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“Oh.” Levi’s face was still stoic and cranky, but the relief that poured off him softened his hard edges like a waterfall softens a cliff. Despite her headache and nausea, she wanted to dive right into him and swim around for a while.
Even though he’d left her.
“I was worried.”
“Oh,” Mina said, the word exiting her mouth on a soft puff of air. It had been a long time since someone had worried about her.
No, that wasn’t true. Her parents and her brother and her doctors and the nurses and everyone else she interacted with because she was HIV positive worried about her. They worried about her T-cell count and her virus count and the side effects of her meds and her mental health and if she got her flu shot. The men she’d dated had worried, too—about the condom breaking and what their friends would think. Everyone’s worries revolved around her HIV, like there was nothing else Mina could possibly be into that might be cause for concern.
HIV or nothin’.
Levi, though, was worried about her hangover.
“Wait. What did you think happened to me?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. Maybe you couldn’t answer my knock because you fell in the shower. Then you opened the door and, well, you look like shit.”
“Come in. If you want to talk, we can talk, but first I need to shower and brush my teeth.”
* * *
MINA STEPPED INTO her dining room to the smell of coffee. Levi was examining one of the favorite drawings she had on her wall, the one with a cockroach playing a French horn, the bug’s body parts labeled in Russian. She’d picked it up at the Small Press Expo, and the whimsy in its clean lines never failed to make her smile. He looked from it to a comic of two tongues experiencing their first French kiss and shook his head before turning around.
She still felt like her face was green around the edges, even if her eyes were less bloodshot and she definitely smelled better; but with the look of appreciation in his eyes, she didn’t think he noticed. Either that or he had some strange fetish for women in gym shorts and Brothers Karamazov T-shirts.
“Is that coffee I smell?” she asked, pleased to hear that the shower had also rescued the post-drunk quiver from her voice.
“I thought you’d probably want some. And a glass of water. I don’t know if you have tomato juice.” He walked into the kitchen and went right for the cabinet with her mugs. He must have either snooped or paid careful attention when he was over the other night. Given the large cup of coffee he poured her, she’d forgive him the snooping. “Do you take anything in it?”
“Usually some sugar, but not this morning. Or not yet.”
The crockery was hot against her skin as she wrapped her fingers around the mug and bent her face to the restorative steam, sighing. “Thank you.” However, the first sip didn’t feel as good in her stomach as she’d hoped, either because of her queasy digestion or her dancing nerves. Maybe both. Still, she took another tentative sip.
Levi poured himself a cup. “Do you have stuff to make pancakes? Or an omelet? Your stomach would probably feel better with some food in it.”
“An omelet, no.” She shuddered. “I don’t think I could handle it. Pancakes, maybe. But you wanted to talk. So let’s talk.”
“I’ll make pancakes while we talk,” he said, his body quivering with pent-up energy. She realized that with the exception of the night he’d been over for dinner, she’d always seen him working on something. Mowing his lawn or helping her with her garden bed. Levi was a tinkerer. A doer. Something she liked in a man.
She gave a wry chuckle, stopping when her stomach rebelled. “Well, don’t be insulted if I don’t eat any.”
Levi pulled the canister marked Flour close to him. She directed him to the drawer with the measuring cups and the mixing bowls. Once he’d gotten everything out for breakfast, he said, “I’m sorry,” still staring down at the pre-pancake operation.
He must have realized he wasn’t looking at her, because his head flipped up with a start, and he turned to face her, waiting until their gazes caught before speaking again. “I’m sorry for running out last Sunday, without even a word.”
