Page 87 of Woman on the Verge

Him: Why?

I’ve got a stomach bug, I think.

Him: Ugh. That sucks. Can I have some chicken soup sent to you?

I imagine that—giving him my address. I imagine him googling it, seeing that I live in a house suitable for a family. With just a little internet sleuthing, he would learn that the house is owned by Kyle and Nicole Sanchez. And the jig, as they say, would be up.

You’re sweet, but I’m going to lay off food for the night.

Him: Maybe you’ll feel better in the morning

I send the fingers-crossed emoji. He sends back two of the same, then says:

I choose to remain optimistic

Of course you do

Him: What if I come to you? I can take care of you?

I physically shudder at this, imagining him showing up at the front door, Kyle answering.

No, no. I’m a horrible patient. I’m like a sick cat. Just want to find a bush and be alone until I feel better.

Him: Ok. Go get some rest then, Kit-Kat. I hope you feel better

Thank you. I miss you

We trade kissy-face emojis because we continue to be horribly sappy, and then I put my phone on the coffee table and attempt to ignore the sounds of Kyle retching so I can sleep.

The next morning, the retching has stopped, but Kyle remains in bed, looking as if death might come for him at any moment. I bring him water and saltine crackers.

“Thanks,” he says.

How’s my girl doing this morning?

Elijah.

I respond:

Not sure yet. Need to get up and around a bit.

“I’m sorry this messes up your weekend plans,” Kyle says.

Illness tends to humble him. He’s always sweeter, softer in the twenty-four hours following a minor health crisis.

I shrug. “Not your fault. I’ll tell Merry and my dad I’m not coming.”

I feel my mood instantly darken, all the pep leaving my step.

“Maybe you can still go,” Kyle says.

“Kyle, if you think the girls are going to play calmly on the floor while you rest in bed next to them all weekend, I’m afraid you are sorely mistaken.”

“I know that,” he says. He is feeling well enough to convey mild irritation with my condescending tone. “I meant you could take the girls with you.”

This had not even occurred to me, mostly because including Elijah and my daughters in the same thought process causes my brain to temporarily short-circuit.

“Oh,” I say. “I suppose I could.”

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