Page 74 of Let's Talk About Love

A bottle of Tylenol was stashed way in the back of a cupboard. She could sense the battle she’d have to fight to get him to take actual medicine. Why did health nuts always have a problem with lifesaving modern medicine? The treatment for the common cold could probably be 100 percent trusted at this point.

Back in his room, she slid the tray onto the nightstand before heading to the bathroom to soak a washcloth in cold water.

“You probably need to take a shower,” she said, draping the cloth over his forehead. “But I don’t want you to pass out in there.”

“You could give me a sponge bath. You’re a nurse, after all.”

She narrowed her eyes at him as she opened the yogurt. “That was a joke.”

“It was.” He smiled.

“Eat.”

He sighed, taking the container. “I’m not hungry.”

“That’s the fatigue talking. But my grandma said you have to coat your stomach before you take pills, so.” She shook the Tylenol bottle.

“I have Tylenol?”

“I was surprised, too.” She checked the bottle. “It’s not expired or anything. I’m probably going to head to the store soon for medicinal reinforcements.”

He groaned. “Don’t leave.” He rolled over and placed his head in her lap, arms wrapped around her. “I tried not to be needy, but I am,” he mumbled. “Help me. I think I’m dying.”

“That didn’t take long.” She laughed (trying to pretend like him asking her to stay didn’t just make her happier than a panda bear in snow). She removed the washcloth and pushed back his hair from his damp skin. “I’ll wait until you’re asleep before I go.” She laid a light kiss on his hairline. “You won’t even know I’m gone. Deal?”

“I’ll know you’re gone. I’ll feel it.”

“Needyandoverdramatic. I like it.”

“I like you,” he mumbled.

(Oh, Jesus.)

(What was she supposed to say to that?)

“Obviously,” she said, smiling at him. “I’m amazing.”

In the silence, she counted to 137. Takumi’s hair covered his forehead and eyes, his lips were parted, and his deep breaths were in time to her numbers.

At 138, his gentle snores began to tickle across her skin.

Wriggling carefully, she managed to break free from his grip and place his head gently onto the pillow. She left a Post-it note on his bedside table (only after convincing herself not to stick it to his forehead for giggles):

So… this is kind of awkward, but I borrowed your house keys. *Kanye shrug* Off to the store and to do a few Alice things. Be back soon! (Drink the juice and water, please?)

When she returned he was still sleeping, curled around the pillow. She touched his forehead; still too hot with sticky skin.

Alice remembered exactly how he liked his oatmeal: steel-cut oats, quarter cup of soy milk, one tablespoon of butter, two teaspoons of brown sugar. She managed to get him fed and medicated with little to no fuss, but he seemed to be getting progressively worse. He struggled to keep his eyes open, he groaned a lot, every time he spoke he had to clear his throat, and he said he felt “foggy.” Getting him into the shower nearly fried her nerves—she hovered just outside the bathroom door, alert for sounds of him collapsing.

Whenever she could slide away from Takumi, Alice ended up on the couch. She napped in two-hour bursts, but by the time her body got comfortable, four hours had passed, her alarm blared, and it was time to dose him again.

By late afternoon, she was all napped out and decided to try her hand at cooking.

(Soup. She could make soup.)

(No problem.)

All she had to do was measure ingredients, put them in a pot, and allow it to simmer until it turned into delectable soupy goodness. It would be fantastic and not at all too salty.