“Dry heaves,” Rick finally says. “Hang in there, buddy.”
Dry heaves? Logan had soup and crackers last night and kept it down, so I’m having a hard time thinking he’d be dry heaving right now.
Tiana walks in, and I turn to find out why she was so far behind me. Her arm is outstretched in front of her, her eyes are squeezed tightly shut, and her other hand is over her nose and mouth.
“What are you doing?” I ask her.
“I can’t handle the vomit.”
“No one is sick right now,” I tell her.
She peeks through one eye, scoping out the area. “Then why is he sitting like that?”
Can’t I just say the words “man flu”? Then everything will make sense.
“Tiana,” Rick says as he clears his throat.
“Rick,” she replies. “I want you to come home.” There is so much emotion in her sentence, I can hardly keep myself from choking up. Not really.
“Tiana, come on,” I grunt quietly.
“Rick, I want you to come back home with me. You don’t have a life here with Hannah anymore. I’ll make you soup, or try to, whatever you want.”
“You said you don’t cook,” Rick whines like a child.
“I never cooked before I came to the US, Rick. You know that. My mami always did the cooking.” Tiana has a story beyond being the mistress with perfect hair, a perfect ass, fake tits, and Botox-injected lips. There’s a chance I was wrong, but I will not say it out loud. She is still the reason my husband left me, but if it wasn’t her, it would have been another hussy.
Damn hussies.
“I bet,” Rick begins. “I bet Hannah could show you a thing or two.” Rick has this soft, sweet smile tugging at his mouth, and I have the urge to see if it would peel off. I’m not freaking teaching her how to cook.
“Or!” I chuckle, sardonically. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you pull up YouTube and search for cooking lessons? Cora could probably teach you how to do that.”
I almost forgot about Logan, who is still on all fours, looking like he’s preparing for his next contraction. I kneel and help him back up to the bed.
“I’m so weak,” he says. “How long have I gone without food?” His words are hardly audible through his parched throat.
I glance down at my watch. “It’s been approximately nine hours since you ate. Nine.”
“It feels like an eternity.”
“You’re really not feeling any better at all?” I ask him.
“Yeah, man, I’m starting to shake this thing, I think,” Rick says, rolling back into the center of the pull-out.
“Maybe you should take me to the hospital,” Logan groans. Crap, am I being that big of an asshole? Is something really wrong?
“That might be a good idea,” Rick says. “He’s not doing well.”
“What am I supposed to do with Cora?” I ask Rick. It’s his weekend, but up until last night, he couldn’t hold himself upright, and we all know how Tiana feels about childcare.
“I—I’ll take care of her,” Tiana says. “I’ll do her hair and makeup. You know, girl stuff.”
Cora’s looking at me from across the room with big eyes. I know she doesn’t like when Tiana does her hair. She said she tugs too tight. “Sweetie, I need you to go back to Daddy’s house so I can take care of Logan for a bit. I’ll come get you as soon as I can, okay?”
Cora folds her arms over her chest and juts her bottom lip out. “Fine, but I’m not getting dressed. Today was supposed to be a pajama day.”
Rick moans as he stands from the bed. “Come on, princess. It’s still a pajama day. I’ll even give you a ride to my house.” Cora runs and leaps onto the bed, gaining height before making the next jump onto Rick’s back.
This is the part that kills me. He’s a good dad when he’s around and not working. He loves that little girl, but he screwed everything up, and that makes me hate him.
Rick leans down beside me so Cora can give me a kiss on the cheek. “I love you, Mommy.”
“Bye, baby. Have fun,” I tell her.
“I hope you feel better, Logan,” Cora says.
“Thanks, kiddo.” Logan whimpers, falling backward into a pile of pillows and wrapping his arms around his stomach like he’s in pain.
Tiana smiles at me as if she’s broken down one of my barriers. I’ll let her think that for now, but I don’t forget that easily.
The house is empty except for Logan and me, and I’m watching him for a moment, gauging his level of discomfort. “You really want to go to the hospital?” I ask.
“I think so. I don’t know. Everything hurts.”
“What does everything consist of?”
“My head, stomach, back, neck, legs, and arms.” Yup, I guess that’s everything.
He’s on his side, so I make my way around the bed and climb in so I can rub his shoulders. Maybe if he relaxes a bit, some of the pain will subside. I didn’t have any pain when I was sick, so I’m not sure if he has the same thing.
I press my fingers into the muscle of his shoulders, then knead the areas with my fists. Almost instantly, I feel some of the tension in his body subside, and his head falls deeper into the pillow. “That feels nice,” he mumbles.
I continue massaging his shoulders and back until my hands become weak. As I pull away, I hear his breaths lingering softly. He’s asleep.
I want to curl up and join him, but I’m wide awake and focused on the TV replaying parts of a baseball game from last night.
The sight of baseball reminds me of this little secret Logan has been hiding inside his pants. What kind of injury would be so traumatic it caused him to both retire, and fear taking his pants off?
I look down at his legs that are tangled up in the sheets, suddenly wondering where he got those sweatpants from. Before I think too much, though, my lip snarls because I know exactly where they came from. Logan is wearing Rick’s sweatpants.
