by Sara Mack
“Thank you!” she says enthusiastically, her southern accent growing thicker in her excitement. She turns to pick up the television remote and hands it to James. “Show me how this works,” she drawls.
James laughs. “When were you born again?”
“1950. Now show me how it works.”
Meg and James move opposite me, to stand directly in front of the television. James launches into his remote tutorial. “Now this particular set is old, but…”
I close my eyes and try to block them out. It would be amazing if I could fall asleep instantaneously. I consider moving to my bedroom, but then decide against it. This is my place, damn it, and if I want to be sick on my couch I will.
Eventually, I fade into a restless sleep. I’m brought back to consciousness a few times, by a word or a laugh, the loud sound followed by shushing. When the volume returns to a whisper, I fall back to sleep only to be woken again. By the fifth time, I’m over it. It’s maddening.
“Guys!” My eyes snap open and I prop myself up. I find James seated at the opposite end of the couch with Meg leaning against the arm rest, her hand casually resting against his arm. My eyes narrow and I wish I had the energy to get up and knock it away. “I. Can’t. Sleep.” I enunciate each word.
Meg pulls her hand back and stands. “She’s right.” She looks at James with remorse. “We’re not being very polite.”
“You think?” I snap.
She looks at me. “I’m sorry, Emma.”
“I’m sorry, too,” James says, his eyes registering my feelings. He’s knows I’m upset.
I’ve really had enough of both of them, which I hate to say because I treasure all of my time with James. But seriously? “Why don’t you two just go,” I say and pound my pillow, fluffing it. “Check on me later. Garrett should be back any time with the Gatorade.” I flop back down.
James gets up and stands over me. “You really want me to go?”
“Yes. Please.” I close my eyes in reaction to what I’ve said and then open them again. “You know what I mean. I’m just getting more and more irritated the worse I feel. Please, just go for now. Check on me tomorrow; I’m sure I’ll feel better by morning.”
James hesitates. “You’re sure?”
“No,” Meg steps in. “I’ll go. You stay.”
“Ugh!” I pick up the pillow and put it over my head to block them out. Why don’t we stand around and argue about it? That will solve everything!
“I’ll see y’all later,” I hear Meg say, her voice muffled by the pillowcase. I wait a moment and then pull my head out from under the fabric. James is looking at me, pained. I sigh. “What?”
“You haven’t been this angry in a while.”
“I feel like crap.”
He kneels down, so his eyes are level with mine. “I know. I’ll stay.”
Really, I just want to sleep. I look at him sincerely. “No. Go do something productive with your time. I’ll be fine. You’ll know if I need you, right?”
He nods and then gives in. “I guess I should be seen, seeing as how Jack was all bent out of shape.”
I pick my head up and lean forward, giving him a soft kiss on the forehead. “That’s a good Guardian.”
He smirks.
I lay my head down. “Promise me I’ll see you tomorrow,” I say as I close my eyes.
“I promise,” he says and gives me a quick kiss goodbye.
Incessant ringing wakes me. When I open my eyes, I know I’ve been asleep for a while because it is pitch black in my apartment; no light shines through the windows. My cell is lit up on the table, going off like crazy. I lazily scoot to the edge of the couch and reach for it, squinting when I read the screen. It’s after nine o’clock and Shel is calling.
“Hello?” I answer, my voice rough.
“Em?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong with your voice?”
I rub my eye with the heel of my hand. “I caught some sort of flu bug. I feel like road kill.”
“Aw. I’m sorry; I won’t keep you. I just wanted to let you know that Dane’s birthday is this Saturday, the sixth, and he’s invited Matt and me to a party.”
Fantastic, I think sarcastically. What do I care?
“You’re invited too, but I didn’t think you would come and neither did Dane, really. I wanted to let you know in case…”
Her rambling becomes incoherent to me. Hell would have to freeze over before I would go to Dane’s birthday party. Has he lost his mind?
“Em?”
“Hmm?”
“Will you be mad?”
“Mad about what?”
