Man Flu

by Shari J. Ryan

  “I know,” I argue. Like a child.

  “Well, in case you’re just saying you know, but you really don’t, and I sort of have an inkling that you don’t, you might want to watch ESPN Zone on demand and search Logan’s name. Not sure how his whole situation works, but I think it’s safe to assume you don’t know Logan’s whole story, even if you think you do. Let’s just say, Logan is single and good-looking for a reason, Hannah.”

  My nausea is slowly returning, with a side of a racing pulse. Shit. What am I getting myself into?

  “I know everything, so stop interfering with my life and go get back to yours with your girlfriend who will stick by your side through sickness and in health—oh wait, scratch that first part.” I point to the door. I’ve had it. I don’t care how sick he is. He’s too much to deal with, and he is not my problem anymore.

  “Hannah, come on,” he whines. “Can’t I just have some soup first? Tiana can’t cook, and you know soup is the only thing that makes me feel better.”

  Wow. There was honestly a time when this childish whining made me feel wanted and needed. I would drive to the ends of the earth to make him feel better when he wanted to act like a man-child. Now, these sounds are like nails on a chalkboard. After the way he’s treated me throughout the last few days, he wants me to make him soup. Unbelievable.

  “Your fever must have spiked because you’re out of your goddamn mind.”

  “Mommy, don’t use God’s name in vain. It’s just soup. I can make it for him.”

  In moments like these, I experience an internal battle with myself about why didn’t I know Rick for who he truly was before I married him and had Cora. Then, the other part reminds me I wouldn’t have Cora if it weren’t for this bastard. What the hell is wrong with my bumpy-as-shit life path? It’s like the universe hiccuped when it was creating a line for me to follow.

  “Cora, go to your room, please.”

  “But Daddy said he needs me.”

  “Daddy needs to grow a pair—never mind, go upstairs right now. It’s not up for debate.”

  “Daddy needs to grow a pair—” Rick laughs. “You’re funny, Han.”

  “Get out of my house, now.”

  “Just one cup of soup?” He places his hands together and pleads silently.

  “Go call your girlfriend, from your house, and tell her you want some goddamn soup. I’m not your wife. I’m not your anything, and don’t mistake me for someone who wants to ever fill that role again.”

  For years, I couldn’t stand up for myself. I let him mentally abuse me in ways I didn’t realize. He broke me down, made me feel like nothing, and he thinks that with just a charming smile and wink of his eye, he can weasel his way back into my life when his sexy little girlfriend can’t figure out how to turn on a stove.

  “I’m sorry, Hannah,” he says, turning onto his side.

  Sorry, that’s funny. This man does not know the meaning of an apology. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Come here,” he says, waving me over.

  I know this move too. This is where he butters me up, puts his arm around me, and asks me what’s really bothering me … as if it’s not him.

  “No, get out.”

  I don’t feel a thing this time—not like last time I had to say this to him. Not like when I found him and Tiana in our bedroom while Cora was eating breakfast alone downstairs. When a business trip ends a day early, and you want to surprise your husband, call first, especially if you’re married to someone like Rick. That’s what I learned. That’s what he’s taught me—to walk on eggshells and always be cautious.

  Rick pushes himself up and tosses the covers to the side. “Okay.”

  “I can open the door to make it easier for you.” I twist my head to the side and smile. It’s very callous of me, but he deserves to know this side of Hannah.

  “You really don’t give a shit about me anymore, do you?”

  “Aw, Ricky, was this a little test? Were you just trying to see how much I still care about you? Does it help you sleep better at night? You know, knowing I’m next door weeping and wallowing over the loss of our marriage? Because—,” I touch my finger to my lips since I’m trying to stop smiling, which feels unstoppable as I get this all off my chest. “That’s not what’s happening. I’m over you. I’m over us. I don’t care if you live next door or in another country. Other than our custody arrangement, you’re dead to me.”

  “Shit, Hannah. Don’t stop there. Tell me what you really think.”

  “Oh, I’m done. That is what I think.”