Please, make this stop.
Rick is a bit larger in the waist than Logan, which means the sweatpants must be loose on him.
I shouldn’t do this.
I should know what I’m getting into, though.
But, he’s asleep, and this might be considered some kind of necrophilia crap.
Though, I’d just be taking a look.
Then I could tell him I saw it, and it’s no big deal, and he doesn’t have to hide anymore. It sounds like the perfect solution to this problem. Whatever the problem is.
Logan’s quiet breaths are a bit heavier now, verging on a slight snore. He’s out cold. I roll off the other side of the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements or shake the mattress. I crawl around the side of the pull-out where I’m face to face with the lower half of Logan’s body. He’s curled up on his side, so I’m hoping it will make it easier for me to get a good look.
I slip my fingers gently beneath the waistband of his pants and pull them away. There isn’t much restriction since the pants are, in fact, loose. I create just enough of a gap for me to see what’s going on.
Okay, so first … why wouldn’t you be wearing boxers or briefs when wearing another man’s pants? I’m not complaining because it’s making things easier at the moment, but really, what would make a person want to do that?
I’ve already familiarized myself with his impressive ballpark sausage, but I haven’t met the ballpark itself. I reach down carefully to push his fella to the side, and as soon as I touch it, it pops up like a watchdog protecting its bones. I guess that’s one way of revealing what’s beneath the curtain. My gaze trails down the length of his leg, finding no scars or any other obvious disfigurement. So, what is the big deal?
Oh. Ohhhh. I tilt my head to get a better look at what I’m seeing. Oh, wow. That’s a big scar and a lot of loose skin. Oh no, poor Logan!
“What the—what are you—why would you? What is wrong with you?” Logan asks with a growl slicing through his throat. I fly backward, shocked that he’s awake, and mortified that I’ve b
een caught because I have no type of explanation I can follow this up with.
“I’m sorry,” I offer. “It’s just that Rick seemed to know, and Tiana was making weird comments. It’s like I was the only one who didn’t know what you were hiding down there.”
Logan sits up, pulling the pants tight around his waist. “You probably are the only person who didn’t know, Hannah. It was all over the goddamn news for a month.”
“Your love sack was all over the news?” Did I just say that out loud?
He nods his head and bites down on his lip. “Wow. I guess I should have just assumed you’d be like all the others. I actually thought I was lucky because I met an attractive woman who hates sports.”
“I didn’t mean to insult you. I say weird things when I get uncomfortable, and right now I’m uncomfortable.”
“I’m the one missing a ball, Hannah. I’m not sure why that would make you uncomfortable.”
Gee, I don’t know. I had my hands down your pants and was studying your anatomy while I thought you were asleep. No biggie. “Does it hurt?” What the hell kind of question is that? This obviously didn’t just happen last week.
“No, the accident was over a year ago.”
“I—I don’t know what to say.” And I can assume that’s not what he wants to hear.
“Well, let’s just get this out of the way first. The doctors said I’m most likely shooting blanks, so babies are out of the question.”
I don’t recall mentioning the topic in the week I’ve known him, or even considering the idea of a second child once in the past four years. Cora is more than enough for me to handle right now. I’m grateful for her, but I’m not jonesin’ for another baby. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think I was giving you that vibe, not that we were at a point where that should have been discussed. In any case, I wasn’t planning on having any more kids, so hopefully, that thought wasn’t going through your head about whatever was going on between us.”
“You don’t want another child?”
I shake my head without a thought. “No, Cora is my world, and maybe I’m selfish, but I don’t know if I have more room in my heart for a second child.” I hadn’t considered the topic after leaving Rick. It’s not like I’ve dipped my toes into the dating scene much this past year, and whatever I did experience never went past a first dinner. In the back of my head, I figured most men would be happy to hear I wasn’t looking to settle down as quick as possible so I could pop out some more kids before I’m too old.
“I wanted a baby,” he says. “I wanted a family—the full package.” I’m going to assume he intended that pun, but I’m ignoring it.
He wanted a baby. “I thought you said you had a baby …”
He points to his back, where I saw the tattoo, and my heart immediately begins to hurt. “Stillborn. Sierra Grier, five pounds, three ounces, and a full head of blonde curls. It destroyed my marriage. Then, to add insult to injury, my accident happened, and the dream of a baby for both my wife and me was more or less gone. That’s when she left me. There, that’s my story. Now you know everything. The injury forced me to retire early, and I’ve been sitting on my ass for over a year doing nothing. I needed something to fill my time, so I got a job.”
“I am so sorry,” I tell him. His story has me on the brink of tears, and I feel terrible for acting so ungrateful in the form of exhaustion with Cora. He must think I’m horrible. Being a single mom has been the hardest thing I’ve had to deal with, but I recognize that it’s nothing in comparison to a surviving a stillborn baby, and everything that came after it.
“I held her for a minute before she was taken away. I have that.”
