Page 39 of Accidentally Falling For My Best Friend (Chicago Awakenings #2)
PARKER
December
T oday is an absolute mess.
It was pretty jarring to be violently woken up by Aspen when I’m so used to Oakley’s face being the first thing greeting me, it completely threw me off. Especially because she was truly concerned and her fearful expression immediately triggered my fight-or-flight response.
I’d jumped out of bed, looking around for Oak, who was still half asleep and seemed very confused by what was going on.
Once Aspen and I had calmed each other down enough for me to realize we were already running late, she said something under her breath about finding Oakley and I in bed together, but at that point I was rushing to throw my toiletries into my bags and running out the door, I didn’t have time to really care that she’d caught us together.
Of all people, Aspen knows what I’m going through.
Except her situation actually worked out really great for her. If only.
Apparently, she got into our place by begging the doorman because she was worried I might be passed out from low blood sugar.
She’s been around me, and Oakley’s constant worrying about me, enough to know the basics about my diabetes, but I was still a little surprised that she’s been paying that much attention. It’s nice to be reminded how great my friends are, even if I feel really bad about stressing her out.
I’m still wearing the sweats I slept in last night, so I’m really hoping her parents don’t pick us up from the airport themselves.
I doubt they will because from everything she’s said about them, they don’t seem the type to go out of their way to greet us, but they definitely seem like the type to judge me for sweatpants.
Why am I doing this again? I really hope Aspen figures out a way to get her dad out of her company while we’re there.
I’ve also never been a big fan of flying.
There are so many things that can go wrong and derail even the most carefully laid plans, and today it seems like anything that can go wrong, will. I’m so mentally exhausted trying to deal with it all that I’ve given up any hope of enjoying this trip.
Not that I’ve been particularly excited about it because being apart from Oakley and our families for Christmas is going to suck.
Mom was scheduled to work Christmas this year anyway, so she and I will do something next week.
I told her I was going to Atlanta with a friend to help them deal with their unsupportive family, not giving too many details because I didn’t want her getting any ideas that I’m dating anyone.
She isn’t on social media, so she wouldn’t have seen any of Aspen’s posts, and I’m hoping to avoid the full explanation since the arrangement should be over after this anyway.
She said that she’d want more details after the trip, so I can tell her everything then.
It took forever to check our bags, and the security line we’re stuck in is way longer than I’m used to with it being Christmas Eve. I’m starting to get worried we’re actually going to miss our flight.
After what feels like hours, it’s finally our turn to load our carry-ons onto the belt so we can go through security.
Of course, for me, that means requesting additional screening to avoid the body scanner that could mess up my insulin pump, which means even more time on top of whatever time it takes me to explain my insulin and supplies and for them to wipe it all down to check for illicit materials.
I’m allowed an extra bag for medical supplies, but I hate carrying extra stuff around the airport, so I always have it in the backpack I use as a carry-on.
Except when I go to remove my insulin and extra supplies from the insulated pocket where I always put them with a TSA-approved ice pack to keep them at the correct temperature, the pocket is empty.
Fuck.
I must have forgotten to add them this morning with how distracted I was.
Fuuuuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I take a deep breath. No need to panic, it’ll be fine.
I changed everything last night, so my pump’s reservoir has a good amount of insulin, which I usually only change every two to three days anyway.
If I avoid carbs, I can stretch that even longer, and we’re flying home first thing on the 26th.
I put in a new sensor then too, and those only need to be changed every week or two, so I won’t actually need anything.
Aspen must see the panic on my face. “Everything okay?”
I take one more deep breath willing my features to calm.
“Yeah. I meant to add my phone charger to my bag this morning and forgot. No big deal, I can get another one when we land.” I actually did forget my phone charger, because of course I did with how today is going, and I decide not to worry her further with the news of my missing supplies.
She eyes me skeptically but drops it, and we eventually make it through security.
