by Ashley Munoz
The hot water was like some magical elixir, healing my aching body and clearing my head. I melted further into the luxurious tub, the bubbles moving and shifting in the water the only sound in the empty room. I dipped my head into the large tub and scrubbed my hair, washing all the grease and germs from it. I'm sure there weren't actually germs in my hair, but I was one of those people who felt like everything was infected when sickness hit.
Once I was clean, I felt like a new person and had lost all concept of time. Honestly, I couldn’t care about where I was or what I was doing, I just wanted clean clothes and a fresh bed. I got out and wrapped a large towel around myself, loving the feel of the soft, fluffy cotton against my skin. Just as I had secured it around my body, the bedroom door opened, and Jimmy walked in. I was standing in the doorway of his bathroom, my hair soaking wet around my shoulders because my head hurt so badly that just the idea of piling it up with a towel made me wince. I also was delayed in my response by a few seconds, but just as my brain processed that Jimmy was seeing me in just a towel, I grabbed for the bathroom door to slam it shut. Instead, I just ended up groping around the frame like I was blind. Jimmy had no bathroom door. Who the heck didn't have a bathroom door?!
I placed my arms back over my chest to hold the towel secure and stared at Jimmy who was still just standing, frozen in the doorway of his bedroom. He was dressed nicely, which made sense, coming from work. Neither of us said anything and maybe I should have asked him to leave or told him to look away, but I let him look and as muddy as my brain was, I still caught him devouring me with hungry interest as his wide, green eyes roamed over my body. As much as I wanted to break the awkward silence, my throat still hurt and I didn’t want to talk. He finally blinked and looked down at the carpet. Awkwardly, he shuffled backward and kept his head low, “Sorry, um… I’ll just go make you some soup and come back in a few minutes.”
He turned completely and stepped into the hallway, shutting the door behind him. I felt the heat of his stare still lingering on my skin, as if it branded me somehow. My movements were clumsy as I reached for my clothes. I wanted to be dressed before he came back, so we didn't do any more hot and heavy staring contests. I struggled to pull on my sweats, nearly falling over. I needed to slow down because my head felt like it had turned into a big fat balloon.
Once I conquered the sweats, I pulled on a sports bra and t-shirt. I gently combed my hair and braided it, then brushed the heck out of my teeth. I rounded the corner from the bathroom to the bedroom, just as Jimmy gently opened the door with a food tray in his hands. There was a bowl of soup, bread, water, medicine, and a small vase with flowers in it. How was I supposed to be mad at him when he brought me food on a tray with freaking flowers?! He set down the tray, stood up, and moved over to his dresser, where a set of sheets were. He glanced at me as he moved towards the bed.
“Would you like to sit?”
I connected the words slowly in my brain, like there was a batch of pancake syrup that each letter had to move through before it made sense. Once it did, I nodded my head, indicating that yes, I would like to sit.
He carefully moved towards me, placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, and directed me to the chair in the corner of his room. He then stripped the covers off the bed and began putting new ones on. He put the down comforter back on, then replaced the pillowcases, and fluffed them. I watched, too sluggish to even talk to him, or tell him that he didn’t need to change the sheets. I still felt like I was dreaming a little bit. I mean, how could I go from Jimmy ignoring my calls and texts, to him changing his bedsheets for me?
When he finished, he helped me back into his massive bed. He adjusted the pillows behind me so that I was sitting up, then he placed the food tray on my lap. I stared at the food and looked at him. I couldn’t form coherent words, but I managed a quiet, “Thank you.”
He sat near my feet, at the end of the bed, and looked at the food. “Eat up.”
Just the smell of the soup was starting to make my head a little clearer, so I replied, “I’ll eat if you explain to me why I'm here.”
He smiled. It was one of those beautiful smiles that reached his eyes and probably made women swoon. I'd be lying if I wasn’t feeling a little swoony at the sight of it. I decided to ignore his smile and focus on my soup. It was chicken noodle, with the fat chunks of chicken and the veggies—my favorite kind.
He cleared his throat. “Well, your mom called me yesterday to help fix her pilot light and when I got there, she made it sound like you were dying. I could tell she was miserable not being able to take care of you, so I offered to do it.”
I scooped up another spoonful of broth as I thought about his response. It made sense; my mom must have laid it on pretty thick.
“Look I'm sorry if my mom manipulated you into this, but I am fine. Really, I will be back to work tomorrow and completely better. You didn’t need to do all this.”
I let my gaze settle on his face and linger on his eyes as I finished my sentence. His eyebrows drew together in confusion. He looked down and shook his head.
“No, that’s not it at all. I wanted to check on you, so I went into your room and saw that you would probably be more comfortable if you had someone taking care of you… and I…” He started to trail off, letting out a loud sigh. He pulled his hand through his hair as he continued, “I wanted to take care of you.”
Now I felt dumbfounded and really confused. “But why? I was under the impression that you were angry with me, since you wouldn’t return a single text since Saturday.”
