Authors: Love Belvin
“You don’t look good, bud,” Zoey noted as she walked into the living room with a glass of wine for herself. She placed it down on the coffee table before reaching over to assess the temperature of my forehead. “I promise I didn’t poison you. Your child support checks don’t bounce,” she jeered with a genuine moue.
“I’m starting to feel sick.”
“Holy mother of Joseph! Up!” she yelped, pulling me by the arm. “They discontinued this carpet since I bought it!”
I made it to the toilet just in time. My guts came up and wouldn’t stop.
“Geesh, Stent!” Zoey patted my face with a cold cloth until I was done.
I collapsed next to the toilet, feeling fatigued all of a sudden.
“I’ll get you a toothbrush and towel set. You need a cool shower and to relax. Do you want me to take you home?”
“Hell no!” That came out harsher than intended. I just knew there was no way I wanted to be alone or without her. I didn’t get sick, rarely ailed by the common cold, even when caring for Jordan when he was afflicted. I was a big ass baby when sick. I wasn’t settled on Zoey seeing that side of me, but I damn sure didn’t want to be alone. “I don’t wanna be by myself like this.”
Wearing the same frozen expression she held at the hospital when I asked to come over, she nodded. I was prepared to hear apprehensive questions about the return of Jenna, but they didn’t come. Zoey left me alone in the bathroom for a few minutes and returned for me while on the phone with Srey, firing off a list of personal items including clothing that I needed from my apartment. She took me into her bathroom to shower where I actually fit, unlike the countless tight ass ones I took in JR’s.
By the time I was done, as I dried, I could hear Zoey on the phone with Sarah, giving her my symptoms.
“
Yeah, that’s what I thought. Okay. I’ll keep an eye on him. Yes, Momma!
” she huffed. “
Oh, of course not. I promise to take care of your Stenton. No, you don’t need to speak to him. He’ll be fine…unless you wanna fly back to take care of him. You’re bossing me around the same way you do every time Jordan gets sick! He just needs some rest and—
” Zoey sucked in a breath and her widened eyes scanned my shivering frame, only covered in a towel. “Momma, I gotta go. Yeah…I will. Bye.” She disconnected the phone.
I didn’t have clean clothes.
With her mouth still agape, she muttered, “No underwear… I mean you don’t have any…here!” She shut her eyes frustrated by tripping over her words. “You don’t have underwear here, but they’re on the way. I found sweats of yours from JR’s closet. You still have a few pieces of clothing here.”
She handed me the clothes and I took them back into the warmed bathroom, still fogged from my shower, and dressed. I couldn’t give a damn about free-balling, I needed blankets. I was cold as shit. When I walked out into the bedroom, Zoey was dressing her bed. She glanced up and found me.
“I don’t have a spare comforter to fit this bed, so you’re gonna have to make do with mine. I have a few blankets to top it, though.”
Rubbing the cold from my arms, I asked, “I’m sleeping in here? In your bed?” I felt my teeth chatter.
“It’s either this or the couch and Sarah Barrett would have my head if I put you on the couch like this. C’mon, get in the bed! You’re trembling.” She waved me over with urgency.
I damn near dove into the bed. Zoey immediately covered me, patting the covers and blankets to warm me. Right away I caught the permeating scents of her body from the mattress and pillow. I smelled vanilla and citrus, somehow soothing my mind—my body was a different story. I was sick!
“I’m going to get some chicken soup started. You can hopefully keep the broth down. Get some rest and text or call me if you need me before I come back to check on you.”
“A damn cold in Septem-ember,” my speech rang botched from my teeth rattling. “It’ssssss…like eighty
sa
-six
da
-degrees outside.”
“You likely don’t have a cold, Stenton. It could be some sort of aftershock from what you experienced earlier. Not even a titanium shell like yours is immune to tragedy.”
What the hell is that supposed to mean?
The next time I awakened I was hurled from my sleep, choking. I sat up and leaned over toward the floor. I heard, “Holy mother of—” just before I vomited.
When I was able to open my eyes and clear my vision, I saw the red bucket right in my face and Zoey holding it up high. Then I saw the pallet she’d made on the floor next to the bed. My face wrinkled.