“I just asked you if you would be mad if I went and you didn’t say anything.”
I let out an exasperated sigh. “No, Shel. I don’t care if you go to Dane’s party.”
She sounds relieved. “Okay. I really don’t want to go but Matt’s going, and I have no other choice if I want to see him this weekend.”
Yeah, yeah, I think to myself.
“Plus,” Shel’s voice gets quiet, “I can do a little recon.”
As much as I hate to admit it, I am curious about little Ms. Teagan Meyer. “You have fun with that,” I say. I didn’t tell her to find out anything…but I didn’t tell her not to either.
“I’ll let you go, so you can relax,” Shel says sympathetically. “I hope you feel better soon.”
“Me, too. Talk to you later.”
“’Kay. Bye.”
I end the call and toss the phone aside. Yawning and stretching, I look around in the darkness. I eye the door and wonder where Garrett is with the Gatorade. I pull myself off the couch and shuffle my way to use the restroom. What a waste of a day.
Once in the bathroom, I decide to take a shower because my skin feels sticky. Maybe I can wash away this sickness. I stand under the warm water, allowing it to beat against my neck, shoulders, and back. It feels comforting. When my skin is sufficiently pruny, I get out and change into a fresh t-shirt and sleep shorts, deciding to spend the rest of the night in my bed. The sheets feel cool against my warm skin, and I snuggle into them, allowing my mind to fade and drift. You would think there would be no more sleep to be had, but I slip into unconsciousness again. This time is different though, as my mind weaves a dream out of the day’s events.
“You look beautiful.”
The skin of my exposed neck tingles as I hear Dane’s voice behind me. I turn and feel something brush against me, low on my legs, and look down to see I’m wearing a floor-length coral gown. Its strapless, with an empire waist, and it’s covered with a flowered lace overlay. Delicate rose appliqués of the same coral color are scattered over the bodice and throughout the full skirt. I place my hands on my hips and swing from side to side for a moment. The soft chiffon moves with me, back and forth, mimicking the motion of a bell. I’ve never worn anything so elegant.
I lift my eyes to find Dane walking toward me. He wears a black tuxedo vest over a white dress shirt, which is tucked meticulously into a pair of black pants. The collar of his shirt and the next few buttons are undone, and he carries a black necktie in one hand and his tuxedo jacket in the other. “Can you help me with this?” he asks, grinning.
I smile as he approaches me, and I reach out toward him. When he’s within arm’s length, I set my hands against his shirt and scrutinize the small clear buttons. No wonder he’s having a hard time. I fasten the first, the second, and the third, making my way up his chest. When I reach his collar, the shirt is tight around his neck, and I have to wrestle with it a bit. I press my body against his as I concentrate on pushing the button through the fabric without choking him. He sets his hands on my waist to steady me, still clutching the tie and his jacket, and my heart begins to pound. Even with the added items between us, I still feel like he’s touching my bare skin.
When I get the button fastened and lean back, he releases me and hooks one finger over his collar, trying to stretch and loosen it. He hands me the tie, and I loop it a
round his neck, tying it into a Windsor knot. “Thank you for doing this,” he says as I diligently work.
I smile into his chest. I don’t know when I learned to tie a necktie, but I appear to be very good at it. I tighten the knot under his collar and then smooth the tie, tucking it into his vest. I step back to admire my work and to admire…well, him. His dark brown hair is perfectly styled to look carefree, his jawline hints of a five o’clock shadow, and his hazel eyes soften as they gaze at me.
He swings the jacket around his shoulders and shrugs it on, fastening the one button at the waist. The jacket fits him perfectly, like it was made specifically for him, cut to accentuate his broad shoulders and narrow waist. He turns to his right to check his attire in a floor-length mirror and make any necessary adjustments. “Teagan doesn’t have many friends,” he says to my reflection. “It means so much to us that you agreed to be a bridesmaid.”
Over his shoulder, I catch my surprised reaction in the mirror and quickly adjust my features. I look down to avoid his eyes and find there is a boutonniere in my hand. A single coral rose and off-white calla lily are wound with ribbon. “Do you mind?” he says, appearing in front of me.
