Page 42 of Prosecco with My Professor
But as delicious as that was, I like this soup better. It’s not vegan, so there is that, but it’s bright and lemony and creamy and is hitting the spot so well.
I have a second bowl, though I’m full in addition to the lethargy that already existed, but I stay upright long enough to check my phone.
There is a slew of messages: my friends being concerned for me and then Tessa updating them via Santo; my kids each randomly texting me as usual and then Tessa telling them in a group chat that I’ve been sick; and some of my classmates checking in on me, but mostly messaging about school work that is so long and overwhelming I have to put my phone down.
I refocus on Santo, who is cleaning up the dishes. “Thank you for taking care of me,” I tell him. He pauses while drying a bowl and looks up at me. His face is so honest, his features so handsome, it stops my breath momentarily.
“It was nothing, piccola.” He frowns, sets the bowl down, and walks over to me. He’s moving stiffly, his back bothering him, but he still bends down to put the back of his hand on my forehead. It brings us so close that I can see the rim of darker brown around his irises, like a chocolate ring.
Santo’s gaze darts over my face, eyes, lips, and back up to his hand. “Still a little warm, I think. Should I take your temperature?”
I shake my head, dislodging his hand. “I just want to sleep again.”
“All right.” He places his hand on his back and straightens. “I am going to my apartment to check on Zola. I will be back, though.”
“Aw, Zola. She misses her daddy.” I mumble as I rise to my feet. “You can stay with her. Sleep in a real bed.”
He shakes his head. “Tessa will be here in the morning. One more night won’t kill me.”
“Okay.” I pause outside my bedroom door. “Do you want to bring Zola over?”
He cocks his head. “You wouldn’t mind?”
I shake my head and leave it at that.
An indeterminate amountof time later, I wake up to voices coming from the kitchen and a rumbling noise coming from somewhere above my head. There’s a soft weight up there too.
From the living room, Santo is describing the medicine I’m taking. When Tessa answers, I shift, telling myself I should get up.
That shifting dislodges the thing on the top of my head with a grumpymeownoise. When I sit up, Zola stares at me from my pillow. The rumbling has stopped, and she looks, as usual, put out.
“I could not keep her out of your bedroom,” Santo says from the doorway. “I hope that was okay.”
Tessa joins him and smiles. “Morning, sunshine.”
“What time is it?”
“Eight a.m.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“I took the first flight this morning.”
“From Paris?”
“No, I didn’t go to visit Luc this weekend since I didn’t want to risk getting Anouk sick. But I didn’t get it nearly as bad as you did, so I’m here now.” Luc’s elderly grandmother had a fall a few months ago, and Luc moved in to take care of her and save money so that he could visit Tessa more often and quit one of his jobs.
“Sorry, honey.”
Tessa shrugs. “You look like you’ve gotten the worst of it?—”
“Gee, thanks.”
“—and I’ll see Luc next weekend. Now, when was the last time you showered?”
I groan at the idea of getting this sickly sweat off me, and Tessa grins. “Thought so. I’ll take it from here, Santo.”
Santo looks at me, reluctantly apologetic. “I do have a lecture.”