  “Ouch.” He stands up from the pull-out and sighs. “I’m not going to lie and say it doesn’t hurt to hear you say that.” What is he expecting to hear from me? “Things aren’t going well with Tiana, you know.”

  “What were you expecting? You’re fifteen years older than her. She can have any man she wants, and at some point, even the biggest gold-diggers figure out it isn’t always worth it in the end.”

  There’s a possibility I said too much. There’s also a possibility I don’t care. Rick looks hurt—like the rug has been pulled out from beneath him, and I can’t care.

  I don’t care. I actually feel a small sense of relief.

  There is no part of me that should care.

  I’m stronger than this.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Saturdays were for sleeping in … but now it’s for finding a cure to the Man Flu while parenting an actual five-year-old.

  “MOMMY,” CORA WHISPERS INTO my ear. “Mommmmy. It’s pancake time.”

  “Cora, it’s time to let me sleep for a little longer,” I groan and roll onto my opposite side. “I’ll be down in a little bit. Go watch TV.”

  “I can’t. Daddy and Beefcake Batman are watching A Peen Zone.”

  That perks me up. The last thing I want is those two men conspiring against me. Not that I think Logan would do that, but Rick is so manipulative and deceitful, he could get a car salesman to buy a car for him.

  I rip the covers off and let my feet fall to the floor as my usual morning dizziness takes me with it. I have to stop popping out of bed. “Yay! Pancakes!”

  “Cora, what have Daddy and Logan been saying to each other?”

  Cora climbs onto the bed and slips into my warmed spot. “I don’t know, ball stuff.”

  “Ball stuff?”

  “Yeah, I guess baseball stuff. You know, one ball strike and you’re out?”

  “That’s not how the game goes,” I tell her as I search through my drawers for clothes.

  “It is when Logan plays.”

  “I think you’re confused,” I tell her.

  “Nope. I’m not.”

  “Okay.” I pull on a pair of pants and my Saturday’s finest white t-shirt. “Come on, let’s go.”

  Cora jumps across the bed until she flies into my arms. “I’m glad you’re up now. There’s too much boy stuff down there.”

  “You have no idea,” I tell her with a poke on her button nose. “Who let Daddy in this morning?”

  She shrugs, and I squint an eye. “It’s kind of nice having Daddy here, isn’t it?”

  No, no it’s not. “I’m glad it makes you happy,” I tell her. Who the hell let that man back in the house? It took me a full hour to shove him out the door last night with his puppy dog pout and droopy eyes. I felt like the biggest a-hole in the world, but no. I’m not going backward. It’s all just a game until he wins, then it’s back to the good old times. I’ve done this way too many times to be fooled again. Now, he’s trying to befriend a potential interest in my personal life.

  I’m imagining the two of them sitting on the couch with beers in their hand before nine in the morning, but there’s one part I’m confused about. How is it that the two of them go from sick as hell to awake before me and shooting the shit like it was a pre-planned arrangement?

  What I wasn’t prepared for was the sight in front of me, however.

  The sofa has been pulled back out into the bed formation, and the
blankets are strewn across the top with Logan and Rick tucked in tightly.

  “What is this?” I ask them.

  “We’re dying,” Logan says, sounding as if he thinks he’s telling the truth.

  I’m still staring. I can’t think of anything worthy to respond with. They’re dying. Together.

  “Why are you back here?” I ask, holding my glare on Rick. “I think I was clear about you leaving last night, and I didn’t give you an invitation to return.”

  “He’s pretty sick, Hannah. Not that he should be here, but, seeing as I know how he feels, you should cut him a little slack, maybe? This is a bad case of the flu, like it’s bad. To be honest, I’m not sure how people are making it through this without hospitalization.” Logan intervenes. I’m not the slightest bit surprised by this. Maybe I should be, but I’m not. My life is a big joke, and it obviously always will be. I just had the same goddamn flu!

  “Why are you back here, Rick?” I ask, ignoring Logan.

  “Tiana kicked me out last night, so I let myself in with the spare key that was under the doormat,” Rick says.

