“I would really like that. Now you go so you don’t miss your flight. I’m not going to kiss you goodbye because I don’t want to spread germs. Call me later.” I grab my bag of juice and soup and go inside.
I try to remember the last time Michael and I had a vacation together. It must be about four years—give or take a year. We used to go away for long weekends together to the beach, but when he was promoted, he became so wrapped up in work, and he could never really commit to taking an entire weekend away from work. I don’t even think that was a conscious decision on his part at all. It just kind of happened that way. He slowly took on more and more work, started to travel more to visit clients, and when he did have some free time on the weekends, he wanted to use the time to relax by golfing with his friends or just watching the game on television. Which is totally fine, of course, but I would be a liar if I said it didn’t bother me that we didn’t spend a whole lot of time together anymore.
Amy and I used to spend a lot of time on the weekends together, but since she broke up with her boyfriend of five years a few months ago, she is now on a dating frenzy every weekend. I would need a matrix right now to try to keep track of all the different men she is currently juggle-dating. Unfortunately, most of them turn out to be total jerks after the third date, or at least that’s what she keeps saying. She hasn’t let me meet any of them yet, so I can’t do my own evaluation.
I drag out a big comfy blanket and pillow from the closet, throw on a tank top and yoga pants, and get all comfy on the couch. I always feel weird sleeping upstairs when Michael is away. I guess in a way I’m afraid to be alone, and I feel safer downstairs. Which is ridiculous, I suppose, as living in a condo there are people pretty much right through the walls on both sides of us.
My cell phone buzzing next to me wakes me up. I grope around and find it falling behind the couch cushion. It must be Michael calling to tell me he’s at the hotel.
“Hello?” My voice comes out mostly in a ragged squeak.
“Evie? What the fuck is wrong with your voice?”
My heart jumps a little. It’s Storm. I take a breath and tell my heart to calm the hell down.
“I’m sick. Why are you calling me?”
“Sick how? You sound like pure shit.”
“Thanks. I went to the doctor. I have the flu and dehydration and exhaustion or something.”
“Holy shit, from the weekend?”
I take a sip of water to try to ease the pain in my throat. “Yes, I guess that started it.”
Admittedly, I purposely didn’t drink a lot while in the truck because I was afraid of having to pee too much and having to make Storm carry me outside to go to the bathroom like a weird dog. I thought by just drinking a little bit, I would be totally fine. Guess not.
“Are you okay? You don’t sound too hot. You sound pretty wasted, actually.”
“I’m fine, Storm. I just have to rest and the doctor gave me some pills to take. I have to stay home until next Wednesday. My boss is throwing a total fit.”
“Fuck that douche.”
“It’s my job, Storm. I kind of need it. So why are you calling exactly?”
“Seth called and told me you never came to pick up your car. I wanted to see what was up.”
“Michael had to go out of town so he couldn’t drive me up there to pick it up. I’ll have to deal with it next week. I’m sorry, Storm. I know Seth is your friend and you guys did me a favor taking care of it. I didn’t know I was going to get sick and that Michael had to travel again.”