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I turned and made my way into the bathroom, letting the tears finally hit me. What was it about being sick and turning into an emotional mess that went hand in hand? It was as though all the balls I’d been juggling had completely crashed down around me. Then Mark, probably the nicest guy I’d ever met, drops in and is not only terrific with my son, but also offers to let me take a nap. I’m not sure what I did to deserve his compassion or that of any of my other friends over the last few weeks. I did appreciate it, though, and considered myself one lucky girl.
The shower made me feel semi-human, and the Tylenol helped with the aches and pains. When I then puttered out into the living room, I had to smile at the scene of Tristan in Mark’s lap on the couch with a sippy cup in hand. They were watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse.
Mark caught my eye and grinned. “We’re bonding over our mutual love of Pluto. Although if he asks, I don’t know if I can explain why Goofy is a dog who can talk while Pluto cannot.”
I smiled at the way his mind worked. I hadn’t ever considered this Disney dog conundrum. “I think you may be safe from that question today.”
“You need to go lie down. Don’t worry about us boys. If anything comes up I can’t handle, I’ll come get you.”
“Okay. Wake me in a couple of hours, and I’ll put Tristan to bed.”
“Will do.”
* * *
Shivering,I opened my eyes to a darkened room. I was completely soaked through my T-shirt and sheets. Glancing toward my bedroom window, I realized it was pitch black outside, too. Frantically, I looked toward the clock. Holy crap. It was after eight o’clock. I’d been out for four hours.
When I stood up too quickly, I had to fight nausea from the movement. I managed to fumble with the light and walk out my door down the hall.
Mark was in my kitchen, wiping down the counter.
“Why did you let me sleep?”
He glanced over, his brow furrowed with concern. “Because you needed it. I put Tristan to bed about twenty minutes ago.”
“But you didn’t have to.” I was getting emotional over nothing, but I couldn’t help it.
“I know I didn’t. Here’s the monitor. He’s curled up with his stuffed doggie.”
I swallowed hard as I studied the monitor screen. I’d always been the one to put Tristan to bed. Oh, my mom had done so, too, but only a handful of times. “How was he feeling?”
“Great. He ate some Cheerios, and yogurt, and we played Legos and then trains. He broke the red one, though. I’m hoping I can superglue it back together.” He came around the counter and put his hand on my forehead. “You need some more meds and to get back in bed. Christ. You’re soaked with sweat. Do you have a thermometer?”
I nodded. “Yeah. One of the ear ones in the bathroom cabinet.”
He was gone and back in a flash and then wasted no time in punching the button on the electronic thermometer and holding it out for me.
After a few seconds, I pulled it out of my ear and blinked at the number. One hundred three degrees.
He took it without asking and frowned at the display. “Maybe I should take you to the emergency room.”
I shook my head. “It’s only spiked up. I’ll take Motrin and be better.” Although my uncontrollable shivering wasn’t exactly convincing either of us.
“Why don’t you go take a shower? I’m going to strip your bed and get some fresh sheets.”
Although I hated the thought of him doing this task for me, I couldn’t fathom coming up with the energy to do it myself. “Okay. Did Tristan go right to sleep for you?”
“Yep. I changed his diaper, put him in his PJs, and found a new toothbrush for him in the drawer. I figured the old one might be the one he used while sick. Read him a story—actually two because I’m a sucker. Then he rolled over, like ‘peace out, dude. Time for sleep.’”
I had to be delusional to get completely turned on by the way Mark had been so capable. Yes, indeedy, capable was the new HOT, especially when you were used to doing everything on your own. “Thank you.”
He uncapped the Tylenol bottle, handed me two pills, and then poured me a glass of water. “I want you to drink the full thing. You’re probably dehydrated. In fact, when you’re done with your shower, I’ll run out and get some Gatorade and chicken broth. I’ll only be a few minutes.”
“Thanks again.” What else could I say?
He came around the counter and tipped my chin up with his finger, surprising me with such a familiar gesture. “Stop thanking me. It’s what friends do.”
Right. But I bet friends wouldn’t have the same thoughts running through their heads that I was in this moment with him so close. Deep breath and focus back on reality. “Yes, well, my friends have had to do a lot for me lately. Although I’m eternally grateful, it sucks always being on the receiving end.”
