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“Hey,” I say. “Where are you going?”
The steps stop. “You want company?”
I should say no. Shouldn’t even have asked. I shift on the couch, knowing that answering yes is showing weakness. It’s definitely not a part of the business box, not even a part of the pleasure box where I’d placed her three nights ago.
“Yes,” I say.
“All right. Let me just get something to drink.”
A few minutes later she sinks down next to me on the giant couch and props her feet up on the coffee table. She has a large ice coffee in hand the color of caramel.
“That,” I say, “looks disgusting.”
“It’s eighty-seven percent sugar, twelve percent milk, and one percent coffee. It’s also one hundred percent delicious.”
“Ugh.”
“It’s not your preferred single-shot Americano, that’s for sure.” She reaches for the remote control. It’s in a basket on the living room table, together with the remote for my surround system. I haven’t had music on in ages.
It has been a long time since I’d lived in my home, and not just used it to work, sleep and exercise in.
“Your TV is huge,” she say. “Do you like watching things when you’re sick? Or do you want me to be quiet?”
“You wouldn’t be much company if you were quiet.”
“You’re even grumpier when you’re sick. Can’t say I’m surprised.” Cool fingers rearrange the towel on my brow and briefly brush through my hair.
Oh.The faint touch of her fingers along my tight scalp felt like heaven. But her hand is gone, and I’ve already exposed myself too much tonight.
“I’m grumpy,” I say, “because I have you relaxed and on my couch, but I don’t have the energy to make full use of that.”
The channel-scrolling stops. “You’re talking about…”
“Yes. I’m talking about sex.”
The channel-scrolling resumes. “You won’t be sick forever.”
“Thank the small mercies.” I turn my head slightly. She’s stopped at a home renovation show. A couple from Texas redoing farmhouses.
“I love watching these shows,” Cecilia says. “It combines all of my interests.”
“You have an interest in old barns.”
She laughs, and the sound doesn’t grate against my headache. It’s soothing. “No. But I like organization, renovation, fixing things up. I like seeing happy couples and their kids. I like… okay, I don’t mind barns.”
“Have you ever actually been inside of a barn?”
“Oh, yes. Many times.”
I turn my head, ignoring the blinding headache. “You’re serious.”
“Dead serious. My mother went through a vegan phase. One of her best friends at the time had this place where you could pet rescued barnyard animals for spiritual healing.”
My silence has to be enough, because she laughs. “Yeah. I know it’s not something for you.”
“Spiritual healing,” I say.
She shrugs. “Or relaxation, I suppose. I have to give it to her, it’s hard to feel stressed or angry when you’re holding a lamb or petting a cow.”
