All He Wants

by Anna Cruise

  When I didn't respond, a new message appeared.

  Why aren't you answering??

  I told you. I'm sick.

  Bullshit. What's going on?

  I'm sick. REALLY sick.

  I hesitated, then typed again.

  And I can't come. To Brazil.

  The call box lit up my screen again. I swore under my breath and stood up, moving away from the laptop. The ringing subsided but, within seconds, my cell phone started buzzing. I didn't have to look at the screen to know who was calling. I grabbed the phone and flopped back down on my bed.

  “What the hell is going on?” Stuart growled.

  My insides quivered at his tone. It reminded me of the first night I'd met him, when I'd driven up to the hotel and he'd realized I'd been drinking. He'd taken control, berated me, judged me...and I'd liked it. No guy had ever stood up to me before. No guy had ever put me in my place or questioned me and my motives. Stuart hadn't even given it a second thought. I didn't intimidate him, no matter how hard I'd tried those first few days. For the first time ever, someone else had been in control. And I'd let him.

  “I'm sick,” I repeated.

  “Are you dying?”

  “Well, no...”

  “Are you contagious?”

  “No.”

  “Then what the hell is the problem?” he asked. “Get on the plane tomorrow and get your ass down here.”

  “I can't.”

  “Why not?”

  I held the phone closer to my ear and shifted on to my side. We hadn't talked on the phone much since he'd left. It was easier—and more fun—to Skype, especially when our conversation consisted of removing clothes.

  “It's...it's complicated,” I finally said.

  “Try me.”

  I sighed. I wasn't sure I wanted to go into the gory details.

  “Annika.” His voice held a note of warning.

  “Fine.” I rubbed at the mess of spots on my arm. The cluster of red marks looked like a constellation. Actually, there were probably enough of them to form an entire galaxy. “I had an allergic reaction to the vaccines. The ones I had to get to go there.”

  “A what?”

  “A reaction.”

  “Are you okay?” His tone changed and he suddenly sounded more concerned than angry.

  “Define okay.”

  “Well, you already said you aren't going to die.”

  “Everyone dies eventually,” I told him.

  “Annika.”

  I sighed, deeper this time. “The shots made me sick, okay? I don't know which one.”

  “Sick how? Did you have to go to the emergency room?”

  “No, nothing like that.” I scratched at my leg and a scab opened. Red-tinged liquid bubbled out and I made a face. “I broke out.”

  “Broke out? Like, in hives?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” He paused for a moment. “Did you get some medicine? Cream or something?”

  “Yes. And prednisone.”

  “Okay.” He hesitated again. “So, what's the problem?”

  The problem is that I look like a total freak show, I thought. The problem is that I don't look like Annika. I look hideous and hateful and the last thing I want is for you to see me like this.

  “I just...I don't feel like traveling right now,” I said lamely.

  “Well, I don't feel like not seeing you.”

  “Trust me, you don't want to see me right now. Not like this.”

  “I don't care what you look like,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. It was an easy thing to say but I knew better. Guys liked pretty girls, period. Even Stuart. And the last thing I needed was for him to see me looking like a poster child for an infectious disease.

  “I'm serious,” he said. “You could wear a bag over your head and I wouldn't care. I just want to see you. In person.”

  “So you're saying I should wear a bag?”

  “No,” he said. “Not what I'm saying at all. I'm saying that it's been three weeks since I've seen you and I miss you.”

  A lump formed in my throat. No one had ever said those words to me. I wasn't a missable person. I didn't allow people to get close enough to miss me. But Stuart was an exception. Despite the distance, we'd managed to connect over his three week absence. Frequently. Not every hour and sometimes not even every day, but we'd stayed in touch. I didn't want to admit it but I'd missed him, too.

  “Maybe we can reschedule...”

  “No.”

  “Just by a couple of days.”

  “No,” he repeated. “You're coming, Tomorrow. End of story.”

  Irritation welled up inside of me. “You can't tell me what to do.”

