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“Where’s your food?” I ask as I pull a chair out for Stella and then Stephanie.
“I’m not feeling well, so I’m not eating.” As I sit down myself, she must see my distaste with her answer and my mouth opening to object because she adds, “I’ll eat later if I’m up for it. I did grab something,” she holds up a cracker, “just for you, so save it, Scott.”
I let it go for now because I know how to pick my battles and she’s right. At least she’s nibbling on something rather than not eating anything at all. Before a single piece of silverware is lifted, we thank Sylvia for fixing our dinner. Before we got the kids, I thanked her in the same manner. I never want Sylvia to think I don’t appreciate her or what she does for me and my girls. I want to show it and I want to say it. The girls started out saying it as a way of copying me, but they eventually caught on and they say it now, even if I’m not here. It’s worth doing, too. Makes my wife smile every damn time.
Sylvia reaches over to the seat next to her and grabs a box. I don’t know why it makes me suspicious, but it does.
“What’d you do, Sylvia?”
She flashes me a quick glare. “I took a little initiative.” Oh, boy. She opens the small, rectangular box. It looks like it’s holding business cards. She plucks one out and hands it to me. “I did them myself.”
“These look good.” They are professional, but fun. Before Sylvia quit her job, she worked with a company in the marketing department, but she also dabbled in graphic design. “Lizzy ask you to do these? I didn’t know she came up with a name. Or that she had social media pages.”
Sylvia purposely looks away from me. “Well...”
“Sylvie,” I sigh.
“I warned you that I took a little initiative. The name is one that she tossed around, so I don’t think she’ll be mad about that. But she’s so busy making the cakes, she needs someone to do this part of it, or at least set it up. I did it for her.” She grins. “It was really fun.”
Maybe that’s what’s been missing. Maybe she’s restless now that the girls are in school? I think it’d be difficult for her to find a job after not working for six years, though. She’s had absolutely no work experience in that time span and she quit her last job with no notice because she was so concerned about Lizzy.
“You didn’t show these to her when she stopped by?” I ask. I’ll bring up the rest of my thoughts later when the girls aren’t around.
“They came after. Do you really think they look good?”
“Yeah, they’re perfect. I’m sure she’ll like them.” Her smile turns into a beam, which quickly disappears when I waft my fork her way. “Not even a bite?”
She jumps up from the table and rushes to the bathroom.
“Is Momma okay?” Stephanie asks.
“I think she’s sick. Y’all keep eating.” I stand to go check on her. She’s in one of our half-baths, hacking up her stomach. “Fuck, Sylvie.” I rub her back, knowing better than to do more than that.
“This is your fault,” she mumbles. “Trying to get me to eat. I already said I didn’t feel well and you had to tempt fate.”
“Sorry.” Another round comes, but there’s nothing left in her stomach, so she’s dry heaving. Once she seems to be done, I direct her out of the bathroom and straight to our room. “Why don’t you lie down for a while? I’ll bring you a glass of water and you can rest for a bit.”
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
The fact that she gave into what was basically a demand proves just how bad she feels. She’s pale, too. I get her into a pair of pajamas and into bed with a glass of water on the nightstand and a small trash can next to the bed—all without any complaints or grumbling under her breath. Then, I rejoin my girls for dinner. I don’t feel great about having Sylvia sick on top of her anxiety about the upcoming season. At least I work well under pressure.
On and off for the past few weeks, I haven’t felt well. Mostly nausea. I attributed it to me feeling off in general, but I guess it’s finally catching up to me and I’m full-blown sick now. Yay me. I fell asleep after Scott left me and when I wake up, he’s climbing into bed.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. Feel any better?”
“A little, I guess.”
“Up for some talking?” he asks as he pulls me into his arms.
“Try me.” I’ll just tell him to shut up if it turns out I’m not.
“Did you yell at the girls today?”
Guilt overwhelms me. “Yeah, I snapped at them. I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t feeling all that great and I had a headache, and next thing I know, I’m yelling at them.” I was so ashamed of myself, I never said I was sorry. “What’s wrong with me, Scott?”
“Nothing. Just an off week.”
I scoff at that. It’s been more than a week.
