Page 69 of The Bright Side of Christmas
“No, stay there. You don’t want what I have.” He holds onto the screen door handle when I try to open it, and I glare at him.
“Adam, you look like death warmed over. Let me in.” I tug at the handle, and there’s a bit of resistance from where he’s holding it, but he’s so sick, he can’t fight me. When I open the door, he groans and then steps back in resignation. I enter and look around his empty house. Even just from this small glance, I can still tell he’s feeling like crap and has been for a bit. There is a stack of essentials he must have had delivered still in bags on the floor and an empty box of tissues on the kitchen table, like he couldn’t find it in him to bring it to the actual trash. Empty bottles of sports drink and water are tossed in the sink, and a few of the cabinet doors are open.
“What do you have?” I ask, turning back to him, though I can make my own assumptions, considering it looks like the crud that’s been going around. He shrugs.
“Some kind of bug. Killer headache, snot, sore throat, but I think that’s just from the cough.”
I stare at him, then nod before moving to the bags and taking in the items there. None of them is going to help with what’s ailing him, but he’s a boy, so I can’t expect him to know that kind of thing.
He’s so lucky he has me.
I stand and turn to him with a stern look on my face. “Okay. Can you make it upstairs?”
“What?”
I turn to him, stopping to look at my phone, where I’m about to text my mom, and his face is one of pure and utter confusion.
“Can you make it up the stairs to your bed? Or should I set you up on the couch?” He pauses, and I realize that maybe he also has a fever that’s clouding his mind, so I explain further. “Wherever you’ll be most comfortable is probably best. I’m a sleep-it-off kind of girl, but maybe you’re a watch-TV kind ofguy? Wherever you set up, I’ll bring you meds and some food. Are you hungry at all? Is your stomach bothering you?”
A beat passes before he shakes his head and sighs. “I’ll be fine. You really should go, Wren. You don’t want to be sick before the holidays.”
I shake my head, ignoring him as I bend and start gathering up the things in his entryway to put them away. “That’s the least of our worries right now.”
“You’re not worried because you never worry about yourself, so I’m the only one whodoesworry about you. I can’t be the reason you’re sick on Christmas.”
I stop at the frustration in his words and turn to him, giving him a soft smile, understanding his hesitance.
“I’ll be fine, I promise.” He opens his mouth to argue further, but I shake my head and continue. “I’m a second-grade teacher, Adam. I’m basically a petri dish, and I’m forced to have the most intense immune system. I promise, this has gone through my classroom four times already. I had it once at the beginning of the year, and I’ll be solid for the rest of the season. You should see my immune-boosting supplement regimen.” I look him over and cringe. “Maybe we should get you on something similar. But that’s tomorrow’s worry. Right now, you need rest. So, bed or couch?”
“Wren…”
I step closer, then put my hand on his head. It’s warm, and he leans into my chilled hand, his eyes closing like it’s a comfort to him. Something in my chest melts, and the urge to take care of him ratchets up. It’s not the same need I always feel to help people out. This one is more personal, more intimate.
“Go to bed, Adam. I’m going to clean up a bit and get you settled. I might have to run out, but I’ll be back soon.” He stares at me, so I add, “I’m not going anywhere, but you look as if you don’t sit down, you’ll collapse on the floor right here. Chancesare, I’ll end up hurting myself if I have to drag your big body to the couch from here, but if that’s a risk you’re willing to take?—”
He groans in irritation, but my threat works. He turns around, and as I watch him lumber up the stairs, grumbling to himself, I can’t help but let out a silent laugh.
Then I text my mom.
Over the next hour or so, I send a handful of texts, check Adam’s cabinets, and tidy up while I await reinforcements. Thankfully, my mom is free today and able to run to the drugstore and then the grocery store for me, which means she's at the door barely forty minutes after my call. She sends me a text to let me know she’s outside so she doesn’t wake Sleeping Beauty, who is out cold. I tiptoe to the door, open it, and she hands me a bag with three more sitting at her feet.
“Hey, come in,” I say, reaching to take the first from her, then a second. She follows me inside, carrying the other two bags to the kitchen table as well.
“I threw everything in a pot before I ran out, so I’ll be back over in…” She turns her wrist toward her to check the time on her watch. “Four hours? Will that work?”
“Yeah, Mom, thanks. I appreciate it.”
Quiet fills the kitchen, but it’s the kind that sets me on guard, knowing my mom. If she had no other motive, she would have dumped the groceries and run. When she pulls out a chair at his breakfast bar, I know she’s settling in for a gab.
“Is the front yard your doing? It’s…cute,” she says, always diplomatic and kind in her choice of words. I scoff out a laugh.
“It’s an ugly hodgepodge, but I’m working on it. He doesn’t like Christmas or decorations, but you know me.”
“Stubborn in your need to spread joy, just like your grandmother,” she says. I preen at what I deem to be a compliment, the warmth of it spreading through my veins. I’m lost in that and unpacking, so I don’t see her new angle coming.
“You know, when Hallie told me you were in some feud with a hot neighbor—her words, not mine—I was a little worried. You need another person to take care of, like your father needs more power tools.”
I somehow managed to avoid the interrogation at brunch, mainly because there were people around, but I should have known it was coming. Calling her and asking her to bring groceries to my neighbor’s house definitely sped up that process.
