“No, I’m fine. Really. I’m happy. You’re the one I worried about the most.”
“Me? Why me?” I ask, my brow furrowed as I frown.
“Because you’re an acquired taste,” she says, patting my hand.
“I think he’s perfect,” Mikayla grumbles, her voice slightly muffled as she leans against my chest. She squeezes me tighter but doesn’t open her eyes.
“Well, yes he is,” my mother beams as she looks at us. “I’ll be right back.”
I eat my dinner as Mikayla sleeps, cuddled against me. I was able to get some fluids into her, and she kept everything down.
I lie back and must have dozed because I awaken to Kyle giving Mikayla an exam.
“Fever is down from where it was, but not where I’d like it,” Kyle whispers as he gives her a dose of ibuprofen.
“What’s she at?” I ask. My heart is pounding. I’m exhausted, but I’m not sure I’ll be getting much more sleep after hearing that news.
“One-oh-one,” he says. “She may respond better to the ibuprofen.” He changes out her saline drip, then sits down in the chair beside the bed. “She has the job if she wants it,” Kyle says. “I was able to check in with the oncologist she worked for back in Seattle. Sent him an email this morning, actually, and he wrote back almost immediately. Told me I’d be lucky to have her.”
“Told you,” I say, still feeling defensive because of our last conversation.
“Play nice; your girlfriend is ill,” Mikayla murmurs.
“Did we wake you?” I ask, feeling like the biggest asshole for not being aware of my volume.
“I’m in a permanent state of fog,” she whispers before she opens her mouth and a big yawn escapes. “Do you by chance have a toothbrush?” Mikayla asks.
I look down and watch as her eyes blink open. But she can’t seem to keep them open because they flutter closed.
“Are you feeling nauseous?” Kyle asks. He’s got his professional, kind doctor tone in place.
“It lingers,but nothing like this evening,” she says.
“Can you eat something? Maybe some saltines?” Kyle suggests. “Then you can brush your teeth, and I’ll leave you be for a few hours.”
“I’ll try.” She nods.
Kyle stands and grabs some crackers from another closet and hands them to Mikayla.
“Is a stomach bug going around?” Mikayla asks.
“No, actually, but I don’t usually see an uptick until November-December. Have you been under a lot of pressure or stress lately?” Kyle asks.
It’s almost like he’s asking it in passing. I don’t know what he’s getting at, but he doesn’t appear to be digging for anything sinister.
“I mean, who isn’t?” Mikayla responds. I give her a little squeeze. “Fine, yes,” she admits.
“Do you feel comfortable telling me about it?” Kyle asks.
Mikayla plays with the unopened plastic wrapping of the saltines. “I have kind of been on autopilot since I was nineteen. My dad got sick, and I was his everything,” she shrugs.
I grab the crackers and open the package and hand her one. I reach beside the bed for the hospital table I put her drink on and hand her the ginger ale. She takes a small sip and smiles at me.
“So, you were a full-time student and caregiver? You didn’t have help? Your brother? Was your father married?”
I can actually feel her shudder beside me.
“You mentioned having a bad day yesterday,” Kyle says.