I look up and force a tiny smile, pulling the stickpin from the boutonniere and placing the flowers against his lapel. I work the pin through the fabric and the ribbon, securing it in place. I continue to look at the flowers as I step away from him, afraid to meet his eyes because tears linger behind mine.
“Em,” he says my name gently, stepping forward. He places his fingers beneath my chin to lift my gaze; his fingers are hot against my skin. He searches my face and then moves his hand to touch a tendril of hair that has fallen from of my messy chignon. He starts to lean in to me and I close my eyes, expecting a kiss. Instead he whispers in my ear, “You had your chance.”
I quickly turn away, so he won’t see the tears that fall down my face. I keep my eyes closed for few brief seconds and when I open them, I find myself standing in a large church, at the altar, in line with two other girls dressed identical to me. Looking out over the congregation, I see the pews are packed shoulder to shoulder with guests. My hands clench from nervousness, and I feel a sharp pinch against my ring finger. I pull my hand away and look down, realizing I’ve cut myself on a thorn from one of the roses in my bouquet.
The minister’s voice booms, redirecting my attention. “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride!”
My eyes fall on Dane as he and his new wife turn to face one another. I take in the sight of her back; she is overflowing in tulle, the train of her dress spilling down the steps of the altar to the floor. The same rose appliqués that are on my dress dot hers, only in white, and her shiny brown hair is artfully swept around a sparkling tiara that sits on the crown of her head. Dane leans forward and kisses her romantically, swinging her to the side and dipping her low. The entire church erupts in thunderous applause.
“Don’t you just want to cry?” I hear Shel ask from beside me. I snap my head to the left, shocked to see her standing next to me in the same coral gown. She wears a beaming smile and tears of happiness roll down her cheeks.
I turn my attention to the bride and groom just in time to see Dane release her from their kiss. She rights herself, and I can see her shoulders shaking with laughter. She twists her body to grab her flowers from the first bridesmaid in line and catches my eye. I inhale sharply when I see her face. It’s not Teagan. It’s Meg.
My knees crumple beneath me, and I catch myself on the altar step, crushing my bouquet in the process. The wedding guests continue their rousing applause as Meg grasps Dane’s hand and leads him down the stairs. They pause as a photographer jumps into the aisle to take their picture. When he moves out of the way, Meg glances over her shoulder and meets my wide-eyed stare. She is several feet away from me, but I still hear her loud and clear. “Oh hun,” she says with a sickly sweet smile, “don’t get up on account of me.”
The guests continue to applaud the happy couple and it roars in my ears. As they descend the aisle, I hold my head in my hands. I can sense the people leaving the church to follow the newlyweds. Slowly the clapping dies down until one lone person is left, their applause bouncing off the hollow church walls. I raise my head to find James, alone in the front pew, bringing his hands together methodically as if clapping with sarcasm. He stares at me with disdain and it breaks my heart.
My eyes fly open and I spring up, breathing heavily. I look around my bedroom, trying to focus, and hear a frantic banging at the front door. Startled by the noise and my dream, I untangle myself from the sheets and scramble out of bed as fast as I can. When I head through the living room, I flip the light switch, and then throw open the door. I catch Garrett mid-knock, and he almost loses his balance.
“Emma! Good grief! I was so worried.”
The light hurts my eyes and I blink rapidly. I glance at his arms and he’s carrying two large bottles of red Gatorade. I step away from the door, so he can come inside.
“I stopped by twice tonight,” he says, walking forward. “If you didn’t answer this time I was calling an ambulance.”
I give him a tired smile. “I was sleeping.”
He takes the initiative and walks through my apartment and into the kitchen. I follow as he places the plastic bottles inside the refrigerator door. “You know, I had no idea what Gatorade even was,” he says. He shuts the fridge. “From the looks of the label it can’t be any better than my chicken noodle soup.” He pauses. “How are you feeling?”