I could feel the anger seep out of my words. I clenched the spoon in my hand and had to release a breath to calm down. The hurt from his rejection ran deeper than I realized. I hated that he had shut me out, and that he got to decide when and where we were allowed to be friends. Even though I secretly wanted to be his wife didn’t mean that I was okay with not being his friend. I wanted to be in his life and his kids’ lives, and it hurt that it felt like that was threatened. He frowned and dropped his gaze. He waited a few silent seconds before I saw his Adam's apple move.
“I’m sorry that I shut you out. I was hurt, and I didn’t know how to be your friend. I didn’t do it right and I wanted to be better, do better, for you… So I scooped you up in my arms and walked you out of your house. I’m sorry. If you want me to take you home, I will.”
His downcast eyes only looked worse as he finished talking. I could see fear and regret on his face like an ugly mask. I let out a deep, loud breath and put my spoon down. I was getting really tired of this back and forth with him.
Jimmy tracked my movements with a hurt gaze, as I moved the tray off my, probably assuming that I wanted to leave. He helped me set the tray aside and offered me his hand to get up. I took it, but not to get up. I took his hand to help me gain leverage towards his body because as soon as I had the momentum I needed, I basically threw myself at him and put my arms around his neck. I hugged him. I hugged him as tight as my frail, body would let me. He waited for only a second or two before he wrapped his big arms around me and pulled me in until I was flush with his body.
We stayed like that for a while, until he whispered in my ear, “I want this.”
I didn’t want to read too much into it; he could have meant that he wanted friendship, but a warmth started spreading through my body at the thought that he just wanted me, in his arms. I started to let go, but as I did, he stuck his nose into my neck and breathed in. I pulled away and looked at him. He looked like he was in pain, and somehow with that look, although it did wonderful things to my heart, I had to stop it. He acted like he was going to say something, but before he could, I started.
“Jimmy, thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for being my friend.” I said this while squeezing his hand, hoping he would get the hint. He looked at my hand and a sadness came over his face as he stared at it.
He quietly said, “Ramsey, I don’t want to be your friend, you have to know that. I—”
“Jimmy, we ba
rely know each other,” I cut him off because I had to.
He kept going, “But we do know each other. I feel it, and I know you do too.” He was staring so intensely at me, I was finding it difficult to breathe. Still, I had to stay strong, even if my brain felt like radiator fluid from being so sick. I took both of his hands in mine and replied as gently as I could, “It doesn’t matter if I feel it too. Of course I feel things, Jimmy. I feel things that I have never felt about anyone before with you. It's because of that, that we need a foundation between us. I need to know you, be around you, be around your kids. I need to be your friend first.”
He looked towards the window with his jaw locked, and his eyes narrowed—he was frustrated, I could feel it. I mean, I was frustrated too, but doing the right thing was usually frustrating. He looked back down at our joined hands.
“So, you want to be friends?”
He said it with a hint of disdain, and I held back the urge to punch him in the shoulder.
“Yes, I want to be friends with you. Real, true friends. Friends that don’t stop being friends, and friends that don’t freeze each other out. I want to see your good sides and bad sides and funny sides, and I want your kids to get to know who I am. Not as your date, or girlfriend, but as your friend. I have to know that I can trust you with my heart, Jimmy. So far, it hasn’t felt very safe with you.”
I knew that last part would hurt him, but I needed to be honest with him. I could feel him hesitate, but he pushed through, “And… if you…” He swallowed and glanced up at me as he kept going, “If you find someone else, while we're friends? Or you decide that your feelings have changed for me because we became friends?”
He looked like he was in so much pain, and I hated that I caused it. He had a good point though, and I knew he was concerned.
“I plan on waiting for you, Jimmy. I know we aren’t dating, and you don’t owe it to me, but I want to offer that to you. I won’t pursue anyone or date anyone or look for anything while I am building my foundation of friendship with you.”
He physically looked relieved as his eyes softened, and eyebrows evened out. He let out a breath, squeezed my hands once, then let go of them and placed them on the bed. “And what if your feelings change?”
I looked past him as I thought about his question. I wasn’t sure how to promise him that I knew my feelings for him wouldn't change, especially if I was given the chance to be around him. Then I had an idea.
“Okay, you may think this is stupid, but hear me out." I took another breath and continued, "I want you to find something or write something that represents how you feel about me now, or what you want out of our relationship once our foundation is built. For example, you can talk about where you want to take me on our first date, or you can write me a poem describing how you feel about me and talk about what you want between us. It can be detailed if you want or general, like if you want to date or if you just want to have sex. Whatever it is you feel about me. I will do the same thing, we put them in envelopes and it has to be soon, then we mail them to each other. I know that seems dumb, but that way, you have mine, and I will have yours. We won't open them until six weeks have gone by of us just being friends. At the end of six weeks, we meet up, you can choose when and where. We will open our envelopes and see if we each have a similar goal for the relationship in mind, and then discuss if that is how we still feel. What do you think?”
He was staring a hole into my face, and I was starting to get nervous. Then a small smile appeared across his lips, and he looked down, then back up at me. I smiled, because he looked hopeful.