  “No?” he asked, his voice tight. “Think I am.”

  “You think wrong,” I countered. “Because there isn't a chance in hell I'm getting on that flight tomorrow.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  My voice was like ice. “No one tells me what to do. You got that? No one.

  Before he could say another word, before he could convince me to change my mind—because I knew he would, I knew he had that power—I hung up.

  I leaned back on my bed and closed my eyes, ignoring my ringing phone and the ringing text box on my computer screen. I couldn't believe that my trip to Brazil wasn't happening. The vacation I'd looked forward to for three weeks had disappeared in the blink of an eye.

  Tears stung my eyes and I wiped them away, my fingers brushing across the welts on my cheeks.

  I wasn't going to cry over hives.

  I wasn't going to cry over Stuart.

  I wasn't going to cry over anything.

  SIX

  “Are you ever getting out of bed?”

  I didn't answer, just pulled the sheet tighter over my head. I didn't know what time it was and I didn't care.

  A hand grabbed my shoulder and shook me. Hard. “Annika.” Sheridan's voice was right next to my ear. “Get up.”

  “No,” I mumbled.

  She peeled the sheet back and stuck her finger in my ear. I jerked away from her. “What the hell?”

  “Get. Up.”

  I glared at her. “Why?”

  “Because it's ten o'clock.”

  My stomach tightened. The flight I was supposed to be on was leaving in twenty minutes. I re-gripped the sheet and tugged it to my chin.

  “Are you just going to stay in bed for the next week?” she asked.

  “Maybe.”

  She grabbed the sheet and tore it off of me. I bolted upright, trying to yank it back into place.

  “You look hot,” she said, her eyes roving over my naked body, an amused smile on her face. “Maybe I don't think of you as a sister...”

  “Fuck off.”

  I knew what I looked like. I probably did look hot—like I was on fire. The hives hadn't gone away, hadn't really responded at all to the steroids I was taking. Dr. Volk had warned me not to expect a miracle but I'd at least expected some improvement. The only positive I could see from the meds was that no new spots had sprouted.

  She thrust my phone at me. “You have a gazillion messages.”

  “I don't care.”

  “They're not all from lover boy.” She tapped the screen and then held the phone up to my face. “Mommy's apparently worried, too.”

  I stole a quick glance at the illuminated screen. There were two missed texts from Stuart along with a missed phone call. I'd heard my phone buzz in the middle of the night but I hadn't bothered picking it up. I'd known what he was going to say and I wasn't interested in hearing it. There was also a missed call from my mom. And a text. I sat up a little. My mother never texted me.

  I took the phone from Sheridan and swiped my thumb across the screen. I ignored Stuart's texts and clicked on my mom's instead.

  How are you, honey? Should I come see you today?

  I let the phone drop to my chest and groaned.

  Sheridan sat down on the edge of my bed and ran her brush through her long ha
ir. “What? Lover Boy didn't like the picture I texted him?”

  My mouth dropped open. “What??”

  She laughed. “Kidding. Where is your sense of humor?”

  “It's buried underneath all of these fucking spots.” I sighed. “My mother wants to come take care of me. Like I'm some sort of two year-old or something.” I'd called her the night before and left a message, telling her I'd had a reaction to the vaccines and that I wasn't going to Brazil.

  “Maybe she'll feed you Popsicles and let you watch My Little Pony.”

  “Shut up.”

  Sheridan moved the brush to her left side, pulling it through her long blond hair with slow, even strokes. “You know, probably not the best idea to have Mommy Dearest swing by today.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Why not?” I wasn't sure it was ever a good day for parents to swing by the sorority house, but that was just me.

  “Kelly has the day off,” she told me. “And we're the only two in the house today.”

  She didn't elaborate but I knew exactly what she was saying. Her girlfriend was coming over and I'd been forewarned.

  Stay away or treat mom to an exclusive showing of lesbian porn.

