Drop Everything Now

by Thomas, Alessandra

  “Really. Until I knew you were okay with…everything…well, let’s just say I spent a lot more time in my shower than I ever have before.”

  I stifled a giggle, a thrill of power running through me. I had no idea I’d had that much effect on him.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Get that sexy ass out of here. I know you have homework to do.”

  My face fell. “Yeah, I really do. I’m already a week behind on this project for Child Social Development. But first, I’m gonna get you set up. What can I bring you?”

  “Just my phone? And another bag of peas?”

  I made a concerted effort at a sympathetic face before scooting carefully off the bed and rummaging through the freezer. “Okay, I have Brussels sprouts and corn. Corn?”

  He nodded, and I made quick work of wrapping it in a towel before bringing it to him.

  “I should probably go to the bathroom first,” he grunted as he moved slowly off the bed and started hobbling toward the door.

  I found my shoes and stepped into them, glancing in the microwave door to try to fix my hair as best I could before he got back out of the bathroom. I listened carefully as I did and could’ve sworn I heard a whimper just before the toilet flushed. More grunts as he eased back into bed.

  Now my worry was in full gear. “You need to go see a doctor,” I said as I helped him press the frozen packet of corn to his crotch again.

  “Don’t get too close there, Andi,” he said.

  “I’m serious,” I said.

  “No insurance,” he shrugged. “But Kat’s brother is a doctor and sees us sometimes if we really need it. It was part of the agreement. She called him, and he said he’s seen it before, that it just needs rest. Of course she was pissed—I’m missing a week at the show at least—but what could she do?”

  “Okay,” I said, walking toward the door. “I’m gonna get a video call done and finish a paper, and I’ll be back here to make lunch. Don’t move unless you absolutely have to. Text me if you need anything.”

  He didn’t say a word as I left, but the look on his face said it all. He needed me, and he was damn happy I was here.

  Maybe this was like my drug—being the one to come to the rescue.

  I called Carol, asking about her visit to Mom that morning.

  “Didn’t get in this morning, babe, but last night she told me she was doing great. Not to worry about it.”

  “Really? What was she doing? Did she look well?”

  “Looked great. Did five laps around the house.”

  Laps were important for Mom’s ease of movement after surgery, not to mention her mood. The endorphins from that exercise mixed with the outdoor sun were intended to stave off depression. I’d seen it work for pediatric cancer patients in real time, so I had really pushed it for Mom. I smiled at the idea that she was taking me seriously.

  “She and Mike were watching Jeopardy,” Carol added.

  “What? Really?” Challenging each other at Jeopardy was one of the things Mom and Mike had done after she’d worked on a study that showed middle-aged people who did purposeful brain-teaser activity for half an hour a day had greater longevity and a lower risk of developing Alzheimer’s. My throat swelled up as I remembered her explaining, “I’m fifty-three, and I just found Mike. I want as many years with him as I can get.”

  I wanted that. I wanted someone I didn’t have to take care of and who didn’t have to take care of me, who I just wanted to spend time with. I’d been happy for Mom that she found Mike, but I hated to admit I’d felt like I’d lost a part of her.

  Maybe that was why we’d become so close when they’d started dating. Mom had chalked it up to me being far away, of course, and not fitting in with any sorority or club, but that didn’t happen until I found child life as a career goal in my junior year. Still, Mom had known I needed to feel more assured of our relationship than ever before. She’d made sure that phone call happened every day, that she knew everything about my life, that I knew she’d always be there to support me through college drama and stress.

  Now that Mom wasn’t taking care of me anymore, I was trying to fill the void by taking care of her, but maybe I really needed to be taking care of myself.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll stop by tonight and make sure she’s good.”

  I flew through the work for my paper, and I was actually pretty proud of the results. It was like a small voice in my head was telling me that I could actually do this thing, could actually figure out how to finish college before that fellowship started. It was the same during the video call with my mentor at the hospital, Laura.

  “You look happy,” she remarked. “You were looking tired before. Mom doing better?”

  “No, she’s not. I mean, I don’t know. She’s home from the hospital.”

  “Oh, that’s great news! Do you think you’ll be home soon?”

  “Home? Me? No, no. She still doesn’t remember anyone but me really. She still needs me here.”

  “But she agreed to go home, right? That must mean something about her stability, especially her relationship with her husband.”

  “Well, yeah, it means she was better enough to go home. And that her insurance was running out.”

  “She works for a hospital, Andi. Their coverage would be good enough that if she was too emotionally stressed to go home, they’d keep her there on those grounds. Trust me. I’ve seen it in a dozen different ways.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.” Still, when Laura said it, it was the first time I’d really thought of it. She kind of had a point.

  “Just promise you’ll keep me posted.”

  “I will. Thanks for the call today,” I said, giving her a grateful smile.

  “Of course,” she said. “And, Andrea?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Just promise me you’ll keep an open mind.”

  I nodded. “I will. Thanks.”

