Page 4

Jude

Soup and Other Calamities

The bad news was that Ten and Cope were having Thai leftovers for dinner, meaning there would be no hot, fresh meal delivered. The good news was that the O’Mara-Grimm pantry was stocked with plenty of soup. There was chicken noodle, chicken and stars, tomato, and Jude’s favorite chicken soup that came in a packet, not in a can. When he was home, he doctored the soup with cayenne pepper and a spice mix Emeril Lagasse hawked. The last step was to add a beaten egg, which cooked instantly when it was added to the boiling broth.

Poking through the spice cabinet, Jude didn’t see any Emeril seasoning and the cayenne had turned brown with age and was glued to the bottom of the container. The only way to get it out was with a jackhammer. Even if he did, there was no way to know if the old seasoning would poison him. He bet Ronan would like that if he kibbied out and died right there on the kitchen floor.

“What are you doing?” Ronan asked, as he shuffled into the kitchen.

“I’m gonna make soup for dinner.” Jude coughed into his elbow. It was almost time for his next shot of Nyquil. He’d hold out for a little longer so that he didn’t fall asleep into his bowl of chicken noodle and drown tragically. At least he hoped Cope would think it was tragic. Ronan would probably throw a party.

“Oh good. I’ll have some too. The one in the packet.” Ronan looked as if he were expecting Jude to do all the cooking.

“That’s what I was making. For myself. As in, I’m not sharing,” Jude shot back. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he really felt like shit. He loved to tease Ronan, but being this sick made him feel mean.

Ronan sighed. “That’s fine, I’ll just make my own packet. We’ve got plenty of pots.”

“You can’t.” Jude crossed his arms over his chest.

“What do you mean I can’t? This is my kitchen. I can do whatever the fuck I want!” Ronan coughed, his face turning red. He doubled over and hacked a bit more. It took a minute for him to catch his breath.

Taking pity on his friend, and soup rival, Jude helped Ronan to the table and pulled out a chair for him to sit on. Ronan wore a pitiful look. His face was wet with tears that had leaked out when he was coughing. His eyes were rimmed with dark circles and his nose was running. In a few more seconds it would dribble onto his lips. Grabbing a napkin, Jude wiped Ronan’s snotty nose. “There’s only one packet of soup left. We can share it if you like,” Jude offered, holding it up.

“I don’t want to share. It’s mine. This is my house and that’s my soup.” Ronan grabbed the packet and tried to pull it out of Jude’s hand. Only Jude wasn’t letting go.

“What the hell is wrong with you? I had it first. It’s mine !” Jude yanked his arm back, pulling Ronan forward, the two men bumped heads. “Ouch! Asshole!”

“Who are you calling an asshole?” Ronan used his left hand to push Jude’s face away from his own. “Mine!”

Jude couldn’t help but think Ronan sounded like the seagulls in Finding Nemo , but now wasn’t the time to mention it. Pulling harder, Jude felt Ronan’s grip slacken. He heard a ripping sound followed by the tinkling of dried noodles hitting and bouncing off the floor. Each man held an empty half of the packet. “Fuck me!”

“Yeah, fuck you! This is all your fault.” Ronan coughed again. He backed away from Jude and skidded on the noodles and flavoring mix. Pinwheeling his arms backward, he managed to catch himself before he fell to the floor.

“Bravo, dickheads!” Fitzgibbon said from the kitchen door. His iPhone was pointing at the warring best friends. “Now there’s no soup for any of us.”

Jude stared down at the ruined remains littering the floor. He was too tired and hungry to grab a broom to sweep it up. “If I were home, Cope would cook for me. He’s probably having the time of his life with Ten and the kids. Making crafts, heating up leftovers, and singing along to Frozen .” Jude wanted to go home. He felt like crying, but wouldn’t. He straightened up and took a seat at the table.

“It’s time to call in the big gun.” Picking up his phone, Ronan tapped the screen. Seconds later, the sounds of a ringing phone filled the kitchen.

“How are you feeling, Ronan?” Kaye asked, when she answered the phone.

