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“Your food and water are upstairs,” I remind him.
Another slow blink. Another meow. Then he turns and heads up the stairs. When I don’t follow, he meows again just out of sight, but close enough to make his point.
“All right, all right. I’m coming.”
I find Savannah about halfway down the stairs sitting, with her head resting on her arms, which are folded on her knees. Mr. Sniggles gives me a look as soon as she comes into view, as if to say, “See? This is what I was trying to tell you.”
“Savannah, are you okay?”
By the time I reach her, she’s sitting up, a sheepish smile playing at her lips.
“I really felt strong enough to make it downstairs. Just got a little lightheaded, but I’m fine.”
“You should’ve waited for me.”
She waves a hand as if to wipe away my irritation. “Settle down, I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You can’t even make it down the stairs. You should’ve waited.” I know I sound like an asshole, but I’m not mad at her. I’m mad at myself. I shouldn’t have left her alone.
Worse still, the only reason she was alone is because I didn’t trust myself to be there in the other room while she was showering.
She stands up, wobbling slightly on her feet before I steady her with a hand on her shoulder. “I shouldn’t have left you by yourself. Let me get you back upstairs.”
“No, I’ve been in that room too long. Bring me downstairs, if you insist on carrying me.”
“I do.”
I sweep her up into my arms just like I did when I carried her down to the house three days ago. It’s different now though. She’s clean and awake and her hair smells slightly of my shampoo.
Seeing her dressed in my clothes, smelling the scent of my soap and shampoo on her skin and hair, stirs some kind of caveman response within me I never could’ve anticipated. Makes me want to keep her in my bedroom forever, burn the rest of her clothes and insist that from now on she only wear things that I’ve worn first.
“You’re going to have to fumigate your bedroom or something. It smells like a hospital ward in there.” She wrinkles her nose, giving her head a little shake, that I feel rather than see because it causes her cheek to brush against my chest. “No, not a hospital ward. That would smell like bleach and cleaner. This just smells like a sweaty, sick person. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I tried to change your sheets myself. I only got as far as pulling off the blanket, though.”
“I’ll take care of it.” What I want to say is I’ll take care of you. Which is baffling, because even if she wanted that (and she probably doesn’t), what do I actually know about taking care of another person?
I can start a business. I can earn millions of dollars. I can read scientific journal articles on unfamiliar topics and then deep dive on the research until the material is familiar.
Anything scientific, engineering, or math related, I can learn. Some of it comes easily to me. Some of it doesn’t. But I can do it.
But personal stuff? Human interaction stuff? All of that is so much harder.
When I was a kid, my mom made me a damn chore chart for how to be a member of the family. She gave me a star every time I remembered to ask someone how their day was, for fuck’s sake.
So, do I know how to take care of Savannah?
No. Not even a little.
But Martin said I could learn. If I wanted to. Maybe he’s right. If I can learn enough about microbiology to have an opinion on what research is worth funding, then maybe I can learn this.
Even more surprising, I want to.
At least I want to try.
If the past three days have taught me anything, it’s that.
