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He’s coughing a little harder when he comes in which is understandable since it is really cold out. The cold air can make it hard to breathe and now that I know he has asthma, the bitterness of the wind can’t be helping.
“Inhaler?” I suggest, once again pushing him to take care of himself.
“It’s just the cold air. I’ll be fine once I’m back inside for a bit,” he responds, tossing a few of the raw bright orange mushrooms in his mouth.
“Look,” I say, pointing to the pot on the top of the stove. “I found a Dutch oven.”
“A what?”
“A Dutch oven. A pot to cook soup in,” I add, clarifying since the look on his face tells me he has no idea what I’m talking about.
“You know what a Dutch oven is, don’t you?” he now asks me, and clearly I do know what it is because I just explained it to him.
“A soup pot. What do you think it is?” I ask, cocking my head to the side, my brows furrowed as I wait for his answer.
“You seriously don’t know this?” Alex asks, as if he’s testing me. I shake my head, stirring the soup while I wait for his explanation.
“Well, it’s when you fart under a blanket and then you hold someone’s head under it. You give them a Dutch oven.” He’s looking at me, waiting for me to respond and all I do is burst out laughing.
“You can’t be serious. I’ve never heard of that. My mom always called the soup pot, a Dutch oven. Your description definitely gives it a different meaning.”
“Yeah, Nick, Max and I used to do it to each other all the time. Maybe it’s a guy thing,” Alex suggests, shrugging as if it isn’t totally disgusting.
“It must be because there’s not a chance in hell Zoey or I would have ever done that to each other.”
“I’m sure Max has done it to Zoey. When we get back, ask her about it.”
“That will make for an interesting conversation,” I tease. “After we eat all these vegetables in the soup, I’m going to give you a Dutch oven!”
“Not if I do it first,” Alex quips back, playfully narrowing his eyes at me. “When you least expect it.” He pretends to tiptoe around like he’s being sneaky, and I swear this side of Alex is so damn cute. Even when he’s sick and I’m worrying about him, his sweet side is always on full display now.
“How long do you think I should boil the soup?” I ask, as Alex continues to eat the mushy orange fungi he collected.
“I don’t know. Not that long. The veggies are already soft as hell,” he says, coming over to where I’m standing, looking into the pot.
“I’ll let it go for a few more minutes and then we can eat. We can have it for lunch and dinner tonight,” I say, knowing we have to make everything last as long as possible, but also knowing it will help Alex stay hydrated.
I turn to him, pushing his hair back, I rest my hand on his forehead. “Still warm,” I say, looking over at where the bottle of ibuprofen sits and Alex’s eyes float over there too.
“I’ll take one after we eat the soup,” he says, reassuring me. It actually smells like real food. I’ve gotten so used to eating cold, canned vegetables and pasta.”
“Me too, and soup is comfort food. You need comfort food right now since you’re sick.”
“I’m not that sick,” he replies just as he begins coughing again. I feel my face heat up, the anxiety coursing through me as Alex struggles to catch his breath.
“Going to use my inhaler,” he manages to get out, smirking at me as he rifles through his backpack, pulling it out. He puts it to his mouth, inhaling hard and when he does, I hear the wheeze I swore I heard earlier this morning. But Alex’s admission that he has asthma explains it. Not that it makes me worry any less.
“Well, let’s have some lunch and hope it’s as good as it smells,” I say, spooning the soup into bowls for us. I set them down on the table and since I know Alex won’t take any of the ibuprofen right away, I quickly slip outside and gather up some snow.
“For my head?” he asks, as I hand him the towel I have now packed with snow.
“Yep, and when we’re done eating, don’t think I’m going to let you get by without taking some meds.
“Thanks for taking such good care of me,” Alex says, smiling as he sits down. His face flushes the most adorable shade of pink and he opens his mouth like he wants to say something else. I watch him, waiting, but he falls silent, and we both start eating the soup.
25
ALEX
