“I’m
home,” I call out to the apartment with a flickering fire. My engagement ring
sparkles in the firelight. Taking off my trench coat, Kearney the gigantic Bernese
mountain dog comes running in to the room with his tongue bouncing off from the
side of his snout and the bell on his collar to jingle in such a way. I kneel down
to run my fingers through his thick fur coat, mumbling words in the sweetest
tone I have in my system. He rewards me with a lick on my fingers and a sniff
around my neck.
“David?”
I call my fiancé out, hoping that he’s home.
“Coming!”
he cries from the left side of the room.
I
stand up to walk over to the couch, placing my bag on it and clumsily settle
down on the velvety canvas. I watch the fire lick the mantle. The first few
snowflakes of the Winter season comes pouring down, sitting on the ledge of the
windows. Frost starts to climb its way up the frames.
Not
long, a sloppy-looking David comes out. It’s not usual for him to look like
this when I come home after a long day at work. He usually just comes out with
a baggy shirt or khaki pants and greets me. But not this time. His hair is all
in a mess, his eyes look watery and the colour from his cheeks are drained out.
“What
happened to you? You look like your allergies came back,” I stand up to take
his face in my hands.
“Uh-uh,
don’t touch me,” he takes my hands in his and lifts them from his cheeks. “I
don’t know… I felt terrible for the past few days then boom, I look like a
condemned machine.”
“Well
sit, I’ll take a look at you. Ugh, you look absolutely horrifying!” I push him
down onto the sofa. Kearney comes waltzing to nudge his big wet nose at David’s
sweatpants, leaving a little wet circle on the fabric.
I
take a seat next to sick-looking David while Kearney walks over to the
fireplace and curls up on the carpet, closing his eyes and taking a little
doggie nap.
“It’s
nothing; promise,” he starts to mutter aimlessly. “I’ll get better tomorrow, I
know it. Don’t have to worry about me. Come on, you look like you need to rest.
How was work?”
“Shh!”
I say as I examine his facial features. His nose has gone pinkish over the few
minutes. I place my hand gingerly on his forehead; he seems to be heating up. “You’re
burning.”
I
say that to alarm him. As I anticipated, his eyes go wide open and I see how
watery his eyes are up-close.
“I
am?” he says.
I
nod, “David, allergy season is over… I’m afraid you’re having a fever.”
Can’t
blame him, Winter is coming and a ton of people out there are catching colds
every time a breeze whiz by them. He might need to get a flu shot if this
prolongs. I tell him that and he seems absolutely terrified.
“I
don’t want to get my shots!” he cries. It’s so loud that Kearney’s ears twitch.
“Don’t
be such a baby. You’re way too old to get scared of needles,” I run my fingers
down his defined arms.
“It’s
not like you have a brave face all the time,” he starts to give me a look;
eyebrows rose as high as they can go. “Besides, I rarely get sick so I don’t
really need flu shots anyway.”
“I
said only if it prolongs.”
David
sighs in relief, “Good. I hate needles.”
I
haven’t eaten and this is what I come home to—an empty dinner table and a sick
grown up who acts as if he’s five years old and I’m going to marry him in a few
months’ time.
That’s
when my stomach starts to growl. David starts to laugh, “Sorry I didn’t have
time to prep for dinner. I’m really sorry.”
“That’s
okay,” I say half-heartedly. If it wasn’t for David’s sickness, we would have
dinner all set up on the table already. “I’ll cook. You just stay here by the
fire and keep warm.”
For
the period of time while I cooked dinner, I carefully watch over David, groaning
in frustration and sniffling a couple of times. His body completely melts into
the couch like it is made for him. I decide to make him my mother’s chicken
noodle soup. It doesn’t cure colds
but it helps make it sustainable. The dish works every time for me. I like how
simple and easy it is to make; you need noodles, chicken broth, chopped up
celery and potatoes, chicken and I don’t know, mushrooms? My mother said it’s
all about the taste.
