Page 44 of Not In The Contract

“I’m really sorry, Tam,” Devon said, her voice hushed while she spoke to her best friend on the phone. “My classes ran late yesterday.”

The street lights had long since turned on, the sky turning an inky black as we finally drove home. Usually, I’d prefer to drive myself, but I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open.

I couldn’t help but blame Devon a little.

“I know, I know,” she continued, a small dent forming between her brows. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Another pause.

“Fine, I’ll make it up to you by taking care of myself.”

I smirked.

Tamera reminded me of Hayden, right down to the obnoxious insistence on self care.

When we finally reached the end of the driveway I got out of the car without a word. The gravel crunched behind me, indicating that Devon followed closely, but all I wanted was food, a hot shower, and the sweet bliss of unconsciousness.

“You’re uh, you’re not cooking tonight, right?”

I frowned at Devon. “I hadn’t intended to,” I said. “Is that a problem?”

“No!” she said quickly, her hands waving in front of her. “Not at all; I was going to ask if you wanted takeout.”

I was tired, and admittedly cranky, but I couldn’t deny the temptation of junk food just then. “Yeah, that’d be great,” I mumbled, rolling my shoulders.

“Do you have a preference?”

“Something quick.” I sighed.

She nodded and went back to her phone.

I watched her distantly, internally remarking on the strange domesticity of our situation. It was odd; Devon took my schedule and tore it into tiny pieces and then turned around and offered me food. It was a give and take I wasn’t sure I liked.

“Done,” she announced, pocketing her phone with a smile. “Should be here in twenty minutes.”

I didn’t ask how she managed to find a restaurant close enough to deliver within the hour, I was too drained.

“Great,” I muttered. I shuffled into the kitchen mindlessly, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

I paused, the glass frozen halfway up to my mouth. “I’m fine,” I said stiffly.

I wasn’t, and any idiot with a pair of eyes could see that, but I wasn’t interested in opening up about my feelings just then. I didn’t have the energy to be psychoanalyzed by the source of my frustration.

“You know, Tamera told me this stupid story one time when I was sick,” she mused, veering so far off topic that I glanced at her.

She didn’t wait for me to prompt her for more. “I’d gotten this shitty case of the flu,” she said, her face twisting in disgust. “I’m talking code red man-flu. I was practically catatonic. I was three days in, slowly building my own Mount Everest out of gross Kleenex, and she bursts in with her clear airways and normal body temperature.”

I took a sip of my water and leaned my hip against the cool marble countertop.

Devon sat on one of the kitchen barstools, her long legs folded beneath her, her eyes unsettling as she watched me.

I was glad she wasn’t trying to apologize. It would have only made me angrier.

“She was carrying her own weight in school work,” she continued, her hands weaving through the air around her. “Most of it was mine, and I told her that I was pretty sure I was about to die. She goes, ‘the only time you’re close to death is when you forget your purpose’. And I thought, what the fuck does that have to do with being sick, right?”

I cocked my head; the only indication that I was listening.