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“I don’t need you to mother me, Joe,” she sighs dramatically as she ties a patterned blue wrap around her body. I have to admit, clothes hang very nice on her. They seem to disguise what is really going on.
“I’m not mothering you,” I insist.
She stands up straight, brushing her hips with her fingertips. “So is this why you came by here? To chase me into work?”
“Martha is looking for you,” I mumble.
“Ohhhhh…yeah. Shit. I was supposed to meet with her yesterday.”
“That’s what she said.”
Didi grimaces and lets her head tip back so she can stare at the ceiling.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
“So, come on, let’s get going,” I suggest.
“She’s totally gonna fire me,” Didi groans.
My mouth pops open. “You don’t really think that?”
With a sigh, Didi lowers her head to look at me, then frowns apologetically. “I guess I have sort of been fucking up.”
My mind goes back to the artist biography on the wall, to Desi and Hannah’s shared critical glances.
“Why don’t you just go in, and let me stay here?” I suggest helpfully. “I can get this place cleaned up in a hurry since I have two good legs. When you get back, we can talk. It’s been a while.”
She offers me a sad smile.
“Sometimes I forget that you are the best,” she murmurs.
“Control freaks get shit done,” I shrug.
With a sigh, she begins hobbling toward the front door, picking her bag up off the small table. I grab a stack of pizza boxes to begin tidying up, and a swarm of fruit flies drift into the air, covering my face and hair immediately. With a gasp, I realize I’m woozy all over again and drop the boxes, hurtling back toward the bathroom.
There’s nothing in my stomach, so I just retch for a couple minutes, my knees wobbly and weak.
“Jeez, Joe, what’s up with you?” Didi asks gently, running a washcloth under the tap and handing it to me so I can wipe my mouth.
“Just go on to work,” I beg, embarrassed by myself. “It’s nothing… Just some crazy PMS. You’re already late. Go.”
“No, you’re sick, sweetie,” she simpers. “You need to take it easy. Do you feel like you have the flu? Fever?”
“I think I’m fine. You have an extra toothbrush?”
Rummaging in a drawer, she drags out a shiny new box and hands it to me.
“At least you know you are not pregnant! I know you’re kind of grossed out by my place, but you can stay here as long as you want to.”
I nod, breathing in slowly through my nostrils.
“Joe? You can’t be pregnant, right? Because you never have sex?”
Defensive, I rip open the toothbrush package and scowl at Didi in the mirror.
“I have sex sometimes,” I inform her, pointing with the brush. “I’m not a nun.”
“Right, you’re just frigid.”