“That
smells good,” David says from the couch. I look up at him, he’s still lying
down.
“Just
wait a few more minutes. I need to wait for it to simmer,” I tell him.
“I’m
drooling already,” he chuckles then coughs in mid-chuckle.
Great,
what else does this poor singer have? He already has a fever, flu, cough,
watery eyes and what’s next? He’s going to give birth?
When
someone I love is sick, the mother in me just starts to crawl out of its cage
and I’ll start to do anything for that person. I’m afraid I might have to show
a side that David has never seen before. I can’t help it; it’s just my nature
to nurse something sick.
I
turn off the stove and let the soup and noodles pour into the bowl. I leave the
pot in the sink to cool off with water.
I
bring the hot ceramic bowl with a cloth wrapped around it to David, who instantaneously
sits up at the sight of me carrying a bowl of hot soup.
“Soup,”
he starts to mutter; his eyes go wide at the aromatic steam dances its way up
into the air, filling the living room with the smell of chicken broth.
“Hold
your horses,” I push him back down onto the couch. “It’s still extremely hot.”
“But
I’m hungry,” he whines.
“I’m
hungry too! You don’t see me complaining,” I sass him. He sinks into his seat,
shuffling his thumbs and mumbles a sorry.
I
smile at him, feeling rather ridiculous because he’s supposed to act like a
grown up, “Here, I’ll feed you.”
“Are
you serious?” he looks at me.
Kearney
suddenly scrambles on his sleeping spot. Probably he’s dreaming. I like seeing
Kearney stir in his sleep; it tells me that he’s having doggie dreams—probably about
chasing the evil mailman who comes by our apartment some times to deliver
parcels, or chasing a squirrel, or maybe even dream about tearing David’s
clothes apart since Kearney’s not a fan of David’s attempts to bond with him.
I
laugh at Kearney’s stirring. I realize David is watching me with a hint of
admiration upon his weary face.
Taking
the cloth, I shift my weight onto the couch and sit right next to him. I take
the hot bowl of soup in my hands with the cloth onto my lap. He watches me with
so much focus, giddy to have a taste.
David
doesn’t like it when I feed him; this time is an exception. I feed him like a helpless
bird with a broken wing. It makes my heart swell in compassion in hopes that he
does get better real quick. I watch him eat with a soft expression on my face.
I notice how his hair looks so fuzzy in the dim light.
“This
tastes better than it smells,” he smiles at me. His nose has gone redder than
before. I place my hand gently on his forehead; still burning. Then I start to
get worried again.
“How
did you get sick?” I blurt out.
He
pauses for a moment, “I don’t really know… It must be the season. It is getting
pretty cold out there.”
“You
poor baby…” I whimper.
He
laughs at my remark, “I thought you hated the term baby. That was the first rule you told me the moment we started
dating: don’t call me babe, baby or anything that has to do with infants.”
“That
only applies when it comes to me. This is a different meaning, all right?” I
feed him another spoonful of celery and potato.
He
laughs again. You know, for someone who’s sick, he keeps the spirit
light-hearted.
Once
the bowl becomes empty, I wash the dishes and ask him to go bed.
“Now?”
he questions me.
“You
heard me,” I nod my head firmly. “I’ll go shower.”
He
groans, stomping his way to our bedroom while Kearney follows me to the shower.
I ask him to heel when I enter the bathroom. Even for dog, he can’t see me butt
naked. So he waits for me outside the bathroom door.
There
isn’t any cough syrup in the refrigerator; guess I’d have to go to the pharmacy
tomorrow to get a bottle for David. The next best thing is to send him to bed.
I
wear the loose shirt David can’t wear anymore with a pair of shorts. David has
his back against the headboard, his arms folded. He seems to be waiting for me
to get out of the shower.
“I
told you to go to bed, didn’t you hear me?” I pull out the rubber band from my
hair, letting it fall on my back.
