Page 114 of Rules in Love
“No, darling, it was just the pizza man.”
“We don’t have any pizza.”
“I know. He came to tell me they’d run out.” Luckily, he was half delirious with a fever and didn’t pick up on the stupidity of my answer. Nor did he seem to notice the heaving sobbing that had our bodies rocking back and forth.
“I’m cold, Mummy.” His sweet little voice diverted my attention from my spiraling, Bridget-Jones-like visions of my lonely death and returned it to where it should be.
“I know, darling. It’s because you have a fever.”
“If I have a fever, why am I cold?”
“Well, because your brain is tricking your body into thinking it’s cold so it will turn your thermostat up. When we are hot, we burn all the germs inside us. The fever is killing what’s making you sick. Do you understand?”
“Not really.”
“Hmm, me either. Would you like to watch something on the telly?”
“Yeah, maybe. But I really just want to feel better.”
I pressed a kiss to his hot little forehead and the tip of his little freckled nose. “I know, bubs. What would you like to watch? Maybe if we distract ourselves, we will feel better.”
“Beatrix, please.”
After wiping my face dry, I gently slipped Ben from my lap and leaned to the coffee table for the remote. Beatrix Potter cartoons, like Bluey, were Ben’s go-tos when he was sick, and if I was totally honest, I loved them too. Like Jane Austen, Beatrix was an inspiration to me, a woman before her time and another that had known true heartbreak. At least she didn’t die alone like Jane did—and I probably would.
A neurosis-induced, guttural cry escaped me before I could stop it. At the same time, almost as though he felt it brewing in my lungs, Teddy burst through my front door.
“I just saw Fi—Shit, Benny! Bluey! Beatrix! Are you sick, little man?” He dropped to his knees before me and kissed Ben’s forehead. “He’s burning up, Scar.” He then kissed me on my tear-soaked cheek. “Shit, you are too. Come on, you two, off to bed.”
“No, I am fine, Teddy,” I sobbed. “Our Ben wants to watch Beatrix, and I want to watch with him.”
“You need to rest. Let me lie with Ben, and we will watch that saucy minx Jemima Puddle-Duck on his iPad. No, don’t look at me like that, Scar, and don’t argue. Please, please just listen to me and do as I ask for once.”
Ben’s head twisted up toward me. “Mummy, don’t cry. The fever is making us better, remember?”
That was when I lost it. My considerate son broke what was left of my pitiful heart. Teddy could see I was fracturing in front of his eyes. He lifted Ben from my lap, hung him like a ragdoll over his shoulder, and helped me to my feet. “Please, my darling. Please go to bed. I will get Ben sorted and come to you as soon as I can. You’re no good to anyone if you’re sick too.” He kissed my cheek again, then ushered me up the stairs and into my room, all with Ben balancing precariously around him like a cape.
My head hit the pillow that still smelled of him, and the tears rushed from me like water through a burst dam. All I had wanted this entire shit fuck of a week was to see and hold Finn. The man was finally standing before me, quoting my favorite lines from my favorite movie, and I sent him away. Simultaneously proud, horrified, and regretful, I cried myself to sleep while imagining Finn’s warm body spooning behind me.
At five a.m., a hand gently tapping me on the shoulder rose me from a heartsick, restless slumber.
“Scar. Scar, wake up, darling. I think we need to take Ben to the ER.
Turned out there was nothing wrong with me. A severe case of heartbreak-induced female hysteria brought on my fever. Ben, however, had appendicitis and was rushed into surgery minutes after arriving at the hospital.
It was the first time Ben had been so sick, and I did not cope well. Thank God Teddy was with me. He answered every question the doctors and nurses asked, took care of the forms, and upheld my sanity during the surgery, all while keeping me safely tucked under his arm. But as grateful as I was to have him with me, alI I wanted, all I needed was Finn. I tortured myself with the memory of his hand swamping mine before I sent him away. I stared at my palms, flexing them open and shut, swearing I could still fell his touch. Every man that walked by, every shadow that moved drew a hopeful gasp, “Finn, you came!” But of course, it was never him.
Waiting for Ben to wake in recovery, watching his little chest rise and fall, his body covered in leads, cords, and beeping machines, left me hollow. The surgeon had just finished explaining that laparoscopy wasn’t a viable option as the appendix was too inflamed. This meant young Benny had a pretty sizable incision. He also had an infection, and the combination of the two meant his hospital stay would likely be five days at least. The poor little thing could hardly talk when he woke, but his eyes were full of concern as he drowsily smiled and wiped a tear from my cheek. “Don’t cry, Mummy.”
“It’s okay for Mum to cry sometimes, Benny,” I whispered. “These are happy tears because you are okay and smiling.”
As he did with most things, Ben coped better than I did over the next twenty-four hours. He was up and out of bed—not for long, mind you—but his cheeky exuberance could not be tamed, even with IV antibiotics and a scar he couldn’t wait to show all his friends. Turned out, he wouldn’t have to wait long to show one particular and favorite friend.
Elegantly passed out in one of those hideous fold-out bed contraptions as Ben napped, I was woken by a featherlight tapping on my cheek.
“Scaw. It’s me, Iwis.” I jumped and squealed a little when I saw my reflection in the window. It was a sight to behold. My greasy hair was piled into a messy bun at the top of my head, with large chunks plastered to my forehead, somewhat masking my crimson, bloodshot eyes. Then, there were the pools of drool glistening on my chin.
“Iwis…I mean, Iris?”