“Terrible. Every bone in my body hurts and I’ve got the worst headache of my entire life.” He sneered at Jude.

“Did you take aspirin?” Kaye sounded as if she were trying hard not to laugh at Ronan’s predicament.

“I don’t think aspirin will help. My headache is sitting at the table with me and just wrecked my last packet of soup. Now we’re all gonna starve to death.”

Jude turned to look at Ronan. Unless he missed his guess, his best friend’s eyes had gone misty. Shit, Jude never would have argued for the soup so hard if he’d know losing it would make Ronan this upset. He wasn’t a total monster.

Kaye laughed, but tried to cover it with a cough.

“Cripes, if you’re not on my side, I’ll die for sure. Could you come over and make us some soup?” Ronan sounded absolutely pitiful.

“I’ll be right over,” Kaye said, sounding resigned to her fate.

“Bye.” Ronan hung up the phone and dabbed at his eyes with a tissue. “She’s coming over.”

“We heard,” Fitz said, taking a seat at the table.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang, followed by Kaye’s cheerful, but muffled voice. “I’m here! Where are my sick boys?”

“Kitchen!” Jude answered, before sneezing three times into his elbow. “Fuck a duck.”

“Language!” Kaye said, walking into the room. She’d shed her winter coat, but wore a white Tyvek suit with a mask over her mouth and nose. On her hands were latex gloves. If Jude didn’t know better, he’d think Kaye was here to bump them off.

“Are you here to help us or rob us?” Jude asked. Why the hell was Kaye dressed like Walter White?

“Now Jude, why would I want to rob you?” Kaye shook her head. “With Jace at work and Fitz here, it would have made much more sense to head to their house first.”

“Gee, thanks?” Fitz muttered.

“I’m dressed like this so I don’t catch your plague. I’ve got to watch your kids this week and the last thing we need is for my little angels to get sick too.”

Jude couldn’t help but want to be one of Kaye’s little angels.

“This suit was left over after Truman painted my bedroom. I figured this was the perfect time to wear it. I’ll slip it off on your stoop and will leave it on the living room floor. Genius, right?”

“Genius,” Ronan agreed, sounding as if he thought the idea was anything but.

Kaye clapped her hands together and surveyed the room. “What the hell happened in here?” She skirted the table, her eyes on the destroyed packet of soup.

“We, uh, had an accident,” Ronan said, sounding as if he’d lost his best friend.

“Care to be more specific?” Kaye grabbed the dustpan and broom. She started sweeping up the scattered noodles.

“Ronan wanted the soup but it was mine. We had a tug of war and we both lost.” Jude sank his head into his hands. If this were a story someone told him, he’d be laughing his ass off. Right now, Jude felt doomed. And nauseous.

“Two grown men fought over soup?” Kaye asked, sounding as if she thought Jude was pulling her leg.

“I’ve got the video to prove it.” Fitzgibbon held up his phone.

Kaye’s phone dinged with the incoming video. She clicked the button and Jude and Ronan’s angry voices filled the kitchen. “You’re best friends. Friends don’t act like this, boys.”

Jude felt lower than an earthworm with a tax bill. “Please don’t be mad, Kaye, we’re just sick.”

“Our husbands abandoned us and our kids don’t care if we live or die,” Ronan wailed. “You’re our only hope.”

“I should send you both to bed with no supper.” Kaye crossed her arms over her chest.

“We could share chicken and stars, right?” Jude asked, getting up from the table to wrap his arms around Kaye.

“The only stars you’re getting is if I smack you in the head. Now sit down.” Kaye moved back from Jude and pointed to the table.

“I’d like to remind the room that I didn’t have a mother growing up. No one ever made me chicken and stars.” Jude’s bottom lip trembled. He tried to take a deep breath, but started to cough instead.

Kaye’s hand fluttered to her heart. “Would anyone else like chicken and stars?”

Ronan and Kevin’s hands went up.

Sighing, Kaye went to the pantry and came back with three cans of soup. Jude watched as she opened and then dumped them into a pan, along with the requisite amount of water. When the stove was turned on, she grabbed bowls from the cupboard and spoons from the drawer. “Why didn’t you call me earlier, I would have made you a pot of homemade chicken soup.”

