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He’s asleep again, by the time I pull into the reserved parking space in front of his house. The campus, as he promised at the end of summer, is busier. A few students are walking across the grounds, hurrying to get inside out of the cold. The parking lot is partially full, cars scattered about and filling the reserved spaces. Reaching low across the center console, I brush my hand down his arm.
“Nico. We’re here.”
Rubbing a hand over his eyes, he squints out the windshield and then over to me. There’s a bluish tinge under his eyes, and his skin has returned to that pallid, colorless shade. I wish I had access to another wheelchair; I’m not certain he can be trusted to make the walk on his own two feet. Unconcerned, Nico opens the passenger door and gets out. Scrambling, I roundthe hood quickly in case he needs help. Noticing my panic, he smiles.
“I’m okay. Really.”
“Right.” Waving him ahead of me, we head up the sidewalk toward his door. He’s shaky, moving slow, but seems to be doing better than before. Even so, I keep my hand hovering near his elbow in case I need to grab him. The moment we get indoors he takes a seat on the couch.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell him.
Leaving him on the couch, I step through the kitchen to the back door. Unlocking it, I open the door and find the pile of supplies Corwin texted to say he’d left. It takes me several minutes to move it all inside—there’s enough soup and Gatorade to keep Nico well-nourished for a week. By the time I’m bringing in the last case of Gatorade, Nico has joined me in the kitchen. Leaned against the wall, he’s got one arm wrapped across the front of his stomach and a bemused expression on his face.
“What’s all this?”
“Corwin made you chicken noodle soup. According to this label,” I point at one of the containers, “this one is just broth in case you’re not feeling up to all the noodles and stuff. This one is…oh, vegetable. And this one is…more chicken noodle. Also, a lot of Gatorade, to replace some of those electrolytes.”
“Wow. He made all of that?”
“He loves to cook. So, what’ll you have? Just broth? Or do you think you can stomach something more hearty?”
He’s staring wonderingly at everything Corwin brought over, still unable to believe it. “He brought all that for me?”
“Well, yeah. Is that okay?” I can’t read his tone.
“Yeah, it’s okay.” He slumps a little bit, against the wall, like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. Probably, it is.
“Do you want to go to bed?” Stepping closer to him, I refrain from reaching out and touching him. “You’re supposed to do nothing but drink, eat, and sleep. Doctor’s orders.”
A small smile graces his face. “Maybe just some broth, for now. And yeah, I probably will go lay down, if that’s alright.”
“Sure thing. I’ll be right up.”
Watching carefully as he leaves the room, I listen as he pads up the stairs. It doesn’t sound like he stumbles, but he’s moving painfully slow. Not wanting to leave him alone longer than necessary, I nuke some broth in a coffee mug and put the rest of the food into the refrigerator. The Gatorade, which won’t all fit, stays on the kitchen table after I tuck two bottles under my arm to bring upstairs for Nico. Last, but not least, I grab the prescription bag and discharge instructions. Balancing everything, I shut the light off and head upstairs.
Nico’s in bed, wearing my hoodie but apparently no longer wearing jeans as they’re lying discarded on the floor. Handing the mug to him, I set the rest of the stuff on his bedside table and reach down to pick up his jeans. It makes me nervous and puts visions of late-night falls in my head. After tossing them into the hamper, I grab the chair that he leaves in the corner and bring it to the side of his bed.
“This is good,” he says, taking a sip of the broth. If it tastes anything like it smells, I’m sure it’s amazing.
I take a seat and pull the discharge paperwork toward me, setting a timer on my phone to remind myself about his next dose of antibiotics. I make sure to place the inhaler where he can reach it, as well as the Gatorade. He’s still as pale as a cadaver, but at least he’s sitting up, managing to keep his eyes open, and eating something. As far as cadavers go, that’s pretty good. Sitting back in the chair, I try not to stare at him. Might as well tell myself not to breathe, while I’m at it.
Neither one of us has anything to say for a few minutes, and the silence stretches unbearably. I know how independent and stubborn he is; for him to give the hospital my number to call feels like a big step, and I’m not quite sure what that will translate to in the future. One thing I know for sure is you don’t list a hookup as your emergency contact.
A thought occurs to me. “Hey, do I need to call anyone and tell them you’re sick?”
“No. The boys are on winter break.” He takes another drink of broth, bigger this time, and his eyes fall closed, briefly. “Can you thank Corwin for me? That was kind of him, to do all that.”
“Yeah, I will.” He reaches out to place the now empty mug on the bedside table; leaning forward I hand him a Gatorade. “Just a couple sips.”
He indulges me. I’m surprised he’s been such an accommodating patient, since he’s usually so disagreeable. Taking slow, measured sips, he manages to drink a quarter of the bottle. It’s more than I’d expected him to put down and it makes me feel better seeing it. Taking it back from him, I surreptitiously scoot the chair closer to the bed under the guise of replacing the bottle on the nightstand.
“Did you eat anything?” He asks.
“No, not yet.” My stomach has been tied in so many knots since this morning, I haven’t even felt hungry once today. “I’ll eat something later, though.”
“I find myself in a plethora of soup, you could have some of that.” It’s a joke, and one I might have laughed at had it not been told to me in that weak, thready voice. His eyes close again.
“Why don’t you try and get some sleep, Nico? I’ll wake you up when it’s time for more meds and fluids.”
