuls. “This is amazing.”

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