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“Yeah, babe.” Another pause, but this one I don’t break. “I’m happy for you.”
“What?”
“I’m happy for you. Taking care of someone. You were made for it. You just never had a good one to do it for.” Another pause, but because Hattie is my best friend who I spend nearly every moment with, I know what’s next. She confirms it. “You found a good one, babe.”
“Yeah.” I say, eyes locked on Lola’s, whose are still confused but getting sleepy.
I wonder how much of the day she’s spent sleeping and what I can do to keep her comfortable while she rides it out.
“Go take care of your girl and keep me updated.”
“Yeah. Talk to you later, Hat. Text me when you get home.” And then I tap the screen to end the call.
And then I take care of Lola like I was meant to from the day we met.
Thirty-Nine
-Lola-
My eyes are heavy,fighting sleep my body most desperately needs hours later. A call to Ben’s doctor friend, Vic, necessitated a delivery of an assortment of soups, drinks, and medicines to my apartment by Hattie, and while he set things up and made his calls, I was able to doze a bit. But once he had take-out for himself and a bowl of soup and crackers for me situated, I refused to let my eyes even droop.
Benjamin Coleman is taking care of me.
Right now, hours after our meal, Ben is watching some random movie, an old western (I made fun of him because he is undoubtedly an old man in my mind now), while he gently brushes my hair with his fingers.
At some point, he forced me to put my head in his lap, and I complained how my messy, knotty bun was giving me a headache. He went to find a wide tooth comb and gently brushed out the tangles, rubbing my scalp to relieve any remaining pressure. Now, even though the knots and my headache are long gone, he continues his ministrations, the action lulling me to sleep.
When my eyes droop again, my mind forcing them to open once more, a chuckle rumbles through his chest.
“Go to sleep, Lola. I’ve got you.”
“I’m good.”
“You’re falling asleep in my lap.”
“I’m just resting my eyes,” I say, my words a mumble.
“Bullshit. You need rest, You need to sleep to recover.” Silence hangs between us as I give into my droopy eyelids and Ben continues to run his fingers through my hair.
Long minutes pass before my fever must get the best of me, letting my thoughts meet reality.
“I don’t want to miss it.” His fingers pause.
“What?”
“You. Taking care of me. I want to soak it in,” I say, snuggling deeper into his lap, pulling a blanket around me tighter.
“I don’t understand, sweet girl.”
“It’s been a while, you know. Since someone took care of me. I do it myself. I don’t mind,” I say, ignoring him. “It’s not so bad. But it’s nice having someone else do it.” His fingers are still in my hair and my body wiggles, signaling him to continue. He does, and I start talking again. “I was probably . . . thirteen? The last time my mom was able to take care of me. After that, I had to take care of her, and then Lilah, and then Dad.” I yawn, the world closing in on me in my exhaustion.
“No one has taken care of you since you were thirteen?” he asks, and it seems almost . . . annoyed.
But that’s Ben for you. I wonder if he’s evernotannoyed.
“I’m really good at taking care of people,” I say. “The next time you’re sick, I’ll make you soup. Italian wedding soup is my favorite.”
“You don’t have to take care of me, Lola.”
