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I shake my head as if I can tell him he's wrong just by denying it. “I can't be sick." Of course that's not true. I spend my days around other people, it's easy to get sick. The real concern is that I can't afford to miss work.
I haven't told Nathan any of those worries yet, though, and I don't plan to anytime soon. If he ever finds out, I imagine it would make things completely irreparable between us. He'll feel used, and rightly so.
He gives me a look I can't describe, a mix betweenYou've got to be kiddingandtrust me, I know what I'm talking about. I'm not sure how he does it, but with a look and a bit of humor, he makes me feel better. His stare brings a smile to my face and I can't help but be amused by him even though, as I think about it, I realize I do feel like crap.
He untangles our limbs on the couch and stands up beside me, looking down at me with a warm expression.
"Come on. You need to go to bed. I'll take care of you."
When I don't budge, he arches an eyebrow at me like I've issued a silent challenge. Without another word, he bends over and scoops me up under the shoulders and behind the knees and carries me toward his bedroom. I'd rather die than admit it, but this little show of strength and power does something strange to my belly.
There's a lingering doubt in my mind - I'm not used to people taking care of me.
And I can't help but wonder if he even knows what he's doing; how in one concerned gesture, he has me worried that he's falling for me.
All I can think about is the way he looks at me - like he's falling - and how he's holding me so gentle and how he smells like pine and how he's touching me like he cares, not like he’s trying to get anything from me. He could overpower me easily, but I can't imagine him using that strength for anything but good.
"Relax," he instructs softly as he pulls the sheet up over my body. “I'm going to get you water and some fever reducers. Just rest, OK?”
I nod, realizing I like the way he takes care of me. Somehow things went from complicated to impossible and I don't know what to do now.
Nathan leaves the room before reappearing a few moments later with a bottle of medication and a bottle of water. He shows me the label and I nod, indicating that it's something I can take so he opens the top, drops two pills into his hand, and offers them to me.
I sit up in bed holding the pills awkwardly as he opens the water bottle and pushes it in my direction. Tilting my hand back against my mouth, I take the pills and swallow a deep drink of water. The sensation of the pills dragging in my throat on the way down makes me shake my head and body violently. I hate that feeling.
“You OK?” Nathan asks.
I nod, gesturing up my throat. “I've always hated the feeling of swallowing pills.”
He sits down on the edge of the bed, throwing a toothy grin in my direction. “See. These are the kinds of juicy, intimate details I need to know.”
“Oh haha,” I say, rolling my eyes. Still, his relaxed attitude and manner puts me at ease, even though I'm really uncomfortable with the thought of being sick or getting really sick in his house. What if I throw up? We're not there in our friendship, relationship, or boss and employee relationship. I guess one thing is for sure, this will probably make our fake engagement a lot more realistic. Nothing proves how fragile and truly human we are than getting sick and the thought of him seeing or hearing me throw up really terrifies me. That means he can’t be the one, right?
I open my eyes to the sunrise filtering through the water droplets from the waterfall throwing prisms across the room. My hand skims between the blankets and sheets, searching for Nathan, but he’s nowhere to be found.
So I sit up, stretch, and scan the beautiful room for him. I don’t see him anywhere and my heart sinks. The logical side of my brain tells me how respectful it is that he didn’t assume he could sleep beside me without asking me, but my heart wishes I’d woken up to him.
What does that mean? Uncomfortable with this line of thinking, I stand up and head for the bathroom.
Two minutes later I turn the shower on and climb underneath the hot needles of water. I take stock of my body and the way I'm feeling and realize I don't feel the sickness from last night. It dawns on me that I should check the date; maybe I wasn't sick at all. I usually run a low-grade fever and feel a bit unwell right before my cycle starts. The doctors have told me that's just normal for some women, but for some reason it slipped my mind this month. Maybe it's the stress of everything else going on, or spending time with Nathan, or the fact that my thoughts have just been elsewhere lately, but I don't know how I could have forgotten.
Suddenly stressed out with the thought, I cut my shower short, get out and start to dry off. And right on cue, I see the bright red streak on the pristine white towel and wish I could sink into the floor in mortification.
At that moment, Nathan knocks on the bathroom door. I turn to face him, completely naked, hiding the towel behind my back as if I can hide the evidence of what's happened. “I just wanted to make sure you're OK,” he says, scanning the walls, the ceiling, behind me, looking at everything but my naked body.
“I'm fine,” I say, my voice a bit too shrill.
My heart's beating way too fast and hard in my chest, and I'm thinking about how my ex would have responded to this situation. He certainly would have screamed at me, would have told me I have to pay to replace the towel that I ruined, and he'd be throwing a hissy fit right about how I'm going to be nasty and insufferable for the next week.
Nathan, however, does none of that.
“I can go put that in the wash,” he says, holding out his hand, and I realize how silly it was of me to think I could hide what happened from him.
“How did you know?” I ask.
He lifts a very nonchalant shoulder. “Last night when you got up to use the restroom, there was some evidence in the bathroom when you went back to bed. This morning I went to the store and picked some things up for you. Hopefully I got the right items.”
I should be mortified, humiliated, totally uncomfortable. Instead, his very adult, direct approach puts me at ease and makes me more comfortable, even when I never would be with anyone else.
