Page 39 of Someone Just Like You

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I sat up straight and wiped the drool from my mouth. “What makes you think something’s wrong?”

“You sound drowsy, like you’ve just come out of anesthesia.”

I chuckled. “I’m tired, but it’s not post-surgery related. I think I’m coming down with something.” I regretted the words the moment they came out. Unlike Nicole, who coveted the extra attention the three of us got while sick, growing up I tended to keep my colds under wraps, not wanting my parents to fight over who should stay home with me. I made no false assumptions Mom would drive into the city to make her famous orangeaid (diluted orange juice, a dash of vanilla, and a maraschino cherry), but I didn’t want her to worry. “It’s just a cold. It will pass.”

“Take it easy tonight. I know it’s the weekend, but use it to rest. Not drink.”

I chuckled. “No worries. I’m going straight home tonight to relax.” Tonight was for curling on the couch and catching up on my Netflix shows. I’d wake up on Saturday morning refreshed and prepared to enjoy the weekend like the twentysomething I was as opposed to the haggard old lady who’d taken over my body of late. I could go out with Timothy without falling asleep like I had the week before during our movie date. Maybe I’d even buy a dress for the party.

“Okay, good.” After a mutual exchange of “I love you,” we said goodbye.

When I woke up on the couch Saturday morning, I had a splitting headache. I straightened my legs, wincing when they cramped from the sudden movement. After wiping the sleep from my eyes, I used my palms to ease myself to a standing position and slipped on the plastic lid of a Swiffer Wet box, falling on my ass in the process.Fuck you, lid.I limped to the bathroom, rubbing my butt cheek. There would be a bruise by lunchtime.

Except when I woke up next, it was four a.m. Monday morning. My Saturday plan to rest my mind and catch up on sleep had morphed into a thirty-six-hour nap during which whatever I’d been coming down with arrived like an uninvited guest to a party. I hadn’t literally slept the entire time—my currently throbbing head held a fuzzy recollection of taking multiple woozy trips to the bathroom, my eyes opened to slits just wide enough to see where I was going—but I might as well have.

Now on my bed, I ran my tongue along my teeth. A teeth brushing was in order, but blowing my nose was all the exercise I could handle at the moment. I sat up and the room spun. I lay back down.Monday. Shit.I sat back up again. I rarely took any sick days. By the time I finished asking myself if I wasreallytoo sick to go in, I was usually showered and out the door. Not happening today. I was physically incapable of going more than a hundred feet from this bed.

I reached for the phone on my nightstand to call reception, knowing I’d get voice mail at this hour. While leaving the brief message I was calling out sick, each word out of my mouth felt like a monologue. I ended the call and passed out.

My eyes opened again at 9:42. Upon hearing about my sick day from the receptionist, Cindy had texted to see how I was feeling. I answered with the cold face, dizzy face, and masked face emojis, since spelling actual words required more energy than I had.

I woke up again two hours later with cold sweats and the frantic realization I hadn’t checked on Esther’s cat since Friday evening.Fuck. What if Poppy’s automatic feeder malfunctioned like Esther’s assistant’s best friend’s cousin’s had? What if she’d died of starvation?Fuck squared.

Pushing off my comforter, I flipped my legs over the side of the bed and swooned as my blood sugar dropped. I gripped the bottom of my mattress and closed my eyes for a beat until I regained my equilibrium.You’ve got this, Molly. One foot in front of the other.My body just had to acclimate to being vertical.Do it for Poppy.I tried again. Tears built behind my eyelids, and I flopped back onto the bed with a whimper. Esther’s apartment was only two blocks away, but the journey felt as monumental as Neil Armstrong’s trip to the moon. But…Poppy! Someone had to check on her…and fast…Think, Molly.Unfortunately, thinking while chills permeated my body and my head was stuffed with phlegm was an uphill battle.

There was Timothy, but asking him would require handing over Esther’s house keys.Itrusted him with her belongings, butmylevel of trust wasn’t the point. She’d take the risk to save her feline child, though, right?

My breath hitched as it occurred to me she might not have to. What if there was someone else I could ask—someone who’d already earned her trust and admiration? Jude lived in the neighborhood and didn’t work regular nine-to-five hours, which meant he was probably home. I didn’twantto ask him, but I had no choice. It was life or death. Which meant I didn’t have time to second-guess myself or worry about how he would respond to my asking him for a favor.

I found Jude’s number in my call history, pressed the green button, and put the phone on speaker. It rang twice.Pick up!Jude might not savemycat, but my instincts said he’d do his best to save Esther’s. I propped my back against my two pillows, rested the phone screen up on my chest, and closed my eyes. Whatever energy I had on reserve for emergencies was depleting by the second.

“Are you there, Mole?”

My eyes flew open. “Ju…Jude?” His name came out froggy, like I hadn’t spoken out loud in a long time.

“Who else were you expecting to answer my phone?”

“Sssh.”So loud.

“You called me!”

I covered my aching eardrums. “Please help.”

“What’s wrong?”

The alarm in his voice bolted through me. With every bit of stamina I could arouse, I sat up and projected my voice as if my life depended on it. “S’posed to feed Esther’s cat. I’m sick…too weak. Please come?” I shut my eyes again.

“I’ll be right over.”

I let out a relieved whoosh of (bad) breath and ended the call. Resisting the powerful temptation to sleep, I lifted my dead weight off the bed with a loud groan and inched my way to the front door to unlock it for Jude in case I passed out before he arrived. I covered my matted and knotted hair with the lavender knitted beanie my grandmother had made me. Then I plucked an Altoid from the tin on my coffee table and popped it in my mouth. Even on my deathbed, my vanity was loud and clear in its instructions. No sooner had I set my germ-infested body on the couch when the doorman alerted me to Jude’s arrival. A few minutes after that, there was a knock on my door.

“It’s open.” My voice came out as quiet as Tinker Bell’s. I was about to try again when I heard him enter.

“You called about a cat.” Jude, wearing a black hoodie with worn jeans, stopped short at the sight of me. “You look terrible.”

“As far as insults go, that’s a pretty tame one coming from you.” I whipped my head back in a surprise burst of energy. “Ouch,” I said, rubbing my neck.

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