“Logan, I don’t know what to say.” I don’t. Life is cruel and unforgiving, and it’s not fair what he’s gone through and is still probably going through. I inhale sharply and look up at him through my blur of tears. “You don’t have to hide anything from me. We all have our scars, pasts, and haunting memories. I’ve convinced myself over the past year that the only thing that matters is what I do today, tomorrow, and every day after that. There are other ways of obtaining your dream, but broken hearts leave scars, and not even time can fix that sometimes. We just have to find the good parts of life to fill in some of the gaps.”
“Yeah, what you’re saying is everything I’ve thought,” he says. “I had too much time to think, though. It wasn’t a good thing.”
“I can’t imagine time alone to think helped.”
“Hannah, it’s like my man-card has been taken from me.”
“Because of a silly missing ball?” That doesn’t make him less of a man.
He looks at me like I’m crazy and missing some part of his point. “Well, yeah.”
“But, I mean, it makes your one ball special and unique, you know?” I say it with a straight face. I think it was just the first thing that came to mind. I’m a mom, I try to make everything better. It’s my job.
He’s looking back at me with the same straight face, waiting for me to crack up or follow it with something else, but that’s all I should say. Nothing good will follow, I’m sure.
“Are you serious?”
“I’m as serious as a bag of uncracked nuts.”
Logan throws his head back and folds his arm over his face to cover his smile and laughter. “You really don’t care about this, do you?”
“Everyone has their thing or lack thereof. I do care about your baby. That’s different, but your ball … I don’t think you should focus so much on it.”
He peeks out from under his arm. “Are you done?”
“Yes, but how are you suddenly not in pain anymore?”
He recovers his face, followed by a groan. “I feel better.”
“You felt better last night,” I tell him.
“Yeah, and then I remembered I said I’d take my pants off when I felt better.”
“Do you know what you’re making me sound like right now?”
“A sex addict?” he replies with a grin.
“It has been a long year,” I sigh. “I’m not an addict, but you showed interest, and I had hope.”
“So, that’s all you want with me? Sex.”
“No.” I want it all. I want a mutual feeling of care and love with a man. I want someone who doesn’t need to go looking elsewhere for a good time when I’m at home waiting for them. I didn’t realize it was a lot to ask for, but clearly, it is.
“What do you want?”
“I’m not sure, but this living alone as a single mom crap sucks. It’s not my thing.”
“You’re doing a great job if it’s any consolation.”
“Pfft. You can’t tell that after a week of knowing me.”
“I’m a good judge of character,” he says.
“We’ll go with that. So, what now, Logan? Where do we stand with each other?”
“TV?”
I climb up on the bed and slip under the covers with him. “Hey?”
“Yeah?” he replies.
“If you’re feeling better, why were you on all fours when I walked in the house?”
“Uh—” I don’t know if I like the reason for his pause.
“Spit it out …”
“Cora came downstairs, and Rick and I were shouting at the TV—we were watching a recap of the game from last night. She called us out on being sick.”
“So, you tricked my daughter into thinking you were still sick … by acting like a dying cat?”
“Yeah, I think I scared her a little.”
“You scared me a little.”
“I never said I was a good actor.”
“True. Okay, next question. What happened to your ball?” I’m just going to throw it out there. “Or, should I Google your name?”
“I must say, I’m a little surprised you haven’t already Googled my name. You strike me as that crazy type.” I am that crazy type, but with the stomach flu and man flu all in one week, I haven’t had much time to do my typical man stalking.
“You have
me pegged wrong,” I lie.
“Go ahead and Google me. You’ll have all your answers and more.”
Chapter Nineteen
Sunday is for balls … err
LOGAN DECIDED TO GO home yesterday as I was opening the Google browser. I don’t need to wonder why, but he is the one who suggested I go look. He told me he’d see me at work on Monday, so I didn’t say a whole lot because I was caught off guard. To be fair, he was at my house for almost two days, so maybe it was just time for him to go. It didn’t take me long to realize I don’t have his phone number, and he doesn’t have mine. Therefore, our unorthodox date that lasted way too long must have ended up being one of those kinds of dates—one where we pretend it never happened when we run into each other—or in our case, see each other at the office tomorrow. This could be an interesting, and awkward, week at work. What was I thinking? Maybe the flu virus I had impaired my ability to make rational decisions. Yeah, that must be it.
It never fails, the one day my house is quiet, I’m up by eight and ready for a full day of errands and Sunday have-tos. Why can’t I sleep in? I really need the rest, but my brain is in overdrive.
After debating it all afternoon and night yesterday, I still haven’t decided whether I should I Google Logan or just let the story slide. My imagination is already doing a number on me, so I’m kind of hopeful that what I’m assuming happened is a lot worse than what happened, but I know there’s only one way to find out the truth. It’s inevitable that I’ll eventually look, so I might as well get it over with.
I sit down at my desk up in my loft and wait for the laptop to boot up. I have my fourth cup of coffee of the day, a blanket, and quiet, the perfect components for taking the time to reflect on this past week of my life. Last Sunday, I was hustling around to get the grocery shopping completed, laundry done, and the house clean. My life was normal and lame as it always has been. If I knew what the week had in store for me, I might have called out sick from work for the week.
“Come on, hurry up, you damn laptop.”
Man Flu Page 17