  “Fine,” I said, dropping my head back on to my pillow. “Have your sex fest. I'll deal with Mommy Dearest.”

  I stole one more quick glance at the unread texts from Stuart but I didn't click on them. I'd go see my mom and put her mind at ease. And I'd also try to pretend I wasn't supposed to be on a plane, flying to see the gorgeous guy waiting for me.

  The gorgeous guy who missed me.

  SEVEN

  I walked up the steps to my old house and offered a cursory knock before pushing the door open. The scent of lemon and pine greeted me and I knew how my mom had spent her morning: cleaning. Sure enough, I found her in the kitchen, mop in hand, a bucket of soapy water two feet away from her.

  She brushed her hair out of her face and smiled. “Hi, sweetie.” But then her eyes focused in on the marks dotting my skin and her expression immediately changed to one of concern. “Oh, my. It's just as bad as I thought. Just look at you. Poor thing.”

  “Gee, thanks.” I dropped my purse on the table and slumped into one of the kitchen chairs. “You really know how to make a girl feel pretty.”

  She propped the mop against the counter and hurried over to the table. She sat down next to me. “I didn't know it was this bad,” she said, her eyes roving over me. “Does it hurt? Are you in pain?”

  “I'm not dying, Mom,” I said. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them. Not exactly something you should say to a person who had battled cancer not once, but twice. “They're just hives. They'll go away.”

  The look of concern remained. “I know. They just look...uncomfortable.”

  Right on cue, I scratched at one of the bigger spots on my leg. The scab popped open and I winced at the sting. “They are,” I said. “They're a total pain in the ass.”

  She pursed her lips and I backpedaled a little. “They're not that bad, I guess,” I said. “And the medicine is starting to help. A little.”

  She nodded. “Good.” She reached out and rubbed her hand over my forearm. Her fingers were soft and warm and they felt good. I needed to be touched. “Can I get you anything? Do you want to go to your room and rest for a bit? I can make you some soup or something.”

  I laughed. Sheridan had been right—Popsicles and My Little Pony were probably next in her queue of mommy remedies. “It's summer, Mom. And eighty degrees out. I don't need soup. And I don't need a nap.”

  “Okay...” Her voice trailed off and I could tell she didn't believe me. Actually, it wasn't that she didn't buy what I was telling her; she just wanted to be needed.

  “I'd love something cold to drink,” I told her. “A diet Coke or something.”

  “How about some kombucha? It's like soda. And really healthy for you.”

  I wrinkled my nose. She'd gone all holistic living since her bout with cancer and some of the stuff she talked about eating and drinking made me want to vomit. I didn't know what kombucha was but I was pretty sure I didn't want to find out. “You don't have soda?”

  “No, no. We do. Your dad still drinks it.” She sighed. “For now, anyway. But he's starting to drink kombucha. I think he's going to like it.”

  “So you have soda now?” All I cared about was that I didn't have to drink the kombucha.

  “I have a whole twelve pack,” she said, standing up.

  “I only need one.”

  She narrowed her eyes at me but she was still smiling. “Always the smart aleck.”

  The front door opened and closed again and I shifted in my spot at the table, crossing my legs. “Is that Dad? Isn't he at the office?”

  Her back was to me as she opened the refrigerator and bent down to retrieve the soda. “Yes, he's showing houses today. A new professor at USD.”

  “Then who just came through the front door?”

  Abby appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “We did.”

  She had Amanda on her hip and West was right behind them, a black diaper bag tossed over his shoulder. Somehow, it didn't look ridiculous on him. Nothing looked ridiculous on him, I admitted grudgingly. He was just as gorgeous as ever, his brown hair visible under the Padres cap perched on his head, his eyes as blue as the old school Gordon & Smith shirt he wore.

  I turned my attention back to my sister. It had only been a few weeks since I'd last seen Abby but her stomach had grown exponentially since then, her rounded tummy protruding from the tight black tank-top dress she wore. I glanced down at my own body. Pregnancy hadn't just made her stomach grow; her boobs looked enormous, too. I glanced down at the v-neck t-shirt I was wearing and was suddenly aware of how much better her top half looked than mine.