“I think it’s a great idea because it gives us something to look forward to. Not that there isn’t in just being your friend, but it gives me hope that in six weeks, maybe we will be more. If not, at least I will get to keep something from you that represents how you feel now. Besides, you make a good point. The kids are already so attached to you, that I wouldn't want to mess that up with them. So, yes, let’s do it, and thank you for thinking of them.”
I smiled and felt relieved. I cared so deeply for him, and I wanted more with him obviously, but I had to do this. I had to have something between us because once I lost my mom, I couldn't put that on him unless he was my friend. I moved in to hug him again and thought of what I was going to put into my envelope. He grabbed at the top blanket and flipped it over as he asked, “So, are there rules in this friendship thing that I should know about?”
I thought about it and realized there should be rules, especially with Jimmy. “Yes, we can’t blur the lines. No kissing or physical stuff, we can flirt, but no crossing any lines. No ignoring me because you are pissed. You need to keep communication open, and same goes for me. You have to hang out with me and get to know me, but you can’t get all sexy if we are hanging out.”
He laughed, but I was dead serious, I had zero willpower against him, and I really hoped he wouldn’t find that out. I straightened my back as much as I could as I continued, “Starting tonight, after you put the kids to bed, you have to come back up here and watch some TV with me, and not get weird. It will be your first friendship test.”
He grinned, his eyes smoldering. “You mean me walking back out of the room when you were in just a towel wasn’t my first test of friendship?”
My face warmed at his comment, and where his mind was at. I hit his arm with as much force as my weak little arm could and yelled, “Jimmy!”
He laughed and tried to scoot back to avoid any further hits. “Okay, okay. I promise I will come watch TV with you, in all your nasty sickness glory, okay?”
I smiled and said, “Thank you.”
He squeezed my knee cap and stood up. I already missed the warmth in the bed and snuggled a little deeper under the covers. He grabbed his cell from his pocket and looked at the screen. “I have to head back to work. I think you should call your mom.”
“Okay thanks, I will call her. Um, and Jimmy?”
He looked back down at me and smiled. “Yeah?”
“How do you work the shower?”
He threw his head back and laughed. “It's on the panel outside of the shower. I know it’s weird, but you program how long you want the water, the pressure, everything, from the outside.”
I felt my face flush, even though normal people would never have known that. I squeaked out another “Thank you” before he came over, kissed me on top of my head, then turned and walked out. It was going to be a long six weeks. I grabbed my phone and decided to make contact with my people, while I could still form sentences.
I already knew what I was going to put inside the envelope. I knew the second that she told me her cute little idea about building a friendship and sharing our feelings after six weeks. I respected the hell out of her for pushing us to do this. I didn’t want to, and every cell in my body was pissed at the idea originally, but when she mentioned how she wanted my kids to view her and know her, I melted. I tended to forget who all was affected by things like relationships and feelings, and if I dated Ramsey and something bad happened, it would devastate the kids. I secured what I wanted inside the envelope and texted Ramsey for her address, then sent it off. That evening had been fun with Ramsey. We watched The Office for what felt like hours, and she tried to be subtle, hinting at how good of friends Jim and Pam were before they dated. She was so cute, but to make her mad, I pretended not to know what she was talking about, until she tried to explain it again and again. Then she wasn’t being subtle anymore, got angry, and kicked me.
Normally I would have used her little outburst as an opportunity to move my body closer to hers, or hold her, but I didn’t. I stayed in the friend zone. We spent the evening, laughing and talking about our childhoods.
"Tell me about your mom?" she asked, while pushing some of that unruly hair behind her ear. It wasn't easy to talk about my mother, but I loved remembering her.
"My mom was funny. Always willing to play pranks on me or let me learn my lesson through experiencing a little humiliation." I lau
ghed at the memory. Ramsey had turned towards me, her legs drawn up under her chin as she watched me. "She was always quick to hug me, though. I remember, on my eighteenth birthday, she had crept into my room just before dawn and held a little cupcake in front of my face. It had a lit candle and everything. She told me that I was officially an adult, and the only way to properly start my life as an adult was with a little glimmer of light and a whole lot of sugar." I smiled, fighting back a surge of emotion that rose with it. "She wanted me to remember what I had to look forward to."
I wasn't sure why I picked that memory out of all the ones I had of my mother, but it hurt more than I realized it would.
Ramsey had tears in her eyes, but pushed through them to ask, "How did she…?" She trailed off, her voice getting low. I knew what she meant, and I wondered how I'd never said anything about how she'd died yet to Ramsey.
" Tumor. It was quick. One day, she was grocery shopping, laughing, throwing popcorn in the air, trying to catch it with her mouth. The next, she was complaining of nonstop headaches. Dad took her in, and they found out she had a tumor the size of a baseball in the back of her head. She lasted ten months." I looked away as I explained this part to Ramsey.
Needing a conversation change, I stood up and walked to my closet. I wasn't even looking for anything, but I needed a second to gather myself before I went back to Ramsey. Thankfully, she didn't say that she was sorry for my loss or that my mom sounded like a good woman. Those words always seemed to cheapen my pain, or water it down to something superficial, when it was the most vivid thing I'd ever gone through. I carried the weight of missing my mother in my soul, which was why I didn't like talking about her very much.
