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“I know and I will. I just woke up and I kinda feel shitty,” he admits, and I hate it. I hate that he’s being honest with me about how he’s feeling. It scares me because now it feels like he’s finally coming to terms with the reality of what is happening here.
“I made you some tea,” I now say, trying to hide the fear from slipping through into my words. “Or would you rather have some water?”
“I’ll take the tea,” he says begrudgingly, thanking me when I hand it to him. I watch him drink it, taking small sips, but at least he’s drinking.
“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” I now ask and he laughs a little. I’m rapid-fire hitting him with a million questions when he just woke up.
“I’m okay, Mom,” he teases, making me smile. I know when he has the ability to joke with me that he must be feeling a little better.
“Bathroom means hydration,” I say, my eyebrows going up to drive my point home.
“You want me to report back to you on the color of my urine?” he asks, standing up, but not moving as he waits for what I can assume is a headrush from standing to pass.
“No, okay, maybe a little,” I admit, wrinkling up my nose at how ridiculous I sound, but I also feel like it might be something we do need to pay attention to. I have no idea what to do when you’re lost in the wilderness and sick. I’m used to eating soup and drinking Gatorade and bingeing TV on the couch.
“How about I make some soup?” I now suggest. “We have tons of canned tomatoes. I’m sure I could whip up something good with what we have.”
“Vegetable soup actually sounds kind of good,” Alex says, walking over to pull me into a hug. “Maybe use the older shit since we’ll leave it to cook for a while. Kill off some of the bacteria.” He shrugs like it’s only a suggestion.
Not that either of us has any idea how bacteria die off or if expired canned food is still good after a few years. I’m starting to think I should go back to school and major in some type of science degree after all this shit. It would have come in handy now to know how quickly a person can dehydrate and how sick you can get from eating old canned vegetables.
I push up on my toes, kissing Alex, feeling the heat from his lips that continues to make me worry. He’s still warm, and I have to resist the urge to tell him to take some more meds.
“Checking my fever?” he asks, when my lips linger a little longer.
“Am I that obvious?”
“You are, but that’s okay. I kinda like how you’re doting on me all the time. Making me vegetable soup, making sure I drink, asking about my pee.” He pinches my side when he says that last part, which causes me to giggle and shove him away.
“You go relax,” I tell him, pointing to the mattress. “I’ll get started on the soup.”
But of course Alex doesn’t do what I tell him, instead walking over to the door and pulling on his boots.
I swear if this idiot is about to go out to get some wood, I’m going to scream. He just doesn’t know how to rest. There is plenty of wood already inside. He coughs, clearing his throat, and then coughs again.
“Whenever I got sick as a kid, my asthma would act up,” he tells me, opening the door to the cabin, letting the cold air come in with its usual blast. The fire in the stove flares up with the sudden intrusion of oxygen, returning to normal seconds later.
“You have asthma?”
“I do, but it’s been pretty much under control since I was in high school. I have an inhaler that I usually have with me. I think it’s in my backpack. You know, just in case.”
“Maybe you should use it?” I suggest, opening a can of tomatoes as I search for another pot. Most of the ones in the cabin are being used to boil water or keep water that has been boiled.
“Nah, I’m good,” he says, stepping outside.
“Where are you going?” I call, scampering over to the door.
“I was going to see if I could find any more of those witches’ butter mushrooms. Remember, they tasted like VapoRub? It might help this congestion I feel in my chest.”
“I can go,” I quickly say, reaching for one of the coats we have on the hooks by the door.
“I’m fine, Laney. Get back in the kitchen and make me some soup,” he says, this funny little demand in his voice, like he’s teasing me about a woman’s place being in the kitchen.
“You cheeky shit!” I yell as he pulls the door closed behind him.
I find a soup pot and dump in some water, a can of tomatoes, a can of peas, corn and carrots, along with some salt, pepper and this jar of marinated mushrooms. While everything seems to be good, the mushrooms were the only really sketchy thing I added. They looked to have been in the cabinet for at least five years and given there was no expiration date, it’s probably a little risky.
Alex comes in about fifteen minutes later, his hands full of the bright orange fungi he found earlier when we ate the mushroom pasta. I wouldn’t consider what he found mushrooms, but at least they are edible.