  I wanted to do as Laura asked—I really did. My head was telling me it was time to pack up and leave Vegas, that if Mom was well enough to be home, then she didn’t really need me anymore. But my heart was telling me something completely different, and I didn’t want to analyze what that was too closely. Instead, I threw myself into more papers and take-home quizzes until my brain left worrying mode and entered homework-obsession mode—a comfortable, if numb, place.

  A few hours later, the growl that ripped through my stomach made me realize I was lightheaded and weak from not having eaten all day. My brain jumped to Bryan. If I was this hungry, he must be starving.

  When I let myself into his apartment, he was in a pretty sad state, half-slumped over on the bed, his makeshift ice pack fallen on the floor. Combined with the fact that he was used to sleeping days after late shifts at the Kitten, the recovery must have been taking a whole hell of a lot out of him.

  The least I could do was make him some lunch. I rummaged through his cabinets, and the second one I opened was full of food—well, if you could call those bright blue boxes of mac and cheese we’d all grown up with “food.” Still, I was ravenous and couldn’t be too picky, so I started some water boiling and found some milk and butter spread in his fridge. A few minutes later, I was mixing that gross orange powder into the noodles and experiencing a serious nostalgic flashback: Mom and me, too exhausted and poor to make anything else, mixing up a big batch of it and serving it on paper plates with a CD of violin music playing and floating tea lights flickering on the card table between us. I’d pretended mine was filet mignon and she’d said hers was crab linguine, and I promised her that one day I’d be rich enough to pay for the real thing.

  “This is the real thing, Andi,” she’d said, winking at me. “There’s nothing more real than the fact that I love you no matter what.”

  Well, damn, that memory had me all choked up. I’d have to make it over there this afternoo
n for sure.

  I dumped a big portion of oily orange noodles into a couple of bowls and gently scooted onto the bed next to Bryan, sitting cross-legged and setting down the steaming lunch.

  A week ago, if I’d wanted to wake him up, I would’ve whispered in his ear or, even better, stuck my hand down his pants. But I knew no matter how much I loved spending time with him, I did not want to see the state of his manhood right now—and that if I so much as breathed on him the wrong way, he’d get a stiff one and be in ridiculous pain. So I just reached over, took his hand, and intertwined my fingers with his.

  “Bryan,” I murmured. “Hey, I’m back. I made lunch.”

  He roused with a sharp breath of air and the most adorable “mmm” I’d ever heard. Suddenly, I had the overwhelming urge to just curl into his body and feel his warmth against me for the rest of the day.

  But I also really, really wanted him to eat lunch, and I knew Mom needed to see me again. She was sure to be confused about something in the house, and she’d need me there to feel safer, more assured. There was caretaker-Andi again.

  He shifted, trying to turn toward me, but stopped a second later, wincing and grunting.

  “Oh, babe.” I cooed, stroking his arm. “Not feeling any better, huh?”

  He opened his eyes and stared sleepily into mine. For the first time, I was really struck by how gorgeous they were—that deep olive green that showed warmth and passion and emotion so transparently when they looked into mine. “No, actually, I am. I am. Last night was pretty brutal. It was, like, throbbing.”

  “While you were sleeping?”

  He shrugged like it was no big deal. “I was probably awake half the night, actually, but you were so sound asleep that I kind of just stayed.”

  “Shit,” I said, leaning forward and handing him his bowl. “You should have woken me up, too.”

  He shoveled a forkful of mac and cheese into his mouth and shrugged. “No point,” he said once he’d swallowed. “You can’t take care of everyone all the time.”

  Before I could respond, he let his head fall back on the wall and groaned.

  “What? Are you hurting again?”

  Bryan laughed. “Geez, you’re jumpy. No, I just love this shit.”

  “Obviously. You’re like twenty boxes deep in it in your pantry.”

  “No, no. I never eat the stuff. But every time I get to the grocery store, I can’t help myself. My mom used to make it for us.”

  “You’re shitting me,” I laughed. “Mine, too!”

  “Yeah, we were too broke after my dad left to buy much else, so she’d put something new in it every night, you know? Tuna or peas or hot dogs. Just to bulk it up, make us think it was something different. I always knew, but I never said anything. It was one of the stupid games Chris and I used to play, betting what she’d throw in there. Loser had to do the dishes.”

  I told him my mac and cheese story, and he smiled as he ate. “It’s nice that we’re finally living a little better. Don’t you think?”

  I laughed. “If you call this better.” His face fell, and instantly I knew how he had heard that. I stumbled to explain, to take away that look in his eyes. “I mean, I hadn’t really planned on this for my life, you know? Dr. Sullivan says she thinks she can get me back on track right on time for my fellowship, but I don’t believe her.”

  Bryan chewed silently, probably longer than he needed to. “What do you mean? You can’t go back yet?”

  “I don’t know. Mom’s home, but I don’t think she’s ready for me to go.”

  “She’s not ready for you to go, or you’re not ready to leave her?”

  There it was. The question that had been hanging in the air all around me, that had been whispering to me from my heart ever since they released Mom from the hospital. Did she really need me?

  “I don’t know. I just don’t feel right leaving her yet.” That answer was a cop-out, and I knew it. Still, it was the only one I felt brave enough to give. Today, at least.

