Page 80 of Fortunate Misfortune
“Because I care,” is what I say instead. Not a lie, but not enough to scare her away.
A pained expression takes over her face. I don’t even want to know what thought just flittered across her brain. Mallory assesses me as if she’s searching for an ulterior motive, but my reasons are pure. I care about her more than she will ever know.
“Sure,” she finally says, turning to march down the hallway. “Hurry before I change my mind.”
I jog after her into the hallway bathroom and open my list of notes. “What’s step one?”
“Before I do anything, I need to check my blood sugar.” She opens an app on her phone and pauses. After a few seconds she says, “All good.”
Lifting her shirt, a white insulin pump rests on her lower back. She tugs at it for a second, but it holds on tight. With a sharp inhale, it finally comes off. She rubs a goop of antibiotic ointment on the spot. “This is mandatory because infections are no fun.”
“Do they happen often?”
“Like three times, and I’d love if it never happened again.” She swabs her stomach with what smells like an alcohol pad. “I’m switching the pump to my stomach. I prefer my insulin pump on my stomach or lower back. It doesn’t work well on my arms, and I can’t stand it on my outer thighs.”
I type on my phone quickly, keeping my eyes on her. “Got it.”
“Any questions?”
“Why do you switch spots?”
Forgoing words, she takes my hand and places it on her stomach, slowly moving it across the skin. “Feel that?”
I swallow hard. All I feel is admiration and heat crawling up my neck.
Oh, and a bump.
“That’s what happens when I don’t rotate the site,” she says. “That little bump can decrease the absorption of insulin, which increases the risk of high blood sugar. I need that risk to stay as low as possible.”
I nod, my eyes bouncing between the notes on my phone and her, watching as she fills the insulin pump. In one fluid motion, she places it on her stomach with a loud click, and the needle sinks into her skin. She doesn’t flinch like I would.
With a relieved sigh, she looks at me through the bathroom mirror. “And that’s it.”
When the oven timer beeps, I offer to clean up so she can put our meals in the oven. She gives me a grateful smile and rushes out of the bathroom.
I swipe everything into the trash can and drop to my knees, reaching for a box that fell. When I stand up, I’m face to face with a black cat that is sitting on the counter. Its yellow eyes bore directly into my soul.
The most superstitious person I know has a black cat?
Without warning, Mallory grabs my wrist, pulls me to the couch, and hands me a smelly treat. “That’s Winry. She’s sweet, but cautious around new people. Don’t scream, don’t jump, and leave the treat in your palm. She’s a finger nibbler.”
Nudging her shoulder, I smirk. “I didn’t realize I was at the pet-meeting stage.”
“Don’t get cocky. If Winry doesn’t like you, we can’t be friends.”
I glare at the small cat.You better like me because I’m not going anywhere.
Winry meows her own menacing threat.
Cautious eyes fall to the treat in my palm, and she stalks across the rug. Her whiskers tickle my palm as she sniffs me, then the treat, then me again.
“I think she likes me Ed–Ouch!” I scream, yanking my fingers away from sharp teeth. Tiny little holes mock me.
Mallory scratches the cat’s ears. “I warned you.”
With a full stomach, I lean back and pet Winry, who has made herself at home on my lap.
Mallory plops down on the opposite side of the couch, clicking through every streaming service. “What do you want to watch?”
