I scurry over to my bed, ready to grab the comforter for warmth, but because this is the worst day of all worst days in the history of worst days, Logan has appeared at my doorway in what looks to be a state of shock—he’s staring at my dripping, wet body with his mouth ajar.
8
Wednesday just keeps f***ing humping me like a horny dog
He’s as caught off guard as I am. Both of us gasp and turn around, but me turning around means I’m just showing off my backside. At least he’s not looking—I don’t think.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Looking for a towel. What are you doing?” I return the question.
“I threw your laundry in the washing machine. I was—” My room is clean. My panties are no longer on the ground. My bras are not on top of the hamper because the hamper is gone. My sheets and comforter are in place nicely, but I grab the heather gray feathery clump and wrap it around myself.
“I am mortified,” I tell him, facing his back.
“I was trying to help,” he says.
“This is not what it looks like,” I tell him. I’m not sure why I said it, but it seems like the only thing to say in explanation of this sight.
“What?” he questions.
“Me, my body, my bedroom, and my cleanliness.” It’s right at this exact moment that I realize I’ve let myself go. I have stopped caring about myself. I look down, assessing how bad the view was, something I desperately try to avoid.
My stomach is flat thanks to the stages of grief from being cheated on, but I’m whiter than the ceiling, and then there’s the whole jungle issue going on that I haven’t tended to in quite a while. It’s like a scene from the Kama Sutra book, circa nineteen-seventy-something. It’s not pretty, nor is the dark hair lining my legs. What the hell have I done to myself?
“I don’t think I can ever let you look at me again,” I add in.
“Are you decent yet?” he asks.
“I’ve made a comforter burrito around myself, if that’s what you’re asking?”
Logan slowly turns around, peeking out of one eye first, as if he’s scared to see what he just saw again. We’ve crossed so many lines in the last hour, I don’t even know where the original line was.
He places his hands out before him as if I were a scared dog. “It’s okay, just relax.”
“Don’t tell me to relax! I know what you just saw!”
“It all happened so fast, I didn’t see much, if that helps,” he says. He’s lying. He’s lying. He got a good look at everything.
“It doesn’t help that you touched my panties.”
“So what? I’ve touched jock straps that don’t belong to me. It’s just clothing.”
“First, why would you be touching someone else’s jock strap? Second, it’s not just clothing.”
“Look, I wanted to help you out. Clearly, you’re having a rough time, and I didn’t think I would be making things worse.”
My head pounds a little harder, reminding me of its ever-so-apparent presence. “I’m sorry, I’m overreacting,” I tell him. Am I, though? I don’t know him all that well, and I’m his boss. I suppose anyone trying to suck up to their boss would do what he did today, maybe, but then again, probably not.
“How can I make this better?” he asks.
As if there’s a way to erase the last couple of hours, my thoughts are instantly swayed into a different direction. I’m going to vomit again. With a tight hold on my blanket burrito, I jump from the bed, making it halfway across my room before I trip, landing so hard on my boobs that the pain itself purges the vomit from my stomach. I look like an avocado that’s been stepped on. All I see is my vomit decorating my white comforter beneath me.
“My heart is literally breaking right now, Hannah,” Logan says as he jogs into my bathroom, quickly returning with a wad of toilet paper. He gently cleans my face up. “What am I going to do with you?” He laughs quietly, not at me, but with me, if I had the energy to laugh.
I don’t have the energy to even speak, so I just watch. How is it fair that I spent so much time with a man who couldn’t care less about me and then meet someone who is willing to clean up my vomit within a couple of days of knowing me? I didn’t think there was this type of kindness in the world. It doesn’t matter, though. I was destined for dicks like Rick. Yeah, I know; calling him Dick got old a long time ago.
Logan cleans up as much as he can, covering up what’s remaining with the extra blanket. His hand drapes over my forehead, and the scent of soap soothes me. “You’re really pale. We might need to get you to a doctor.”
“No,” I croak out. “I’ll be fine. I just have to get up and start moving around—get my mind off vomiting.”
“You’re burning up, though.”
“I’m just embarrassed,” I tell him, honestly. “I don’t feel like I have a fever. I don’t remember the last time I even had a fever.”
“Do you just want to lie here for a bit, maybe?” he asks.
I know I said I want to get up and start moving, but his idea sounds better. “I think so. “He lowers himself down, bringing his knees to his chest. That doesn’t look comfortable. He’s in dress slacks and a fitted shirt. “You don’t have to stay here,” I tell him.
“I know,” he says.
“You don’t have to feel bad for me, either.”
“I know that, too.”
He stands back up and looks around the room before heading to my nightstand and grabbing the remote to my TV. Unsure of what he’s doing, he powers it on, so I slowly twist my head to the other side, watching as he flicks through the channels until he finds a soap opera. “Yes, or no?” he asks.
“No,” I tell him, trying not to laugh. “Not my thing.”
He passes by a few more channels and finds HGTV. “This?”
“Yeah, I like that.”
Three hours of HGTV and no more vomit. It’s a win. Logan is still next to me, sitting quietly, watching the shows as intently as I have been. The silence and calm cause a storm of thunder in my chest when the doorbell rings. I look at the clock on my nightstand, finding the time to be past five. “It’s probably Rick with Cora.”