“You
said to go bed but you didn’t tell me to sleep,” he sticks a tongue at me.
“David,”
I bellow his name softly, glaring at him.
His
lips stretch upwards into his award-winning smile.
“Come
here,” he says, waving his hand at me.
I
shuffle to the bed, Kearney tails behind me. Climbing into bed, I touch David’s
forehead once again. It’s still burning up.
“I’ll
go get you a wet towel,” I dash to our dresser to retrieve a handkerchief, then
to the bathroom to wet it with cold water. I come back to see David still in
the same position.
“You
don’t have to do all of this you know. Making dinner was enough,” he chokes out
his stupid laugh again for the hundredth time tonight.
I
kneel next to him on the mattress, levelling myself to meet his eyes and I
start to dab the wet towel on his temples. I don’t comment on his last
statement for I’m too busy trying to nurse him back to health.
“Lie
down,” I tell him. He does it without protest. Carefully, I lay the wet towel
on his forehead, patting it gently.
Kearney
makes a low growl before settling down on my side of the bed and dozing off to
sleep again.
David
stares into my eyes as if it will cure his illness in a blink of an eye. I
stroke his pale cheek, “You look awful.”
“As
if I never heard that before,” he gives a throaty answer.
I
lean into his face to kiss him but he blocks my lips with his big hand.
“Nope,”
he says. “Not tonight. I’m sick. I don’t want you to get cooties too.”
I
giggle at the dumb reference, “It’s okay. I’m prone to sicknesses.”
“I’m
not taking any chances,” he shakes his head slowly, to prevent the damp towel
from slipping off his forehead.
How
I wish to kiss him goodnight like how we do nightly.
Instead,
I sit motionless by him, waiting for the underside of the damp towel to get
warm so I can flip it on its other side. His fingers slowly creep up to my hand
then take it in his rough hand. He squeezes it.
“What
would I do without you? I’ll probably be a sick guy who has no idea how to make
myself better properly. You should see my mother when I get sick. It’s like she
has to call an ambulance,” he smiles wide at the memory of his mother. “I miss
her.”
His
thumb starts to rub in a circular motion on the back of my hand. I see his eyes
twinkle in the only light in the room. I believe it’s time to flip the towel,
so I slip my hand away from his grip to flip it over.
“So…
You’re comparing me with your mother?” I cock an eyebrow at him.
“Oh,
no.”
“So
I remind you of her?” I ask again.
“You
just have a different glow when I get sick. Almost like my mom’s but… different,” he says the word like it’s
foreign to him. “I can see you’ll make a great mom.”
“Oh
God. We’re not going into this topic again now, are we?” I start to huff in
frustration. I never want any children at all; adopted, spawn from a test tube
or anything like that—I don’t want any of them.
“I’m
just saying!” David gets on his defensive side. “You’re very hospitable.”
“Thank
you…” I feel awkward all of a sudden. I’ve never had anyone saying I’m
hospitable before. He’s the first.
“I’m
glad I’m going to marry you,” his smile becomes wider. “You’re going to have to
deal with my allergies a lot plus how sick I easily get from time to time.”
I
can see in the near future David looking all worked up because of his
allergies. Somehow these things seem normal to me.
“Hey,
sweetheart?” he starts.
“Yeah?”
I murmur.
“I
love you,” he whispers dreamily.
I
reach out to touch his cheek which is feeling very warm. Now I’m more worried.
Then he grabs my arm and pulls it away, “No more.”
He
takes the towel in his hand and places it on the bedside table. After that he
rolls onto his side, grabs me next to him. I scramble for the sheets to cover
him and I, feeling him press his body against my back.
When
I settle, he presses his dry lips to my neck, “I’m feeling much better. Thank you.”
Something
crawls up my spine, sending shivers down it. I feel the heat emitting from his
body. He’s definitely building up a fever in the next few hours. I make a
mental note to wake up in the middle of the night to check on him.
“Goodnight,
David.”