Page 78 of All Our Nevers

“You like it?” he asks.

“Where’d you get this? Did you talk to Nolan?”

He shakes his head. “I was googling what to feed sick people and I saw an article about something called Italian Penicillin. You’re nothing more than an Italian American stereotype to me, so I thought it would probably work.”

That makes me laugh, and it hurts and feels good too. My eyes can’t quite leave the bowl as I say, “Thanks.”

There’s a pause—half a thought—before he replies, “You’re welcome.”

“Okay. You did your good deed for the day. Go home before you catch your death.”

“I’m sure I already have whatever you have,” he says. “This apartment is so small it’s like I’m living inside your mouth.”

I summon just enough strength to chuck my extra pillow at him, but it falls extremely short, flopping to the floor.

He walks over, bends down, then hands it back to me. “Care to try that again, hot stuff?”

“Ugh whyyyyyy are you still here?” I roll to the far side of my double bed to get away from him, and I cannot overstate my utter shock when he crawls in next to me. It’s not sexy. It’s not even affectionate. It’s bewilderingly casual. My eyes feel like they’re bulging out of my head as I say, “You’re in my bed.”

“What are we watching?” He places his laptop on his lap, then opens an internet browser.

“Why are you in my bed? And how did you get my WiFi password?”

“I have a hot spot. And it’s because I don’t trust you to wake up and take more Tylenol when you need to, and Archie needs someone to walk him, and the Seaport is too far to bother leaving and coming back, and also because I didn’t really want to get work done today anyway. Movie or TV?”

“Owen.” I force myself to sit up, slowly adjusting until my back is against the headboard and I can look him evenly in the eye. “I don’t know what alternate universe you’re living in, but I am sick. And you are in my apartment uninvited. Just because we went on a single date doesn’t mean you own me now.”

“What’s wrong with you? Of course I don’t own you. You’re really fucked in the head, you know that?”

“Why are you here?” I insist.

“Because you’re sick, and you’re stubborn. It has nothing to do with the fact that I like you and want to kiss your ass both literally and figuratively. Now, movie or TV?”

“I’m not gonna fuck you today, you know. I’m not even gonna touch you.”

“There is literally snot dripping out of your nose.”

“Ew!” I wipe it away on my sleeve. “Ugh! I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Well I already have,” he says. “So, given that, and given that I would really like to stay, are you still gonna kick me out or are you gonna pick TV or movie?”

I slither down until the blanket is up to my chin. “Movie.”

He’s not a sore winner about it, and I’m grateful. “Genre?” he asks.

“Horror.”

“Horror?”

“Unless you want to watch something really ephemeral that I can pretend to like next time I’m talking to artsy assholes.”

“You really like horror movies?”

My arm is pressed to his thigh for lack of space. He feels warm and solid, and it’s a comfort against my better judgement. “Love them. They’re so camp, and they make you feel something. Slashers and exorcisms are the best, but I won’t say no to zombies or witches either.”

“I’m seeing one called The Conjuring…”

“Oh, yes, that’s perfect.” My eyes are already closed, cheek pressing softly into the silk pillowcase.