“Let me take care of it,” he says.
“I want her to come home,” I tell him. “I haven’t seen her all day.”
“Of course. I’ll stick around and help with her. It’s no problem.”
I try to push myself up a little, realizing I’m still naked underneath the wrapped-up blanket. “You really don’t have to do that, Logan. You’ve already done more than you should have today.”
“Maybe, but I’m going for sainthood, so let me have this.” He smirks as he pushes himself up to his feet. “I’ll grab your clothes from the dryer while I’m down there.” He had switched my laundry a couple of hours ago during a commercial break, and in my lethargic state I didn’t argue, but I don’t remember the last time someone has done my laundry.
“If Rick gives you any trouble, let me know,” I tell him.
“I’ve got it taken care of,” he says with a reassurance I can’t understand. Rick is a dick. I don’t know how many times I can recite this silently to myself, but he doesn’t just give in.
I swear I hear laughing downstairs, but it must be my imagination. There couldn’t possibly be anything the two of them have in common unless a devil and angel are somehow related, but surely that’s not the case.
I hear little feet clomping up the stairs. She’s moving around, so hopefully she feels better. My bedroom door flies open, and I’m still flat on the ground in a burrito. “Mommy?” Cora asks, obviously confused to see me lying in the middle of the ground.
“Hey sweetie,” I say, reaching my arm out to her.
“Why are you on the ground in a blanket?” she asks.
I shove my hand under my face to look up at her. “I believe I caught whatever you have. How are you feeling now?”
She sits down in front of me, and her nose scrunches. “What is that smell? It
smells like poop or throw up, maybe both.”
I’m sure it’s smelled like that in this room for the last three hours, and I’ve just gotten used to it. I can’t imagine that Logan got used to it, yet he stayed. “Let’s try not to worry about the smell. How are you feeling? That’s what’s important.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “A little better. I’m kind of dizzy still, and my head hurts, but I want to go back to school tomorrow. Dad said I could if I don’t have a fever in the morning.”
“I’m so glad to hear you’re doing better.” And I’m so selfish for thinking that because she’s better, I have a slight chance of being better tomorrow too. Maybe it’s just a twenty-four-hour thing.
“Mom?”
“Cora …”
“Why is Batman Beefcake here?”
I feel like whining and crying a little. Cora doesn’t understand what it means to kick someone when they’re down, nor would she think that’s what she’s doing right this second, but I’d rather not think of any form of Beefcake. “It’s a long story,” I tell her. It’s the truth, but to be honest, I don’t believe I really have a good explanation for why he brought me home at lunch and never left. It may be hard for her to understand.
“Good luck with that,” I hear loudly from downstairs. It was Rick’s voice. Good luck with what?
“Did Daddy take good care of you today?” I ask Cora.
She leans back onto her elbows and crosses her legs. She’s such a mini-me. “Eh,” she sighs. “He was on the phone all day, but Tiana braided my hair five times. It kind of hurt, but it’s the only time she stops talking so I let her do it.”
“Why isn’t your hair in a braid now?” That woman drives me bonkers. I don’t care if someone is good at doing hair, or calls herself a beautician, along with a fitness enthusiast, she should keep her hands off my child. Plus, I think one member of my family is enough for her to steal.
“I took it out. That’s why she did it five times.”
“I know, you don’t like tight braids.”
“I told her that, but she didn’t listen.” I roll my eyes, noting the extra pain it causes in my head. “Why are you naked?”
“It’s part of the long story,” I tell her. If she were older, my long story would be going in a bad direction right now.
“Daddy and Tiana were naked today too. Maybe it’s naked day?”
“Um, what?” I’m hoping I just heard her wrong, so I’m going to let her say it one more time before I hunt my laundry down and head on over to castrate Rick’s dick.
“Well,” Cora says, letting her head fall to the side. “I was taking a nap, and when I woke up, I forgot where I was, so I got scared and ran to Daddy’s room. I opened the door without knocking. It was an accident—” Crap, I don’t want to hear any more. “But he was naked and so was Tiana. I think they were fighting or something because he was shaking her around against the wall, and she was yelling his name really loud. I told him to stop hurting her, and when he saw me, he dropped her.”
“What?” I ask with exasperation.
“Yeah, she fell to the ground and screamed, then crawled into her closet. It was weird. Dad said he’d be with me in a minute and that I needed to go back to my room—did you know Daddy doesn’t have a vagina like we do?” Dear God, I’m already sick to my stomach. Why must you do this to me today?
“Cora—” I can’t do this.
“It’s okay. Daddy told me that boys have a penis and girls have a vagina. It’s not confusing. It makes sense now.” I’m going to vomit again. Not because of this damn flu I have, but because I want to hurt that man. She’s five. Five!
“Cora, sweetie, that’s a lot of information for one day.”
“You know what’s weird, though?” she continues.
Tiana has one too? Oh, wouldn’t that just answer all my questions!
“Laundry!” Logan says as he reenters the room with my laundry basket. “Nice and warm, right out of the dryer.”