I shrug and remain mute. I have no words for today.
“Have you been crying?” he asks, moving toward me.
I feel my cheeks. They’re tacky. “I had a bad dream,” I say quietly.
“Come here,” he says and moves past me, grabbing my hand as he does. I follow along lamely, too drained to care.
He leads me to my bedroom and then stands aside, gesturing toward the bed. I crawl in and pull the sheet over my body, pressing my head against the pillow. He leans over me. “Do you trust me?”
I nod. Of course I do.
He places his hands on my head again, like he did before on the first day of classes. “I know this isn’t reiki,” I mumble.
“Really?” he smirks at me. “Close your eyes.”
I do as I’m told. A very tiny, very brief wave of cool air flows through my body from my head to my toes, relaxing me instantly.
“Go to sleep,” Garrett says. “Dream no more.”
Chapter 12
“Well, when are you coming home to visit?”
I stir my chicken noodle soup around the bowl with my spoon. I should head home for a weekend soon. I miss my family. “I’m not sure. When do you want me?”
“Before Thanksgiving,” my mother says, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wait.” I hear papers being shuffled in the background. “The community center is having their Halloween party for the kids in two weeks. I’ve been roped into helping again this year.”
I roll my eyes. My mother is never roped into anything. She just can’t say no.
“We need volunteers; it’s a Wizard of Oz theme. What do you say?”
Hanging out with a bunch of cute little kids and my mom? I think I can swing that. “Sure. Put me down.”
“Great! Now who do you want to be?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who do you want to be? All the volunteers are dressing up. Pick a character.”
“I have to dress up?” I make a face. I don’t own anything Wizard of Ozish. “What are my choices? Who are you going to be?”
My mom laughs. “Auntie Em.”
Aw. That’s fitting, although I kind of think I should be Em since I’m, well, Em.
“You don’t have to decide now,” my mom says. “Actually, let me get with Sophia and look at the sign-up sheet. I’ll let you know what’s left. A local theater group is supplying the costumes.”
“That’s cool,” I say and take a sip off my spoon. The soup is st
arting to get cold. “Hey, can I call you back later? My dinner is getting cold.”
“Of course,” she says. “I’m glad to hear you’re feeling better and eating.”
I smile into the phone. My mom always wants to make sure I’m eating. “I’m almost one hundred percent.”
It’s been four days since the onset of the craptastic flu. By the second day, I caved and called my mom whining about my sickness. She directed me to bed, the use of cold compresses, flat Coke to settle my stomach, and the consumption of clear fluids and Jell-O. I recruited Garrett’s help by asking him to pick up some items from the store. He did so and more. He made me a pot of his homemade chicken noodle soup, and he’s been camped on my couch since Thursday night to make sure I’m okay. It’s now Saturday, and he still sits in my living room, flipping the channels between baseball games.
“I’ll talk to you soon. Love you,” my mom says.
“Love you, too,” I say and hang up. I carefully lift the soup bowl and carry it into the living room from the kitchen, setting it down on the coffee table.
“Was that your mom?” Garrett asks.
I nod as I sit cross-legged on the floor so I’m level with the table. “Yes. I have to pick a character from the Wizard of Oz to dress up as for a Halloween party. Who should I be?”
He tilts his head and smiles. “I was fifteen when that movie came out and so in love with Judy Garland.”
I laugh then try to look serious. “I’m shocked. What would Amelia say?”
He grins. “How’s that saying go? What you don’t know can’t hurt you?”
I smile as I chew. The soup is really good. “You know, you should open a restaurant when you’re human. I know I’ve only tried the two soups, but I can’t imagine anything you make would be bad.”
“Thanks,” he says and leans forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “I’ve actually considered it.” He looks at the television for a few moments and then back at me. “I’m going to have to get a job eventually, right?”
“Aren’t we all?” I say and swallow another spoonful. Suddenly, I remember that I need to pay Garrett for the things he’s picked up for me. “How much money do I owe you?” I gesture with my spoon toward the soup.