Page 11 of Hating the Boss

“I don’t want bagels.” She lowered herself back into her wheelchair and shifted a bit to get comfortable. “I want macaroni and cheese.”

“Are you five?” I asked with a laugh.

“Five and a half,” she said with a hint of a smile.

I shook my head at her as I grabbed a strainer from a nearby cabinet. As I carefully poured the noodles into the strainer in the sink, steam rising at my face, there was a knock at the door. Before I could walk over, Jessica was already wheeling herself over. I figured I’d let her have this one, and continued mixing together the powdered cheese and milk and butter.

“Hey,” said Brittany’s familiar sing-song voice from the doorway.

I looked over my shoulder, continuing to stir the pasta. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to celebrate!” she said, holding up a bottle of red wine and a pink box tied with a bow. Her black hair was pulled into a sleek ponytail, and she wore a structured pale-yellow dress that brought out her tan. She must have just gotten off her shift at the boutique she worked at.

She bent down and gave Jessica a kiss on the cheek, placing the pink box in her lap.

“Lemon bars for you.”

“My favorite!” exclaimed Jessica, eagerly tearing into the box. I watched from the kitchen with a smile, remembering how her lack of appetite during her treatment terrified me. Not now, though. She let out a “mmmm” as she bit into the tart, yellow square, powdered sugar coating her upper lip.

“And wine for you!” said Brittany, walking toward me with a bounce in her step.

“You don’t even know if I got the job!” I laughed, pulling her in for a hug.

“Well, it could be a celebration bottle or one to wash away a bad interview,” she said, walking toward the upper cabinet by the fridge. She opened the white wooden doors and pulled out two wine glasses.

Jessica groaned as she wheeled herself back to the kitchen.

“Soon enough,” I said with a reassuring nod.

Alcohol was off limits for her during this stage of recovery.

“At least I have my lemon bars,” she said. “And I don’t plan on sharing.”

With that, she wheeled herself into the living room and pulled herself onto the couch. I winced slightly, watching her struggle. I hated seeing her like this. My sister had become adept at using her upper body for mostly everything and the decrease in muscle mass in her legs was evident. However, I felt a twinge of optimism seeing her push her limits and challenge herself. In her position, I wasn’t sure I would be able to show the same grit and determination. “She’s got it,” said Brittany softly, touching my arm and breaking my stare.

I nodded, feeling the tears prick at the back of my eyes. I blinked them away.She won’t get stronger if she doesn’t try, I reminded myself.

The glug of wine being poured sounded in my ears as Brittany filled our glasses with a generous helping. I served up three bowls of mac and cheese and we carried our early dinner over to the living room where we sat around the coffee table.

“Sooo?” asked Brittany curiously as she took a bite of her cheesy pasta. “How did it go? Did you recover from the coffee fiasco?”

“What coffee fiasco?” asked Jessica curiously.

I realized I still had the dress on, and unbuttoned the blazer to show her the damage.

“Oh, my gosh!” she exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth as she tried to stifle a giggle. “You are a hot mess.”

“Tell me about it,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “You’ll never guess whose coffee this is…”

“Whose?” asked Brittany.

“Brad Ashcroft. The CEO of Stellar Industries. Who is extremely hot, by the way.”

“Shut up!” she said, swatting my arm.

“He didn’t walk away unscathed either. He was actually pretty pissed about it.”

“You always were the clumsy one,” said Jessica with a smirk.