  “And I was up at three, sick to my stomach. Your bathroom ran out of toilet paper, so I went downstairs to find more. Rick showed me where it was, and we got to talking.”

  “How sweet,” I grunt. “Rick, you can’t stay here. Tiana’s going to need to find somewhere else to dump you.”

  “Hannah,” Logan interrupts. “Just give him a break for a few. He feels like shit—I get it.”

  I bite down on my bottom lip to stop myself from saying something I shouldn’t say with Cora around, but I can’t resist saying something. “Um, you know I had the same flu, right?”

  “It obviously wasn’t the same,” Rick says. Leave it to Rick to make that comment. It seems Logan might be smart enough not to say such a thing.

  “Of course,” I play along. “Your flu must be worse than mine was.”

  “Do you have anything bland we can eat for breakfast?” Logan asks. “I can get it.”

  “We?” Seeing them curled up in bed together, all I can think is that Logan and Rick are now dating, so that’s fun.

  “Us,” Logan says, pointing back and forth between him and Rick.

  I’m still stuck staring at the two of them, trying to figure out my next move. I pivot and leave the room, heading right for the front door. I grab my coat and step into my Uggs on the way out, then cross the lawn over to Rick’s house.

  I try the doorknob first but it’s locked, so I reach under the front mat and retrieve their spare key. Rick is the one who left the spare key to my house under the front mat. I forgot it was there. He clearly hasn’t changed his ways. Doesn’t he know it’s the first place anyone would look?

  I unlock the door and walk inside. This house is the same layout as mine, except it’s mirrored. “Tiana?” I holler on my way to their broken-family room.

  I poke my head into the kitchen, but I’m not surprised to find it empty. She can’t cook. She can only make green smoothies. I look from side to side as I near the family room, but that room is empty too. I have no issues hiking upstairs since she just walks into my house unannounced. “Tiana?”

  I open their bedroom door and peek inside, finding her sitting on the edge of her bed, painting her toenails while watching a talk show. “What are you doing?” I ask her. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

  “I did,” she responds.

  “So, you just ignored me?”

  “Yup.” There’s a snippiness to her response, so I can guess where this conversation is heading.

  “I heard you kicked Rick out?” It should be none of my business, but Rick has made it my business.

  She swivels around and faces me with her eyes jutting out from between her thick, black lashes. “He said I kicked him out?”

  “Yes.” Now, I’d like to leave and unstick myself from this situation.

  “Do you know how many times that man has called out your name during our lovemaking?” Gag. I’m going to gag. I don’t want to hear about their lovemaking or anything of that nature. Visualizing that would most likely make me want to puke again.

  But he’s called my name out while doing this pretty little hussy.

  “No, Tiana, I wouldn’t know how many times that’s happened, but I can assume it was only because we were married for quite a while. A name just gets stuck in your head sometimes.”

  “Hannah,” she says in her Cuban accent. “He doesn’t want a temporary fixture in his life. He wants his wife. He was just having a mid-wife crisis.”

  “Mid-life,” I correct her.

  “What—ever. He’s over me. I’m old news. I can’t cook or clean, and he’s sick of my smoothies. I have nothing to offer but my body.”

  Breathe. In and out. Breathe. “Well, I don’t want him back, so make it work,” I tell her, keeping my face clear of all emotions.

  “You think I haven’t tried?” she argues. “This isn’t something new.” I think this might be the most serious conversation I’ve had with this woman, and I’m starting to empathize with her, rather than hate her.

  “I’m sure you’re just going through a rough patch. All couples have them.” If someone would have told me five years ago that I’d be persuading my husband’s mistress to hang onto him, I’m not sure what my reaction would be … well, other than poisoning the shit out of him so I could watch him suffer.

  “Look, he’s needy right now. I’m trying my hand at this whole dating-after-a-divorce thing, and Rick has to get out of my house,” I tell her.

  Tiana stands up, towering over me with her five-foot-eight-ish stature. “So, this is all about you, is it?” She’s kidding. She has to be kidding.

