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I slow my chewing as Daria swipes the notification away quickly, and I wouldn’t have thought anything of it if Daria didn’t release a heavy sigh as she forcefully stabs a piece of pancake with her fork. “Everything okay?” I ask, frowning slightly.
“Yeah,” Daria says with another sigh, reaching for her coffee. She glances at me, taking note of my expectant expression, and she rolls her eyes. “The hot water ran out yesterday ’cause I forgot to pay the bill,” she informs me, the embarrassment in her voice subtle but present. “But I’m on it because one ice cold shower was enough for me.”
I blink at her, muscles tensing slightly. “You took a cold shower in the middle of a Chicago January?” I demand, unable to keep the incredulity and worry from my tone. Sure, the building has heating, but it’s freezing outside in general, and to shower with cold water on top of that? I feel my own body temperature drop just thinking about it.
“It’s not like I planned it,” Daria says, defensively. “As soon as my check clears, I’m gonna pay the bill. No big deal,” she adds, getting up to put her now empty dishes in the sink.
I stare after her, frowning. “If you or Elaine need to shower until you get the hot water back, you’re welcome to do it here. And if you don’t want to wait to pay the bill, I can—"
The dishes clatter in the sink and when Daria turns to look at me, there’s a frown on her face. “I wouldn’t make my daughter shower in ice cold water, Caden,” she says, her voice hardening just like her features.
I slowly shake my head. “I didn’t say you would—”
“And I sure as hell don’t need a handout from you,” she adds, her frown deepening as insult flashes across her face.
My jaw tightens, recognizing why she’s angry with me and feeling like a jackass, even if I was only trying to help. I’m an idiot for not realizing how my words sounded as soon as I uttered them. “I wasn’t trying to give you a handout,” I try, choosing my words carefully as tension settles in the room—and not the kind I like between Daria and me. “I was just saying I can help, if you—”
“I don’t need your help, Caden,” she cuts me off, exasperation mixing in with the anger in her voice. Her eyebrows are still pulled together, but the frown on her face takes a different meaning. It’s not just her being annoyed with me—I can see the embarrassment from before coming back, and my stomach knots at the idea of her feeling that way in front of me.Becauseof me. Daria walks around the counter and heads in the direction of the hall that leads to my room. As she passes me, she mutters, “I can take care of my daughter and myself.”
I want to tell her that I never, for one second, thought otherwise. I want to tell her I was just trying to help, but I know she knows that. Just like I know that she’s bothered and embarrassed about this late bill payment. Me offering to pay it for her. . . I can see how she’s insulted by it, and I wish I could go back to a few minutes ago and keep my mouth shut. One thing I know about Daria is that she’s independent, almost to a fault, and me offering to give her money when there might be a struggle on her end is a blow to her ego and capabilities. I screwed that one up.
So, when Daria leaves my apartment minutes later, once again dressed in her clothes from last night and muttering about needing to go pick up Elaine from her brother’s, I let her go without a fight. Her cheeks are flushed, and I don’t want to somehow make her feel worse than I already may have. I’ll give her space, even if I want to run after her, and give her some time before I go and apologize for putting my foot in my mouth like an idiot.
7
DARIA
The universe, it seems, decided not to take mercy on me and is further punishing me for not paying my bill on time—and not just punishment in the form of an ice-cold shower. Now, in consequence of that, fatigue has my body weighed down as a cold makes it difficult to breathe through my nose, my throat tight. A fever comes and goes, kind of like hot flashes, and I can’t do anything but lie in bed and take medicine after medicine that I have in my cabinet and hope this goes away.
The cold had crept in overnight, and by the time I woke up in the morning, I knew there was no chance I was going to be able to go to work—especially not around a bunch of teenagers. So, I called in sick and sent the substitute teacher a quick and simple lesson plan for my classes today, and then tried to figure out what to do with Elaine.
Fortunately, my brother had come to the rescue. He lives nearby, so he swung over to pick Elaine up and drop her off at daycare, just to give me a few hours to rest. Plus, it’s better if she isn’t around me too much if I’m battling a cold; the last thing I want is to get her sick. So, with the apartment to myself, I wrapped a throw blanket around my frame and trudged over to the couch, collapsing on it with the TV on and a few different bottles of medicine on the coffee table. I was either too cold or too hot sometimes, and it was Goddamn tiring as I lay on the couch, blowing my nose every few seconds because even if I can’t breathe through it, it’s still somehow runny, which drives me crazy.
“God, make it stop,” I grumble to myself, burying myself deeper into my blanket cocoon as I half watch an episode ofNarcos. At this point, my nose is raw and definitely red from how much I have been blowing it.
Crazy how one cold shower can make me feel like utter shit. Let this be a lesson to always pay my Goddamn bills on time.
Around one thirty in the afternoon, with Elaine still in daycare for another few hours, my apartment doorbell rings. I close my eyes and let out a soft cry of resignation, not wanting to get up from my comfortable spot, but then the doorbell is followed by knocking, and a heavy breath escapes me. I have half a mind to keep laying on the couch and pretend no one is home, but then a familiar voice sounds through the door.
“Daria, I know you’re in there. Open up,” Caden says from the other side, and my eyes open at the sound of his voice.
A groan escapes me, disgustingly wet and filled with mucus, as I push myself off the couch with great effort. Blanket still wrapped around me, I make my way to the door, probably looking as miserable as I feel. “Can’t a girl slowly die in peace around here?” I mutter to myself before unlocking and opening the door. I shoot the tall football player a halfhearted glare and ask, “How’d you know I was home?”
“I saw your brother and Elaine earlier this morning,” Caden tells me before inviting himself inside. “Cody said you were sick.”
I sniffle as I shut the door. Sarcasm coats my voice as I say, “Oh, no. I’m the picture of perfect health.” My words are emphasized by the cough that escapes me.
Caden shoots me a dry look before lifting the brown paper bag he’s holding, which I didn’t notice until now. “I brought you soup.”
My chest is tight as I walk back to the couch. “You didn’t have to get me anything,” I grunt.
It’s been only a day since we last spoke to each other; since I walked out of his apartment feeling foolish and embarrassed after telling him about my water bill blunder. Since he offered to help me out with the payment, which I know came from the goodness of his heart, but made me feel incredibly small and incapable of taking care of myself and, even worse, my daughter. Him showing up at my apartment when I feel sick as a dog doesn’t help the embarrassment from the other day.
“I know I didn’t,” Caden says easily. I watch him from the couch as he moves around the kitchen counter, takes the container of soup out from the bag, and then helps himself to a bowl and spoon. I love how comfortable he is in my home. “I wanted to,” he says as he puts it in the microwave to heat up. “So you can feel a little better—and as an apology.”
I chew on my bottom lip at his words, mouth twisting to the side as I watch the TV, recognizing the kindness in his actions. I’m sitting with my legs crossed, and I glance over as Caden walks to the living room, a steaming bowl of soup in hand. “So, this is an apology soup?” I ask, cracking the slightest of smiles as he sits on the couch. He’s a little too close, so I shift over, and when I see the frown on his face, I clarify, “I don’t want you to get sick.”
He rolls his eyes, unfazed by the idea of potentially getting sick. I’m sure he realizes that if he gets sick and feels as gross as I do, he wouldn’t be able to play. I don’t need to point it out to him. Maybe his immune system is stronger than mine. With a body like that, I wouldn’t be surprised.
