Four hours later, we were in her bed. I had the bathroom trash can and we were watching a movie. When I’d start to retch, we’d pause it until I finished and then we’d start again.
She rubbed my back and shook her head. “Vomit, lice, drunks, the Toilet King. You really know how to show a girl a good time.”
“Hey, this is your date, not mine,” I croaked. She barked out a laugh.
“Do you regret not leaving when I told you to?” she asked.
I spit into the can. “I regret nothing. In fact I kind of feel like we need to share all our infectious diseases.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. What else ya got? Anything sexually transmitted?” Spitting.
“That could be fun.” I bounced my eyebrows weakly.
“I don’t want to burst your bubble or anything, but now you look a little like a guy who got bit by a zombie and he’s just about to turn.”
“Oh WOW. Coming from patient zero that hurts.” “Am I the asshole?”
“Yes. You one hundred percent are.”
She smiled and put a hand on my forehead, and I closed my eyes. “No fever at least,” she said. “Hopefully you got a milder case.”
She rubbed her thumb tenderly on my cheek, and there was a very real part of me that would have gotten sick all over again for that one touch alone.
I coughed into the trash can and ruined the moment. “I’m sorry you have to see this,” I said, pitifully.
“There is nothing I haven’t seen, I promise you. I’m just glad you’re where I can take care of you.”
I rested my head on my arm on the rim of the can. She was gazing at me with something I could have sworn was affection. Or I could be delirious. It was probably delirium.
“I think I’ve officially barfed out my entire skeleton,” I said. “Even my mouth is sweating.”
“Please don’t make me laugh. It hurts,” she said.
“God, we’re a mess. Next time we barf at my place, okay?” I said. “We can get DoorDash there.”
“What do you want from DoorDash?” she asked. “That really good ice from Sonic.”
“Yeeesss,” she breathed.
“Cold Stone. And Yogurt Lab.”
“I want ribs,” she said. “Like, really tender ribs covered in barbecue sauce. And a baked potato with all the stuff on it. And bread. That brown bread from the Cheesecake Factory.”
“I want Punch Pizza. I’ll give you all the crusts.”
“I want to order Thai food,” she said. “And get so much of it the car will think it’s a person in the front seat and the seat belt reminder will keep going off.”
“If I live, I will take you anywhere you want to go.”
She glanced at me. “What if you die? Can I have your dog?” “Only if you promise to never change his name,” I rasped.
She put a hand over her heart. “I will carry on all your petty vendettas.” I chuckled dryly and spit in the can again.
She put her chin on her knees. “Do you think this counts as our fourth date?” she asked.
My mood immediately dropped off.
I didn’t want this to be our last date. “I don’t think so, right?” I said. “It’s not like we’re having fun.”
“Fun isn’t really a prerequisite,” she said. “I actually am kind of having fun though.”
So was I. Sort of. Except for the puking thing. “I mean, what makes a date a date?” she asked. “We have to eat something together,” I said.
“And do some sort of activity. Like watch a movie,” she added. “We’ve done both of those things.”
I felt the tiniest tic in my jaw. “Yeah, I guess we did.”
“So that’s it then. We’ve had our four dates. You still haven’t kissed me though,” she pointed out.
“You want one now?”
She hit me with a pillow.
The pills I’d brought for her eventually started working. I was able to keep down food around hour six. We napped. Woke up and had soup. I took a shower and we’d just finished watching another movie and she’d gotten up to get me a cup of tea.
I looked around her room while I waited for her.
It wasn’t really her room. She didn’t pick the bedspread or the furniture. She didn’t choose the lamp on the nightstand or the towels or any of it. I wondered if she ever got sick of not belonging anywhere or not owning anything that didn’t fit in her two suitcases.
I wondered if she got tired of saying goodbye.
God knows I was sick and tired of saying goodbye. First Dad, then Mom. And eventually Emma too.
Goodbye was the bane of my existence. I hated it.
She came back in and handed me a cup of hot tea. I set the mug on the nightstand to let it cool.
Our knees were touching. We’d been touching a lot.
Maybe the fact that we were sick made the little intimacies less high stakes. We weren’t going to do anything sexual when I was hugging a barf bucket to my chest, so what did it matter if her thigh pressed into mine, or she rubbed my back, or put her head on my shoulder?
But then I started feeling better and we didn’t stop. Maybe we couldn’t. There was a Get It Out Of Your System energy hovering around us. But
I couldn’t get it out of my system. A one-night stand wouldn’t make this feeling go away. It would only make me want more of what I couldn’t have, and yet I still couldn’t stop touching her. Not anymore. I couldn’t trust myself not to take anything she offered me, no matter how temporary. It felt too good. So we cuddled while we watched movies and I held her while she slept and I breathed her in and savored every second of it. Even though I
knew what it would cost me the day she left.
