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I dosed her with more tea and made her eat some toast and scrambled eggs. I took her temperature and was relieved that it was only a little bit elevated.
“How do you feel?” I asked her, putting my hand on her forehead like my mom used to do. I had no idea what this meant, but she did feel warm.
“Tired,” she said.
“I pulled out some clothes for you, so why don’t you go change and get into bed. I made it up with fresh sheets and blankets.”
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said. “You’re doing too much. I can take care of myself.”
“Joy and I always took care of each other when we were sick,” I said, maybe a little too harshly.
“I need to pee,” she said. “And I feel gross.”
“If you’re up for a shower, I can put a chair in there for you to sit on so you can relax,” I said.
Lark looked like she wanted to argue with me, but she just closed her eyes and swallowed. “Thank you.”
I put the chair in and then helped her get up and head to the bathroom.
“I’ve got it from here,” she said, but I put out a fresh towel for her, and brought the pajamas in so she could put them on right away.
“Just toss me your clothes when you’re done. I’m going to put the couch blanket in the wash,” I said as I closed the bathroom door and let her have some privacy.
I cleaned up and did some more laundry and listened at the bathroom to make sure Lark was okay in there and didn’t need any help.
She came out with her hair dripping but wearing her pajamas.
“Let me get your hair,” I said, getting another towel from the linen closet and following her to her bedroom.
Lark sat on her bed as I towel-dried her hair and then worked her curl cream through the ends before getting out the tangles with a wide-toothed comb.
“Time for bed,” I said, setting another dose of meds and a bottle of water next to her. “Message me if you need anything. I can come up and check on you tomorrow while I’m at work.” One of the many benefits of living so close to your work.
Lark settled back on her pillows and sighed.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” she said, her voice sleepy.
“It’s what roommates do,” I said before shutting off her light, turning on the humidifier, and leaving the room.
* * *
That nightI kept waking up and wanting to go check on Lark. I knew she just had a cold and she wasn’t dying of influenza or something, but I couldn’t stop wanting to go into the room and take her temperature or force more tea down her throat.
She wasn’t normally a snorer, but she was pretty loud that night due to the congestion, but at least she was sleeping.
The next morning I felt like shit, but I told myself it was just due to taking care of her.
“Good morning,” I said as I softly knocked on her door and poked my head in. She was awake, but bleary eyed.
“How am I still so tired after sleeping so much,” she said, her voice stuffy and nasal.
I bustled in, refilling the humidifier, taking her temperature again, tossing the trash, and bringing her fresh water and more medicine.
“Do you feel any better?” I asked.
“I can’t tell,” she said. “My whole body hurts, though.”
I wished I could take the day off and take care of her. If I didn’t have to open the shop, I’d draw her a bath with a really nice bath bomb and then put her back in bed again.