  “Oh my God,” Abby said, her mouth dropping open as she zeroed in on the spots covering my body. “What happened to you?”

  I made a face. “Hives.”

  “Hives?” West strolled in and craned his neck so he could get a closer look. My mom was filling a glass with ice cubes and he lowered his voice to be sure she couldn't hear. “You sure that isn't just a bad case of herpes?”

  “Hmm, I don't know. I hear you're an expert at identifying STDs. Want to take a closer look?” I started to lift my shirt.

  He backed up quickly and shielded his eyes with his hand. “Jesus, Annika.”

  “You weren't so quick to say no the last time I lifted my shirt for you,” I reminded him.

  “Give it a rest,” my sister said sharply.

  Mom returned with the soda and glass and set both down on the table in front of me. “Give what a rest?”

  Abby and I glanced at each other and, in unison, responded, “Nothing.”

  Mom raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything.

  “Gamma.” Amanda reached out to Mom and she scooped her out of Abby's arms.

  “Hello, princess,” she cooed, snuggling the little girl to her. “Are you excited to spend the day with Grandma?”

  Amanda smiled and nodded and threw her arms around my mom's neck.

  “The day?” I said. I looked at my sister. “What are you guys doing?”

  She smiled and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “We're going out.”

  “At eleven thirty?”

  She nodded.

  “For the whole day?”

  She nodded again.

  West lifted the diaper bag off his shoulder and set it down on the table. The main pouch was half unzipped and I could make out a stash of diapers, some board books, plastic sippy cups and snack containers, a change of clothes. It looked like the kid was moving in for a week, not just staying for the day.

  “A lot of couples like to spend the day together,” he said to me, a smirk on his face. “Not just the night.”

  I glared at him. “No shit, dipshit.”

  “Annika.” My mother's voice was sharp. “There are little ears in here. And there's no excuse for that kind o
f language.”

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, not feeling sorry at all.

  My mom shot me a disapproving look and then said, “Come on, Amanda. Gamma bought you a new toy. Let's go find it.” They disappeared into the living room.

  Abby sat down next to me at the table. She had just a touch of make-up on—some lipgloss and mascara—but she didn't need it. Her skin positively glowed and all I could think about was my own mottled complexion and how I must look like the Bride of Frankenstein compared to her. It wasn't a comfortable feeling because it was something that had never happened. Even though we were identical twins, I had always been the better-looking one. I always knew how to wear clothes better, how to style my hair the right way, how to wear make-up that paled in comparison to what she did with hers.

  “Hives,” she said, her gaze moving from my arms to my face. “How did you get them?”

  I cracked open the can of soda and poured the contents into the glass. “Vaccines.”

  “HPV?” West asked, one eyebrow raised.

  “Fuck off.”

  “Cool it, both of you,” Abby said, frowning. “What vaccines?”

  “I don't know,” I said dismissively. “Some immunizations I needed for traveling to Brazil.”

  “Brazil. I forgot.” She thought for a minute. “That's coming up soon, right?”

  “No.”

  She gave me a puzzled look. “No?”

  “No,” I repeated, taking a sip of soda. “It's gone.”

  “Gone?”

  “As in, past tense.” I turned and looked at the oven clock. “By about an hour.”

  She opened her mouth in surprise. “You mean, it was today?”

  I nodded.

  “Why didn't you go?”

  “Really? Why do you think I didn't go?” I felt like stripping naked so she could see just how many spots were covering my body.

  My sister stared at me for a moment, her lips morphing into a thin, disapproving line. “You gave up a trip to Brazil because of this?”

  I swallowed another mouthful of soda and said nothing.

  “Oh my God.” Abby's eyes were wide. “You gave up a trip because of hives? Seriously?”

  “What the hell was I supposed to do?”

  “Uh...go???”