“Did you fold my clothes?” I ask him. I don’t need to ask because they’re neatly stacked in layers of organized clothing.
“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do when they come out of the dryer? They’ll wrinkle if you don’t.” He laughs at me since I’m the crazy one. He’s folding his boss’s laundry, and I’m crazy. I am crazy. I’ve lost my goddamn mind.
“Mommy, I was talking to you!” Cora snaps.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt, Miss Cora,” Logan says as he places the basket down on my bed.
“It’s okay,” she says with a smile, a smile just for Logan, not me. “So, Mommy, what was weird was that Tiana’s boobies stand straight up on their own without one of those strappy bowls you wear. She doesn’t need one of those, I guess.”
I hear the wind fly out of Logan’s lungs. “Cora,” he says, “I think we should go downstairs and see what we can find in the kitchen to make for dinner while your mom gets cleaned up. What do you think?”
“I’m kind of tired,” Cora says. “And my head hurts.”
“I bet I know a way to make it feel better,” Logan suggests. Maybe I should be concerned about him taking care of my five-year-old since I don’t know him very well, and he doesn’t know her well either, but for some reason, I have more faith in his childcare skills than Rick’s at the current moment.
“Really?” she asks with hope.
“Yup, I’m an expert at making headaches going away.”
“A lot of flying balls to the head?” I belt out. I couldn’t help it. The joke just rolled off my tongue without a second thought.
“Wow, cute and witty, who would have known?” He winks at me before scooping Cora off the ground, forcing her into a fit of giggles as he flies her out of the room.
My ovaries hurt almost as bad as my guts do now.
9
Wednesday? Is that you? Or did I sleep until Saturday, maybe? Possibly? Please, let it be Saturday
Why does my face hurt? Why does it feel like I’m lying on sandpaper? With effort, I press my eyelids open, blinking a few times until the space in front of me becomes clear—dark and clear. Oh my God, what time is it? I’ve been asleep—on the cheap carpet Rick had to have—on my bedroom floor, the one good thing about throwing up on it. The door is only open a crack and … Cora! “Cora?” I belt out, sounding like I swallowed a sharp piece of metal. “Cora?” I don’t hear a thing. Shit. Shit. Shit.
I press myself up onto my knees. I’m still naked. What the hell kind of flu is this? Whatever it is, it’s been eight hours, and I’m done with it. “You hear that, you shitty old body? I’m done. Mess with me all you want, go ahead … try me.” I’m delirious to boot. I get to my feet, holding the blanket tightly around me, and I spot a shadow of folded clothes on my bed. He folded my clothes. I almost forgot.
I feel around the pile, easily finding a silk pair of panties draped over the top. Come on, really? He couldn’t at least hide them within the other clothes to make it look like he didn’t see them?
I slip them on and then find a raggedy shirt and sweats. I’m dressed quickly, considering my body ate every one of my organs today. “Cora?” I call again.
What time is it? It’s pitch black out. It must be late. Maybe Rick took her back. Why wouldn’t anyone have woken me up? Why did I fall asleep? That’s irresponsible. I was irresponsible today. I don’t like it. I didn’t even call work to let them know I wasn’t coming back for the afternoon. I’m sure it doesn’t look mildly weird at all that I took off with the temp and never returned.
Cora’s door is partially closed, and I poke my head inside, searching for her curly ponytail that would be hanging off the side of her bed if she were sleeping in it, which she is.
Thank goodness.
I take a step inside, and I shouldn’t be surprised to find Logan after everything he has done for me today, but there he is, sitting on the floor, leaning up against Cora’s bed, asleep, with Cora’s favorite book in hand.
Wow.
I tipt
oe over to the bed and tighten the covers the way Cora likes, listening to her soft breaths whisper through her pursed lips.
“Hey,” Logan utters under his breath. “You okay?”
I smile warmly and nod my head toward the door, afraid of waking Cora up. If she’s up, she doesn’t go back to bed. It’s been her thing since she was an infant.
Logan and I make it out into the hall, and I close Cora’s door the rest of the way. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything you did today,” I tell him.
He doesn’t respond. He just smiles. I don’t know what that means.
I never did shower again after the last time I projectile puked all over the place, so that’s probably why. I likely have vomit chunks hanging from my hair.
“I should get going,” he says.
“I should shower,” I reply.
“You should.” He laughs, but I sense it’s not as funny as he’s trying to pretend it is.
“I’m sorry for interrupting your day.” I feel like I owe him that since he doesn’t look too thrilled right now.
“Don’t apologize, please. I’m glad I was here to help, really.”
“I’m glad too,” I offer.
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Enough to keep things under control here.”
“Good.”
We’re in my hall, the lights are dim, and the tension is high. What the hell happened while I was taking a nap?
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” I ask because if I’m judging the look on his face correctly, I think he might leave the state by tomorrow morning.
“Goodnight,” he says in response.
“Okay.” I feel dumb, embarrassed—no, mortified. What is going on? Or, what did Cora tell him is probably the better question.
The Man Cave Collection: Manservant, Man Flu, Man Handler, and Man Buns Page 41