“I was afraid you’d have to do that and didn’t want you choking on it or getting it on my floor.” Her face was tight with sleepiness. “You think you’re done?”
I nodded my head. My clothes were drenched as were the sheets. I felt shitty. “I need a shower,” I croaked out, stretching my legs to scoot off the bed.
When I came out of the bathroom, my clean clothes—this time including boxers—were waiting for me on the chaise. Zoey was busy changing the sheets.
“You don’t look so hot,” she stood to announce. “Let me see if your fever broke. You’re no longer shivering.”
She finished the bed and invited me in before leaving the room. When she returned she pushed the thermometer into my mouth.
“Ain’t this JR’s?” I garbled with my mouth occupied. We used it when he was a baby.
“It serves the same purpose. Hush.”
While I waited for the device to beep its results, Zoey finished the bed. She read the device and informed my temp had dropped. She left to put the soiled sheets in the wash. When I got back in the bed I appreciated the freshness of the sheets again. I practically went out again when I wiggled for comfort. I don’t know how, but I dozed off.
~~~~~~~~~~
I don’t know how long after it was when Zoey gently woke me to eat and drink water. It was pitch black outside. The only streak of light came from her bathroom to illuminate where we were. I was too disoriented to ask for the time. She was freshly showered herself in a silk pajama short set. I drank as much as I could and swallowed the pills she handed me for my fever.
“You’re sweating. Maybe I need to roll down a few blankets.”
“No!” I growled. “I’m cold as shit.”
I rejected her next serving of the broth, feeling nauseous again and needing to lie down. I fell out as soon as my warm, misted head hit the cool pillow. I woke up sometime later and found the red bucket sitting next to the bed, cleaned. Next to it was an empty pallet. Zoey was gone. Why did that minor detail cause me to feel grievance? I staggered over to the bathroom, took a leak, washed my hands and got right back in the bed for lights out.
~~~~~~~~~~
“Stent, come on. You have to eat something,” I heard in the distance as I felt tugging at my side.
I turned to find Zoey with a bowl of something. I eyed her warily.
“You have to eat. You slept all day yesterday. If it weren’t for hearing the toilet flushing a few times and coming in here to empty glasses of juice, I’d’ve thought you were dead.”
Barely processing her message, I scooted off the bed to take to the bathroom. When I returned, she was in the same place, accompanied by a familiar maternal glower. I wasn’t hungry, yet neither was saying no to Zoey an option in the moment. I crawled back into bed and she fed me oatmeal…old fashioned. My taste buds were so coated and numb, I couldn’t appreciate the taste, and after three spoonsful I was done. Zoey held the next serving in the air and instead of verbalizing my inability to take in more, rolled over into slumber.
En route, I heard her mumble, “Seriously, Stent? What am I going to do with all this oatmeal? Gee, thanks!”
~~~~~~~~~~
The next time I roused, I headed straight into the bathroom, only this time when I was done, I decided to actually leave her bedroom. I didn’t know what time it was no more than I knew the day. What was disconcerting was that it didn’t disturb me in the least. Slowly, I gaited down the hall, wondering if Zoey had left for work. It was daylight after all. And judging from the brightness, it was morning. I stopped when I heard her on the phone in her office.
“I need you to have my back on this. You’ve been asking for a promotion, now is your opportunity to step up and show me what you got. Yeah, I know she can be difficult, but a good assistant manager would take a diplomatic approach. Yeah. I know.” She blew out an exasperated breath. “Please put Angela on. Thanks. Hey, Ang. I need you to handle Yolanda. Yeah…I know you’re not an employee manager, only culinary, but I need you to help me with this. If she shows, tell her she’s been let go for excessive requests for schedule changes and tardin—” There was a pause. “Ang, I know, but I need this
today
. Could you also start scanning for prospective applicants from the top drawer of the file cabinet in my office? Too much? Fine! I’ll do it when I get back.”
The phone rang. Her cell.