  Bryan held my gaze for a long moment, like he was deciding whether I most needed him to challenge me or support me. “I have to admit, I’m kind of glad. I’m not ready for you to go either.”

  A smile crept over my face, and I scooted around to face him. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah, of course. Life has been different since you’ve been here, Andi. I like myself better when you’re around. Do you know what I did with my free time before I met you?”

  I really hadn’t ever thought about it, even though he told me he hadn’t been screwing random girls, and I believed that. “No,” I said softly. My belly quivered in anticipation of his answer.

  “I went to work. I came home. I slept. I took a continuing real estate license course here or there. I dealt with Chris every few months. I talked to my mom on the phone sometimes, but she lives, like, thirty minutes north and is always busy with work, so I never saw her too often. Sometimes Cara and Rob dragged me out with them, but they always ended up practically fucking on the table and I felt stupid. My life was shit before you got here is what I’m saying.”

  “Well, then,” I said, trying to start my lungs breathing again. “I’m glad I’m here. If only for that reason. I mean, if you really hate working at the Kitten, if you have that real estate certification, why don’t you use it?”

  He shrugged. “Simple. No money in it.”

  “The market here is that bad, huh? Because I know back in Philly, the housing market was just starting to get better again. Lots of my friends went into realty and were doing pretty well.” Unlike every other time I’d said something that signified attraction or commitment, this one was fully intentional. The realization that I wanted him with me, even when I left Vegas, had hit me like a ton of bricks. I actually wanted it more than anything, more than I’d wanted almost anything else in my life.

  Now he was smiling, looking at me with wonderment. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged. “Why not? What are you doing here?”

  He sighed and stared into his empty bowl. “Chris,” he said simply.

  I wanted to tell him to ditch Chris and not to worry about his mom because she could handle herself, but I knew I would gut-punch anyone who said the same thing to me. It was none of my damn business, no matter how much I wanted him in my life for good.

  I blew out a long breath. “Well, why don’t you show me what you were really doing with all your free time before you met me?”

  He laughed. “What do you mean?”

  “Well,” I said, “no guy spends all his time working and sleeping. So it had to be either Internet porn or something more noble.”

  “Hmm,” he said, mock-stroking his chin. “I have to think about this. Will you see me as less of a guy if there wasn’t a little bit of Internet porn?”

  I laughed. “There had to be a little bit. With the bedroom moves you’ve got, that’s a given.”

  “What’s it gonna take to stop you talking like that? Because it’s making me crazy,” he said. The grind to his voice told me exactly how crazy I was making him, and while I liked it, I didn’t want to hurt him.

  “You have to tell me. The truth.”

  “Fine,” he said, leaning in and speaking in a whisper. “Two things: video games and books.”

  I sat back and cocked my head, nodding appreciatively. “The books I could have guessed. The video games are a pleasant surprise.”

  “Seriously? And seriously?”

  “Yes. You’re smart. You read the classics, right?”

  “Yeah,” he said, grinning. “Well, sort of. Dickens and then some H.G. Wells and George Orwell.”

  “Nice. And games. What do you have? And where do you have them?”

  “All in the cabinet underneath the TV,” he said, shaking his head with a smile. “Please, Andi Herrera, don’t tell me you play.”

 
“I do.” The truth was I’d been a gamer geek in high school. I’d been a total introvert, and playing the same game over and over because we hadn’t been able to afford another one had made me an expert.

  I’d carried that appreciation for gamer guys into college. The only problem with guys who played video games in college was that they tended to be lazy, gross douchebags who seemed to only play video games.

  I rummaged through the cabinet. “You know,” I said, “I don’t have much here to begin with, so you don’t know how big of a slob I am. But back home, my stuff is everywhere. I have like four games I play all the time: Halo, Mass Effect, Call of Duty, Assassin’s Creed. I’ve played them so many times it’s like my stress relief. I like the predictable. I like patterns. I like knowing what’s going to come next. But I’m also good at it,” I said, pulling out the controllers and tossing him one, “and that’s why I’m going to kick your ass.”

  He laughed, starting to punch the buttons. “Oh, is that right?”

  “That’s right,” I said.

  I cleaned up our plates and bowls without a word. “I have a few hours before Mom’s done with therapy,” I said. “Bring it on.”

  For the next ten minutes, we fell into a pattern of trash talk so comfortable that I wondered how we hadn’t spent more time together not having sex. Even I had to admit how ridiculous that was. Our schedules clashed so often, and in the few hours a week we had been able to grab together, we’d been so desperate to get into each other’s pants that there really was no other option.

  “This is nice,” I said.

  “Yeah, nice how I just totally toasted your ass,” Bryan said, throwing down his controller and tossing both arms up into the air. It must have been the look on my face that made him realize how serious I was. “You mean, just hanging out?”

  I nodded.

  “It really is,” he agreed.

  We played quietly for a few more minutes before the game was done. “Wanna switch?” I asked, and he nodded.

  “You said that you played games back home,” he said.

  “Yeah?” I said, sliding a new disc into the player.