“Ten said he’d have food sent over, but they decided not to get takeout for dinner,” Jude said.

“Which meant we were on our own,” Kevin added.

“And feral.” Ronan offered a smile.

“I can see that.” Kaye went to the refrigerator and pulled open the doors. She held up a pack of deli cheese. “Do you want grilled cheese sandwiches to go along with the soup?”

Each of the detectives nodded. Jude’s gaze drifted around the table. His friends looked like they could sleep for a month and still wake up tired. Jude was bone-weary, as if he’d spent the day doing some kind of heavy labor, when in fact all he’d done was walk across the street and plop on Ronan’s sofa. “I’m glad we did this,” he said.

“Did what?” Ronan asked. “Have a tug of war over soup?”

Jude shook his head. “I’m glad we’re quarantining together. I don’t want the kids to catch this and feel as miserable as we do.” Lizbet had caught a cold just after Halloween and it broke Jude’s heart to hear his little girl coughing and to watch her sitting listlessly on the sofa watching her favorite movie without her laughing or trying to sing along. He’d take being sick every time if it meant sparing his kids.

“Agreed,” Fitz said and coughed into his elbow.

“Soup’s on,” Kaye said. She brought the steaming bowls to the table along with the sandwiches, which were cut in half.

“What, no kitty corner?” Ronan asked. “My mom always cut my sandwiches diagonally.”

Kaye fisted her hands on her hips. “Ronan, I swear to God-”

Ronan’s snort and giggle stopped Kaye’s impending tantrum in its tracks. “I’m kidding, Mother Grimm. This all looks wonderful. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Do you all want a chicken tortilla soup for tomorrow with corn and black beans?”

“No way!” Fitzgibbon said. “Do not , under any condition, give these two beans. They’ll kill us all. After I made chili for Sunday dinner two weeks ago, our office smelled like rotten burritos for three days. Jude blasts off like a trombone, but Ronan’s king of the silent, but deadly.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ronan said, mildly. “Do you, Jude?”

“Nope. Not a clue.” Jude waggled his eyebrows. “Tortilla soup would be great, Kaye. Thank you.”

“I’ll make my famous chocolate chip cookies. A batch for you boys and one for the kids. Is there anything else you need?” Kaye asked, eyeing the door.

“I could use a hug,” Ronan said, shooting Kaye a pitiful look.

“I’ll hug you from behind.” Kaye stood behind Ronan and set her hands on his shoulders. She patted him three times and did the same for Jude and Fitz. “I’m off, boys. Try to get some rest and above all else, be kind to each other. You’re still best friends and partners even if you’re all sick as dogs.” Kaye grinned at the detectives and headed for the door. Jude heard it open and then close behind her.

“Good call, Ronan,” Jude said. “We needed Kaye’s help more than I wanted to admit.”

“It really makes you see how important our husbands are to us, huh?” Ronan asked.

“They deserve so much better than the us dumbasses.” Jude’s voice cracked. A lone tear trickled down his face.

“I won’t survive if Ten leaves me.” Ronan wailed, burying his head in his hands.

Fitz snickered. His phone was pointed at the sobbing detectives. “Thanks, guys. I’ll just send this to your husbands.”

“Send what?” Ronan asked, picking his head up.

“The video of you two crying.” Fitz turned the phone around and played the video.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Jude reached for Fitz’s phone, but missed.

“I would dare!” Fitz grinned. “One wrong word out of either of your mouths and I send the video. One argument about what to watch on television and I send the video. If either of you wake me up, I send the video. Got it?”

“Blackmail,” Ronan and Jude said in sync.

“Blackmail is such an ugly word. Why don’t we call it a behavior deterrent?” Without waiting for an answer, Fitz dug into his soup with gusto. He alternated between bites of his crispy grilled cheese and a spoonful of chicken noodle soup.

Jude exchanged a knowing look with Ronan. Fitzgibbon had just declared war and Jude would be damned if he went down without a fight.