“Do we have time for coffee?” she asks hopefully, looking longingly at the coffee shop we hurry past.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t think so, they’ve already called our flight overhead to start boarding,” I remind her apologetically as we continue to our gate.
We’re not the last to board, but rushing around this morning has been so stressful that I feel like we’ve accomplished something amazing by the time we’re both in our seats on the plane.
The flight is only about two hours, so our first-class seats are two wider ones that make a row near the front.
Aspen takes the window and gives me the aisle.
After the drama of this morning, we both try to distract ourselves.
She has a book and I listen to my favorite financial podcasts while playing with the Ghost Cube Oak got me last Christmas.
The first hour of the flight is blissfully uneventful.
We’re offered snacks and refreshments, and I almost start to believe the day could be redeemed.
But then, there’s unexpected turbulence.
The seatbelt sign isn’t even on when the cabin jolts, violently sending the flight attendants who are attempting to finish their rounds to scramble for balance.
The one nearest me is pushing a metal cart full of different drink options up the narrow aisle when it happens.
Luckily, they weren’t pouring hot coffee or anything, and no one is spilled on.
Unfortunately for me, the whole cart is jerked into my arm, snagging on the raised edge of my continuous glucose monitor and ripping it right out of my tricep.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
My insulin pump relies on my continuous glucose monitor to constantly check my blood sugar levels, and the newer pump I have now can adjust the amount of insulin it gives me based on those numbers .
I can tell when my blood sugar is too high or too low depending on what symptoms I experience, but it’s been years since I went more than a few hours without a confirmed blood sugar reading.
My pump will still give me the continuous rate of insulin, and I can still tell it to give me more or less based on how many carbs I eat, but part of the supplies I left at home included the back up machine I could use to manually check my levels, as well as another continuous glucose monitor sensor.
So now I’m left without any way to actually check my levels.
I’m less sure this will be fine.
Aspen’s parents send their driver to pick us up.
He assures us that her parents are at a church event and that the house will be empty when we arrive, so I’ll be able to change into more respectable clothing.
I might not actually care what they think of me, but it kind of defeats the point of our whole arrangement if they don’t approve of me.
We enter the property down a long driveway surrounded by old trees, passing an elaborate fountain before pulling up at the grand entrance; the mansion has to be worth millions.
Once inside, the over-the-top luxury feel is complete with a curved staircase seeming to wrap around the grand piano featured in the large entry space.
“It’s obnoxious, I know,” Aspen says, rolling her eyes as I take in the detailed moldings and polished marble floors.
“I’ve been around the Caldwells’ wealth enough that I’ll be able to feign a polite, unimpressed expression at your parent’s stuff if that’s what you’d prefer,” I offer through a smirk.
There’s a mischievous glint in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. “Yes! That will be perfect. Act underwhelmed and indifferent, it’ll quietly piss them off, and they’ll respect you more for it.”
“Sounds good,” I agree with a laugh.
Aspen leads me up the stairs and down a long hallway as she pulls out her phone, showing me a text from her mother that looks like instructions explaining where we’re sleeping.
“Oh, good. Our room assignments, just in time,” she says sarcastically.
“Obviously, I’ve talked about how antiquated my parent’s beliefs are when it comes to relationships.
That’s basically the entire reason we’re supposedly dating in the first place, but in case you were doubting just how strict they are, they have us staying in not only separate rooms, but in separate wings of the house. ”
“Oh darn,” I tease, not minding that I won’t need to sleep on the floor in a shared room with her to maintain our ruse. Even though we’ve slept in the same bed before, and I’m confident we could do it again without it feeling awkward in any way, I wouldn’t want to.
If I’m being honest, the only person I ever want to share a bed with again is Oakley. “Do we have time to shower before they get back?”
Opening the door to what I assume is my room, she waves me in with an expression that tells me she’s already exhausted. “Yeah, just text me when you’re ready and I’ll come find you so we can do formal introductions.”