Page 27 of Man Flu

“Okay.”

“Hannahbannana, cheer up. It’s just the flu.” His singsong voice drives through me like nails on a chalkboard, forcing me to hang up on him.

Logan is placing a tray down on our table as the conversation abruptly ends. “He’s one of those guys huh?”

“What type is that you’re referring to?” I’m curious as to what he took from whatever he heard.

“The schmoozer, smooth operator, who thinks he can win anyone over with a smile and a few nice words.”

“Impressive,” I tell him. “You hit the nail right on the head.”

“How is Miss Cora?” he asks.

“Still pretty sick.”

He juts out his bottom lip, releasing a soft sigh. “Poor kid.” I want to ask about the child he mentioned in the truck, but it doesn’t feel right bringing it up without him initiating it.

I dig into my sandwich, starved from the stress I’ve caused myself today, but for some reason, I’m unable to get through even half of the sandwich before my stomach churns in a way that tells me to get up and run to the bathroom as quickly as I can. “I’ll be—”

Yup, I’m not making it to the bathroom.

Oh no.

I gag and expel the rest of my sentence out in chunks of roast beef.