Page 96 of Ellie Hayes and the Himbos
“Yeah, that sounds like you.” He drums his fingers against the table, pausing the rhythm to point at me. “Have you ever had mono? Like, when you were younger.”
I nod, remembering the article my mom sent. I still haven’t read it. “Seventh grade.”
“Did your neurologist ask you that?”
“No. Why?” I ask, wariness creeping in on my confusion.
“Huh. ’Cause a few years back a study linked Epstein-Barr to MS. It was ahugestudy. They worked from something like ten million blood samples, and found that individuals who werenotinfected with Epstein-Barr virus virtually never get MS. It’s onlyafterEpstein-Barr virus infection that the risk of MS jumps something like twenty-five-, thirty-fold? Of all infections, it has the clearest connection.”
I shake my head, not following, and not sure I want to. “So, is Epstein-Barr mono?”
“It’s usually whatcausesmono. But other viruses can cause it, too,” he adds, hastily. “And it’s not like everyone who’s had Epstein-Barr gets MS. It’s just…”
“Everyone who has MS has had Epstein-Barr,” I finish for him.
“Pretty much.”
I do not care for this new information. And it looks like Alistair regrets having brought it up; his handsome features pucker like he’s bitten into something from Built Box before Diego’s doctored it.
“Your eye was what had you getting checked out?” he asks, voice tentative. It’s the least confident I’ve ever heard him. I nod, and he grimaces.
“It’s cleared up since. Now I get to experience the joy of waking up every morning, afraid to open my eyes in case my vision’s gone again, instead.”
“Ugh. Fuck that.” He frowns. “When was that… It’s a nerve attack, right?”
“Yeah. It was the week I moved in with you guys.”
“Was it why your boyfriend broke up with you?”
The allusion still stings. “It was the straw that broke that particular camel’s back.”
He nods, eyes going bright, like I’ve done more than answer a question; I’ve confirmed a suspicion.
“You been noodling on that, too?” I ask, dryly.
He makes a dismissive sound. “Not that it causedthatbreakup.”
“What do you mean?” I immediately regret asking.
Alistair leans back in his chair, resting it on its back legs. I arch a brow. He knows I hate that. Which is why he’s doing it; his responding smirk is all challenge.
“Does Ian know about the MS stuff, or did you nip that particular camel in the bud?”
“You’re mixing metaphors.”
His front chair legs land hard against the floor. “Doesn’t matter. In any case, you’ve made the decision for him.” At my sustained scowl, he elaborates. “You either dumped him out of the blue before he found out, or he found out, and youfreakedand left him before he had the chance to do what your shitty ex-boyfrienddid. It’s a fucked-up move either way.”
“And there’s no third scenario?” I counter, though I’m rattled. “Just me, being a cowardly asshole.”
“You and I both know that Ian wouldn’t leave you over this. Youknowhim. You know his past, which, comeon. That only makes this worse.” Some of the hostility leaves his expression. “If this was just about you being scared, that would be one thing. But Ian’sinit. That dude cares about you. And you are throwing that away because you’re being a little bitch.”
“Excuse you? Just because you’ve turned your brain back on, you think you get to dole out insight? You don’t know. You don’t know what I’ve already had to deal with, what this fucked-up body has already cost me—”
“Oh, what? A dickhead boyfriend? Some loss!”
Tears spring to my eyes. “Ian’s already had to accommodate enough.” The words barely make it through my clenched teeth. “I’m not asking for more.”
For the first time in this exchange, or ever in the time I’ve known him, Alistair seems surprised. His eyes widen, going distant, his mouth shaping something my comment has evidently made irrelevant, because he doesn’t voice it. He just stares at me, and I stare back, conceding to the tears already on my cheeks. I don’t know when they fell.
