(35) Ex-wife

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Chassie George

"You're blushing."

"Huh? What?" My head twisted toward Kathie with a threat of a whiplash.

She laid another lemon cupcake in front of Ethan.

"Aunt Kathie said you were blushing." He grinned before taking a huge bite of his cupcake.

I give my sister a look. "Don't load him up with sugar. It's still nine in the morning."

Kathie just responded with a shrug and gave my son an encouraging smile. "Eat up, sweetie. I'm babysitting you today."

"I haven't agreed to that yet," I say, taking a sip of my coffee.

Ethan and I met his aunt Kathie today for breakfast. A favor on my part because it meant taking a break from trying not to call him/waiting for him to call. I made an admirable job at not prying when I haven't heard from him all day yesterday.

"Have you heard from Nathan?"

"Why?" My cheeks flushed.

She snorted. "What? Don't you guys talk?"

"No, I haven't heard from him."

"Didn't you call him?"

I shake my head. "I've been writing."

"Oh, really? Wow, that's great, bunny."

I smiled to myself. It wasn't a lie. I have been writing. I don't know what exactly has struck me with the inspiration, but I did write yesterday and have felt the tingling sense of accomplishment that I haven't felt for a really long time.

Kathie's cheery smile dwindles a little. "Anyway, about Nathan – he wasn't feeling well yesterday. I'm afraid he might have caught the flu."

My own smile dropped.

"Mom said you came home soaking wet from the rain the other night. What were you guys thinking? You should've waited out the storm."

That wasn't the entire story, but I close my mouth shut.

"Is daddy okay?" Ethan puts back the cupcake, worry dripping in his voice.

"He'll be okay, baby. I'm going to check on him."

Kathie messes his hair. "Yes, she will. So, you and I will be hanging out today."

***

My teeth dug on my bottom lip amidst my indecision as I parked the car into Nathan's driveway. The engine groaned into a stop. There's a lingering dread to the unknown for when I see him again after that night.

I walked up the front steps. I stared at his door, my heart pounding in my chest. Before the second thought can sprout, I pressed the doorbell.

The door, however, didn't budge open.

I ring the doorbell one more time. When the door remained close and dormant, my thumb had the most immature urge to press the doorbell over and over. Just then, the door swung open.

There was an exhausted groan before I could register the ragged look on his face and the wild disarray of his hair on his head. His ears turned red, his blue eyes distending in panic when he saw me.

The door was about to swing shut again.

"Nathan, wait." I put both my palms on the door to push it back open.

Nathan hid behind it. "What are you doing here?"

"Just checking." I shove the door wider, but he only hid further behind it.

"I'm sorry. I'm not in shape to entertain visitors." He rubs a pair of tired eyes.

"Like that would stop me. May I come in?"

He shakes his head. "The house smells gross. And on top of that, I smell gross."

I pushed my way inside. "That won't stop me either."

Nathan does look... terrible. Now that I could see him in plain sight, I try to assess his entirety in the most subtle way possible.

His eyes were red-rimmed, brown hair a curling mess and he just covered himself with the thickest holiday sweater there is. Nathan was utterly pale. He has that look of someone freezing on Christmas Eve. The sweater does have a role to play with the whole ensemble.

"I look like I just raised from the dead, aren't I?" Nathan grumbles.

"Absolutely not. You look like a normal sick person to me."

He shakes his head, hand over his forehead. "Bed," he murmurs.

His house doesn't smell gross at all. Clearly, it was just an attempt to fend me off. It's still tidy and clean. When I followed him to his bedroom, the neat house made sense. Because the bedroom looked and smelled like a sick ward.

He's locked himself in his bedroom during the better part of yesterday. I need to open a window.

Nathan shuffled to the bed, too unwell to notice how crumpled and uninviting the sheets were.

I grab onto the back of his sweater before he collapses on the mess of a bed. "Let me change the sheets first."

"But I want to sleep." He groans.

"It will just be a sec. Why don't you sit on a chair while I change the sheets?" I usher him toward the nearby leather seat, relieved that he's docile enough. I tug the blanket off the armrest and tuck it securely around him.

"I just want to sleep. Please?" His eyes were the normal glassy type people used to have when they have the flu. But he can make glassy eyes seemed appealing. His head droop to the crook of my neck. "Please, I just need to lie down."

I try not to flinch when I felt his forehead burning against my skin. I allowed my fingers to sweep his hair off his forehead. "I know. But you need fresh sheets. It won't take long. I promise."

"Okay," he whispers, too weak to nod.

After making sure he won't fall off the chair headfirst, I immediately sprang into action. I opened a window, grabbing another blanket to wrap him in along the way. I hurried toward his linen closet across the bathroom. I took out his impressively folded sheets and rushed back to his bedroom.

"Can I sleep now?" Nathan murmurs, his dark lashes drooping onto the shadows under his eyes.

"Just give me another minute." I strip the bed, almost stopped when I hear him counting the passing seconds faintly.

I try not to laugh because he might take it the wrong way. I bit my tongue and replaced the old sheets with the clean ones.

"Nathan?" I tapped his arm.

"You lied. It took six minutes. He leaned to my shoulder.

"Sorry." I helped him shuffle to his bed. I almost laugh thinking he's been counting this whole time.

His body dropped on the bed with a bounce. "This feels nice."

"I know." I laugh softly. I pull the covers all the way up to his chin then I tuck them around his shoulders.

His eyes squeeze shut like he was about to sleep. But a staggering hand reaches for me. "Is there anything else you need?"

He tugs me down to his side with a strength of an infant. His hand guided me to the bed next to him. I rested my cheek on the pillow and combed his hair back with my fingers. "Do you need anything else?"

I thought he's finally asleep. But then he shook his head. Barely. Nathan nuzzled his pillow and muttered something incoherent then, "stay for me."

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