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“Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I’m feeling better now.”
I shove my hands in my pockets and roll on the balls of my feet. “Not getting rid of me, Mayer. It’s better if you accept it.”
“Is that why you insisted on getting me home?”
“Yep.”
She looks like she’s about to put up a fight, but then her eyes glaze slightly, and she sways to the left.
I catch her at the elbow. “Exactly my point.”
We traverse the fallen-leaves-laden sidewalk up to her front door. Marissa is so confused by the low blood sugar, I have to fish the keys out of her bag and unlock the door.
“You want me to carry you inside?” I ask, seeing how she’s still listing to the side.
The fight rolls back into her. “Absolutely not.”
She pushes me aside and goes into the house. I follow her in and order her to lie down on the couch.
Begrudgingly, she complies.
I throw a crocheted blanket over her, ignoring the glare the gesture earns me, and move into the kitchen.
When I open the fridge, I’m greeted by bare shelves. Nothing inside but a few condiment bottles, a jar of jam, and leftover take-out boxes. I lift the lid of one box and the sight of cold, congealed pasta makes me cringe.
I remove all the boxes and dispose of the contents and packaging in the recycle bins. Marissa’s cupboards are equally desolate. I only find a box of instant ramen, a bag of rice, and a reserve of coffee that could feed an army.
“What are you doing?” comes Marissa’s voice from the living room.
“Trying and failing to find some fresh ingredients to make you a healthy meal.”
“I work a lot. I don’t have time to cook. I usually order take-out.” A pause. “Healthy take-out.”
I order a few groceries from a local supermarket that has a one-hour delivery service and, searching behind the battery of coffee cans, I find a dusty tin of tea. I boil some water and bring Marissa a steaming mug of the infusion filled with sugar.
She smells it, wrinkling her nose. “I prefer coffee to tea.”
I sit on the coffee table in front of the couch.
“Tea is better for you right now.”
“Yes, Dr. Annoying.”
I smirk. “I preferred Dr. Smoldering.”
Her eyes widen and her cheeks flush. “I’m not responsible for anything I said while my brain was sugar deprived.”
I tilt my head. “I won’t hold it against you.”
Her gaze drops to the mug in her hands.
“Drink up.”
She glares at me. “Don’t tell me what to do.”
I point toward the steaming mug. “Drink your tea, doctor’s orders.”
Eyes never leaving mine, she blows on the steam and takes a sip.