“Hang on,” she demanded. “Helloooo,” she sang out far less course than her tone with her employees. “Yes, I’m still alive. I know. I’ve kinda had a…family emergency. Jordan? No. He’s fine. I haven’t picked him up yet, which is why we haven’t had that date. Remember I told you we’d go out when I cross the bridge, before I pick up my son? I haven’t gone yet.” There was a pause before she giggled really…girlie like, a feminine purr. “Yes. We will have our date. I don’t know. I’m still wrapped up in that emergency. It could be a couple more days. Yes…I promise. I have to go…I have work on the other line.” Pause. Fucking giggle. “Okay! I’ll say it again. I promise.” More damn giggling. Fucking cooing! “Okay…bye,” purred again sensually.
I needed to go lie down.
“Okay, Ang? Yeah. I’ll be down there in a couple of hours to pick up the deposit for the bank. Okay! Goodbye!”
Zoey collapsed her head on the desk.
“It’s hard having it all.”
Her head shot up. “Huhn?” Then her eyes softened in recognition. “You see why I allow you to think you’re manipulating me into those vacations?”
My eyes bulged.
“Yup,” she ended on a pop.
A sexy one
. “And here you’ve been thinking using Jordan was an act of genius. No one outsmarts Elizabeth Barrett, dear.” She scanned her desk then gestured to my phone. “I had to charge your phone. It was ringing and buzzing to death. I scanned it for calls from Jenna. I assume she’s still out of the country.” I nodded. She narrowed her eyes. “Where is she anyway?”
I shrugged. “South Europe.”
“Oh, cool! Impressive,” she sang cheerily. “Where exactly?”
“I don’t know…Bosnia.” This conversation was becoming too reminiscent of the one I’d had with Quincy.
“You hungry? You haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
I felt my brows wrinkle. “How long have I been out?”
“You’ve been here for three days,” she muttered while leaving out the door, passing me at the frame. “And please call Sarah Barrett. You can send a tweet, email or text. Just let the woman know I didn’t let you die,” she called out while meandering down toward the kitchen.
I snorted. “Will do.”
Three days sounded pretty disgusting. I decided to go wash my mouth and ass. When I came back out, I found Zoey in the kitchen, over the sink.
“I figured you could use a reminder of what the city is like, so I set you up at the small table, near the window.” She jerked her chin and I found a hot plate of an omelet and pancakes at the table set for one.
“Are you going to join me?”
“Not to eat. I had breakfast a couple of hours ago when I woke up.”
A few minutes later and as I was inhaling my food, Zoey sat across from me. She gave a few minutes of quiet to allow me to indulge. Even though I knew a string of questions would come, there was still some peace—and anticipation—about them coming from Zoey. There was no one better suited to catch what I felt I needed to release.
Fuck it
. I decided not to wait for her to initiate it.
“Remember a few years ago when I told you people fall in love with the image…the perception and can really give a damn about the process?
“Oh, yeah.” She rolled her eyes and waved her hand dismissively. “The ‘woe is me’ mantra. Yes.”
“No. Seriously, Zo. People fall in love with what they believe to be you, but never consider the process you underwent or continue to undergo. It’s like with marriage: people see the love and the chemistry on the red carpet, but never consider the sacrifices the couple has to commit to in order to guard their marriage…keeping people out of their business, never talking to the media, not hanging out in certain spots. Those are the sacrifices that are being made, but aren’t recorded by the media. That’s the process.
“And even me. They may see the tattoos…they may have even heard some of the wild shit I’ve done, like bad relationships or being temperamental, but they don’t understand the process I went through to get there. The shit I had to endure growing up, or why I was just angry all the time. Now when they see me ball, and they see the scores, and they see me taking my team to the championship, they don’t see the process behind my ability to zone in and tune everybody out. They don’t know when I was a kid, for many years, I played at a local abandoned park. It had only a ring and no net, and in order for me to block out the ruckus of my mom and pops over on the bench with their get-high buddies just a few feet away, arguing over who gets the next hit, I challenged myself with making the basket from different angles. It wasn’t a concept that was encouraged, it was the simple act of trying to keep my sanity. Then it became an obsession.