Page 29 of Merrily Ever After
Chapter Three
“What do you mean,norovirus?”
I screw the cap back on the orange juice one-handed, and return it to the fridge.
“’Tis the season,” Annette says tiredly over the phone.
“But there was norovirus last month,” I protest.
“That was rotavirus.”
Of course it was.
“The nursery will be closed until after Christmas,” she continues. “We don’t want to risk it spreading any more than it has.”
“Orwe take the risk. Survival of the fittest.”
“I’m sorry,” she says. “I know it’s rotten timing. But better this than lice.”
She’s got me there.
We say goodbye, and I tap my work laptop to life as I look at Tiernan watching television in the living room. Mam and Dad minded him for the weekend while I stayed in bed and tried to trick my body into healing faster. But the only reason I did that was so I could go back to normal this morning. Which means getting him to the nursery so I can do adult things like go to the bathroom in peace and participate in capitalism. I guess I would prefer my child, whom I live with, not to have a wildly infectious vomiting bug, but it’s been two days since the accident and I’m already losing my mind. I don’t know how I’m going to manage two more weeks of it.
I never realized just how much effort goes into day-to-day life until I had to do it one-handed and doped up on painkillers. Ican’t even sleep well because I’m a committed side sleeper, so every time I roll over, I wake myself up.
And no, the glue didnotcome out when I tried to wash it this morning.
Not to mention the apartment is a complete mess. I’ve always been pretty tidy. But everything takes ten times longer now andhurtsand I need out of this apartment and possibly a martini.
I pop two pills into my mouth and swallow them down with the juice as I open my laptop to video-call my boss.
She picks up after a few seconds. “Zoe?”
“Morning! I won’t be in until lunch. The nursery is closed, so I have to drop Tiernan off to my parents and then—”
“You’re not coming in today,” she interrupts. “We talked about this.”
I pause, confused. “But that was Friday.”
“Yes.”
“And this is Monday.”
“You’re still on sick leave.”
“I don’t want to be on sick leave,” I tell her. “I want to work.”
“And I’m not letting you work,” she says patiently. “Look, the whole office is winding down. Half the team’s already on leave or working from home.I’mworking from home. Barely anyone’s in. Your work is being covered. You need to rest and get better.”
“I don’t rest,” I tell her, and she gives me an amused look.
“I know. So think of this as an official task that I, your boss, am assigning to you.”
“But—”
The doorbell rings, cutting me off, and she seizes the opportunity. “Sit on the couch and watch some movies,” she says and promptly hangs up.
“I’m emailing HR,” I say to the blank screen and get the door to find Christian on the other side. He frowns as soon as he sees me.
