I squinted at the screen and swore. “Udder?”
I hastily typed:Yunder.
“The fuck is yunder?” But before I’d made a third attempt, the phone started ringing. I nearly dropped it on my face before managing to accept the call. “Uh, hi,” I said, my voice croaking a bit.
“You don’t sound so good,” Calvin answered.
“I am justly kill’d with mine own treachery.”
Calvin was quiet for a moment before asking, “Poe?”
“Shakespeare—Hamlet,” I corrected. “Well, Laertes, to be specific. I think I have the flu. I’m fine, though.”
“The flu is serious. You didn’t go into work, did you?”
“No, no. I’m home.”
“Do you need anything?”
My heart was pounding in my throat again. “Like what?”
“I don’t know.” Calvin hesitated but then said, “Medicine? Food? I can pick something up and come over.”
“Oh. No, don’t be silly.”
“It’s not being silly. I’m concerned.”
I quickly turned my head and coughed—the kind where your lungs feel full of broken glass—and then wheezed into the phone, “I’m okay, really. My dad’s already been here and thoroughly babied me. And I don’t think Max has a New Year’s date, because he’s texted me, like, five times already….” I cleared my throat before adding, “Besides, you’ve been shot.”
“I’ve been shot before,” Calvin replied, quiet and solemn.
“I bet that’s not something a lot of people get to say.” Calvin didn’t respond, and I scrambled for something semi-intelligent in order to break the silence. “I don’t want to get you sick.”
“I know my limits.”
Plucking some lint from the blanket, I murmured, “I appreciate the offer. I’ve… er, missed you this week.”
“I’ve missed you too,” Calvin replied, and there was a smile in his words.
“It’d have been nice to ring in the new year together, don’t you think?”
Calvin blew out a breath. “I think so.”
“Rain check?”
Instead of answering, Calvin said, “I better let you go.”
“Calvin—”
“Get some rest, sweetheart.”
I screwed my eyes shut and nodded to myself. “Sure. Okay. Bye.” I tapped End, got off the couch, and fetched the NyQuil from the bedroom. After returning to the living room, I pinched my nose, knocked back the disgusting berry-flavored syrup, and waited for the acetaminophen, dextromethorphan, and red #40 to take effect.
The next time I returned to the land of the living, the front room was pitch-black and the television was a blinding beacon that sent spots swimming across my vision. I slowly sat up, wiped my face, and belatedly realized I’d been drooling.
Nice. I’d drugged myself to the gills and nearly drowned to death.
I found my glasses on the floor and my phone on the coffee table, and squinted as I tapped the home screen. Shit. It was after nine. I’d slept the entire afternoon. I tossed the phone to the cushion beside me and looked around. I wasn’t sure what’d woken me so suddenly—
