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Oh no.
“The Nashville chicken?”
She nods. “Must have been. Or the fryer. I checked the website when I got home. It said GF, but the fine print was ‘gluten friendly,’ not ‘gluten free.’”
I move to squat in front of her. “What the fuck? I’m gonna call them.”
She winces and I lower my voice. “Sorry.” Up close I can see the dark circles under her eyes and the gray pallor of her skin. Her brows are drawn tight, a clear sign that she’s in pain, and I sigh.
Lorelai was diagnosed celiac about six months ago, and her doctors told her the longer and more strictly she avoided gluten and dairy, the more sensitive she would be to contamination. Gluten friendly wouldn’t be enough. Not for her.This is my fault. I read the site ahead of time, but I didn’t read carefully enough.
“Hell, Lore. This is my fault.”
Her expression is dazed, but she manages to roll her eyes.
“Okay,” I whisper, standing and removing my jacket, hanging it over by the door and rolling up my sleeves. “First things first.” I walk into her kitchen and fill a kettle with water, setting it on the stove to boil. I grab over-the-counter pain meds from the cabinet and a bottle of water from her fridge and make my way back to her.
“Migraine?”
She nods and I shake out two pills.
“How about your back?”
“On fire,” she croaks.
I shake out a third and pass them to her along with the water bottle. “Start with these.”
She takes them and puts the water bottle on the floor before slipping down onto the couch.
“When was the last time you ate?”
She shakes her head. “Can’t keep anything in me.”
The kettle screeches and I rush to turn off the flame. I pull out a little plastic bag of peppermint tea Lorelai got for her migraines and pour the boiling water over it to steep. After a few minutes, I nudge her.
“You need more fluids. This will help. I’m gonna run out, and by the time I get back, you need to drink this whole cup.”
She blinks but doesn’t argue, and I stifle the guilt roiling in my gut before leaving her alone on the couch. Once I get outside and clear of the door, I curse, swinging uselessly at a low-hanging tree branch and startling a neighbor. I ignore her tsksand fling open the garage door with a loud bang before climbing on my bike and revving the engine louder than necessary.
You fucking idiot.Thinking you were giving her space because she was upset over you cutting her off and instead she’s in incredible pain. Such an asshole. God.
Five minutes later, I’m marching through the automatic doors of the grocery store and grabbing a basket. I fill it with essentials: blue Gatorade, hot water bottles, Epsom salts, several cans of gluten-free chicken soup, Ben & Jerry’s dairy-free Cherry Garcia because even when she doesn’t feel up to keeping anything down, Lorelai wants ice cream.
I text Arlo from the checkout line.
LORELAI GLUTENED. I’LL BE OUT TOMORROW.
He responded before I even got the items on the belt.
GIVE HER A GENTLE HUG FROM ME AND DR. JOSH. BTW DR. JOSH SAYS START WITH BONE BROTH.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath and turn to the elderly woman behind me in line. “Can you watch this for a second? I just need to grab something else real quick.”
She smiles knowingly. “First time with a sick wife at home?”
I don’t correct her. “Yeah.”
I return with my spoils and don’t bother knocking, unlocking the door with my master key. “I’m back, Lore. Got you ice cream.”