  “Opposed to you for a change, yes,” I tell her. “You wanted him badly enough to break up a family, now do something to keep him.”

  “Dios Mio, Hannah, are you that blonde? I’m here on a work visa. I didn’t know Rick was married when he started pursuing me. He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, and he certainly didn’t mention you or Cora. How was I to know?”

  They met at work. She was teaching some yoga class during lunch to help Rick’s company gain a better work/life/health balance. I knew Rick was going to yoga, and I assumed why he was going, but I had no proof, and he kept Tiana to himself for quite a while before I found them.

  “When you found out he has a daughter, it didn’t cross your mind that he was possibly married?”

  “No!” she shouts. “He said you left them.” Unbelievable. She’s seeing everything so clearly now, and I wonder how long this has been settling in her head. Still, not my problem. She found out I didn’t leave and still stuck with Rick, so I don’t care a whole lot about her reason for staying.

  “Well, as you know now, we were, in fact, still married.”

  “Yes, I know,” she replies, casting her gaze past my face.

  “So, you’re here on a work visa, like you just said.” I repeat, knowing little about her story—just that she came over here from Cuba in search of work when the border laws were lifted.

  A nervous look flutters over her eyes. “Yes, so?”

  “Shouldn’t you be figuring out how to marry him? He’s your ticket to staying here, isn’t he?”

  “Who said I want to stay here in your country?”

  Me.

  “You’re right. I shouldn’t be insisting that you do anything beyond what is going to make you happy.” I don’t even know what I’m saying or doing anymore. All I know is, I still have to go back and deal with Rick, who is doing everything in his power to kill my chances with Logan. That is if my chances aren’t already dead.

  “Rick was making me happy, but something changed. He must have gotten bored of trying to please me,” she says. “I’m pretty sure he thinks he has a chance to win you back, and that’s what he’s trying to do.”

  I sit down next to Tiana on her bed and take her shoulders with my grip. “I told him it wasn’t happening. It’s not happening. He hurt me, and I
will never forget it. He needs to move forward, not backward.”

  “He’s jealous of that baseball player, but I don’t know why. It’s not like he’s the whole package,” she says with a tickled laugh.

  “What are you talking about?” I ask.

  “Oh.” She covers her mouth and realigns the natural bow in her lips. “Nothing.”

  “Fine, well if jealousy is the problem, I’ll just go back over there and rub it in his face.”

  “Rub what in his face?” Tiana asks, seemingly confused.

  “Logan.”

  “Can I watch?” she asks.

  “Only if you take Rick back home with you.”

  “He’s the one who left,” she reminds me.

  “Well, be the one to make him come back. I’m sure there’s some kind of trick you can use.” My eyes fall on her tight, cotton shirt. “Here.” I tug the collar down a few inches, exposing more of her voluptuous D-cups Cora is apparently enamored by.

  She looks down at her chest and grins. “That should work.” Tiana stands up with a hint of confidence and a smirk.

  I follow with hope. “Oh, one last question before we head over there?”

  She stops in the doorway and turns to face me. “Yes, Hannah, these are real. So is everything else on my body, but thank you for the compliment.”

  “What? How? I—” Cora. Why did she have to inherit my big mouth, of all things?

  “Your daughter does not have a filter and cannot keep secrets.” She wags her finger at me and continues to the stairs.

  “I’m glad we talked,” I tell her as we walk out of the house.

  “Yeah, we’ll see.” I’ve never tried to like her but depending on how today goes, we’ll see if our camaraderie will continue.

  The second I open the front door of my house, I hear Cora screaming, mixed with a variety of other noises. “What the hell is going on in here?” I run toward the family room, bewildered by the sight in front of me.

  Chapter Eighteen

  All the men are dying, and I just wanted to sleep in on this lovely day off …

  “WHAT IN THE WORLD is going on?” Logan is on all fours and Rick is hanging over the side of the bed, rubbing Logan’s bare back. No one answers me, but then Logan starts making some awful noise that sounds like a cat with a hairball.