Page 40 of Prosecco with My Professor
“I’ll take the day off.”
“But hopefully, she’ll be much better by then,” Chiara chimes in. She’s been listening while she scribbles instructions down on a piece of paper.
“I guess that’s the best thing then,” Tessa decides. “And if my throat gets better I’ll fly down on Monday. But call us every day. Video calls. I want to see how Emma is doing myself.”
“Yes, I will.”
We swap numbers and when I hang up, Chiara hands me the instructions and a prescription for an antibiotic.
“Looks like you’ll be busy this weekend,” Chiara says, switching to Italian. “Get this filled as soon as possible, and it’ll help. How’s your health? It’s been a while since I’ve seen you.”
“Good. I know I am due for an appointment. I’ll call you when this gets sorted out.”
“Excellent.” The doctor turns back to Emma and switches to English. “Would you like a shower, Emma? It would be good for you.”
Emma nods, and the doctor and I help her up. Chiara is a slight woman, so we decide it will take both of us to ensure that Emma doesn’t fall in the shower. We wash her with her clothes on and I turn my back while Chiara changes Emma’s outfit. Throughout it, Emma is soft, like a weak kitten. I want to wrap her up and press my lips to her forehead.
Finally, she’s in bed—inmysheets—and asleep. Chiara says goodbye and after I check on Zola, pick up the prescription, and have Emma take her first dose, I settle onto her loveseat to get some sleep, the whole time worrying over Emma.
20
Emma
I dream about Santo,but they’re not normal, sexy dreams. He’s making me drink stuff, and though I’m pretty sure there’s a kink for that, it doesn’t feel sexual at all. It feels nice…caretaking even.
Also, I dreamed about a blonde woman. Again, not sexual dreams, though she was definitely my type. They were both there, and maybe that was a sex dream, and I just don’t remember details? I’m not sure, but if that’s the case, it’s a shame. I’ll have to think about it more later.
Like a sex dream, though, I wake up sticky and sweaty and badly having to pee.
The having to pee thing is completely normal, obviously. I’ve had three kids; when do Inothave to pee? But it makes me think of the weird dreams.
Otherwise, I feel better than I did when I fell asleep. I swing my legs over the side of the bed. It’s black outside my window, telling me it must be nighttime, but I have no idea what day it is. I’m also in different clothes. A shiver slides down my spine, one that tells me my chills aren’t completely gone, but I’m pretty sure I can make it to the bathroom.
I have to walk past my open doorway to get to the bathroom, and my eyes catch a flash of movement big enough to startle a scream out of me. Santo jerks up from the couch, eyes wild.
I’ve completely lost focus on my muscles and quickly re-tense, sinking to my knees on the floor while urging my bladder to control itself. I squeeze everything—including my eyes—tightly.
I will not pee myself in front of Santo. I will NOT PEE MYSELF IN FRONT OF SANTO.
In the other room there’s a curse and a thump and then an even louder curse and a softer thump. I open my eyes to see Santo on the floor in front of the loveseat, his feet tangled in a blanket and his T-shirt twisted and riding up his torso.
I squeeze my eyes shut again.
“Emma, are you okay?”
“I have to pee,” I rasp, which explains somewhat but doesn’t answer the question—Iwillbe okay if I can make it to the bathroom. I stand, squeezing my knees together and thank god that I’ve kept up with my yoga practice with Sara and Jade got us started doing Kegel exercises years ago and I had pelvic floor physical therapy after Parker was born.
Even with all that, it’s close. I press a hand between my legs and run as best I can while still feeling like shit and clamping my knees together, and if a little pee comes out, well, worse things have happened, and Santo doesn’t have to know.
Bladder empty, I don’t want to put my underwear back on, but also, I’m just wearing panties and a shirt. With Santo in my apartment.
Maybe I wasn’t dreaming.
I crack the bathroom door open. “Santo?”
He grunts.
“Can you close my bedroom door so I can change?”
