Page 73 of Cluelessly Yours

“Nah.” I shake my head. “She ended up hanging with me all day. Though, I’m sure she was disappointed about missing out on her Benji fix.”

“I’m pretty sure Brooke tried to call me earlier, but I was too deep in the vomit trenches to answer.”

“I’m sure she’ll understand,” I answer softly.

“I bet the little matchmaker was disappointed we didn’t make it to the game,” she replies again, her voice fading with each word.

I don’t reply this time, allowing her the minute I think she needs to give in to the fatigue while I stir the soup on the stove. By the time the oven beeps with a preheat notification, all motion from the living room has ceased to exist.

It only takes one quick glance toward the couch to know that Sammy is out like a light. No longer sitting up, she’s horizontal on the sofa, and her eyes are firmly shut.

Looks like she’ll be eating this later.

I shut off the oven and the stove, putting the soup in the fridge and the bread in its bag, and tiptoe into the living room. Sammy’s breaths make her chest rise and fall in soft and steady waves, and I grab a cream afghan from the basket near the coffee table to cover her up.

Seeing her sleeping so peacefully like this makes my chest feel light and airy, and without hesitation, I post up in the large chair near the television and pull my phone out of my pocket to check in on my sister—sending Mary a text asking,How was Kara today?

With Sammy sleeping and the boys in their beds, there’s no way I’m just going to leave her apartment. I can hang around for a bit, keep an ear out for the kids, and give her some time to rest.

The screen of my phone lights up with a new message.

Mary: She was a little grumpy this morning but warmed up as the day went on.

A “little grumpy” most likely means that my dear sister was giving Mary a run for her money this morning.

Me: How grumpy are we talking?

Mary: You remember that summer two years ago when she refused to eat breakfast?

Me: Uh-oh.

It was a rough few months, to say the least. Kara, while nonverbal, sometimes tries to gain control in other ways that can serve up some seriously frustrating moments.

Mary: Yeah. LOL. But good news is that she was back to being a little sweetheart before I left this evening. Even finished all her dinner and took a bath. You still planning on stopping by tomorrow?

Me: I’ll be there.

The moment I hit send, the creaking sound of wood pulls my attention toward the hallway, and I find a sleepy-eyed Seth shuffling into the living room. His face twists in confusion when he sees me.

“Hey, bud. You feeling better?” I ask him on a whisper, hoping he’ll take the hint to follow along so his mom can sleep.

“Yeah.” He nods. “I’m hungry.”

I jump up from the chair and head over toward him, giving him a small ruffle on the head while purposefully checking his forehead for a fever. When I note that his temperature feels normal and his face is devoid of discomfort or nausea, I walk into the kitchen.

“How about some chicken noodle soup?”

He nods enthusiastically.

“Good. Climb up on that stool,” I instruct with a jerk of my chin.

Seth scrambles to the seat at the island and pulls himself up on it. His Spider-Man pajamas remind me of how little he is, despite the seriousness in his eyes. With all the major life changes he’s had recently—his parents’ divorce and moving to a new city and going to a new school—I imagine he’scarrying some weight on his tiny shoulders that he’s probably too young to fully understand.

“Noah, why are you here?”

“I heard you were sick and figured I’d check in on you guys and bring some soup.”

“We didn’t get to go to the game.” He frowns. “It sucks.”

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