How to Ruin a Wedding(55)

“This is every Puerto Rican’s medicine for whatever sickness you can possibly have,” I say, trying to lighten the mood and explain while I’m lathering him up to smell like a human candy cane. “There’s no science behind it, but I swear it never fails.”

I sit on the bed and lay a hand by his feet. “I need to take off your socks for a moment.” He does his head tilt, and the familiar sight eases another sliver of worry. “Please?”

He nods, and I remove the fabric. Then, I gather a hefty amount of Vicks and rub hard, small circles all over the bottom of his foot. Even when there’s enough of it on his skin, I keep massaging. Anders’s eyes flutter shut, and I keep going to give him respite from the fever until my thumbs cramp. After, I do the same to the other foot, then cover them with his socks.

“My mom always said this will suck up the fever,” I explain. “All the sick will leave from your feet.”

I rub the excess from my hand with a paper towel, gathering everything on the tray to remove. “I’ll let you try to sleep.” I grab the tray. “But I’ll be right next door if you need me.”

He takes my wrist again, his thumb running over my skin. “Lucinda,” he says, his voice raspy and sleepy. “Why do you look so sad?” he asks again.

“Me?” I say, way too perky to be believable. “I think your fever is making you delirious.”

When I try to pull away, he leans to me, wrapping his arms around my waist, and pulls me on the bed with him, my body over his.

Anders brings a shaky hand to my cheek. “I’m okay,” he promises, though I didn’t ask if he was. But in my head, in my heart, I keep worrying that he’s not. But he doesn’t know that.

“Of course you are,” I say, and I’m not sure why my words come out shaky and unsure.

Just as I’m unsure why, humiliatingly, my eyes burn with unspilled tears.

“Of course I am,” he says, using the little strength he has to position me beside him, my head tucked by his chest as his arm wraps around me, his other hand rubbing circles into my back.

“It’s just a fever,” he says into my hair, caressing me. “It’ll pass quick. I’m completely okay.”

“Okay,” I repeat, nestling myself closer to him.

The more he traces circles into my back, the more the movement in my stomach settles, and my eyelids grow heavy. I know I should move, give him space, take care of him, but whenever I try to pull away, he tightens his hold on me until I give up, and murmurs small, soft reassurances that he’s okay, but they feel like he’s saying I’m okay.

Until all the worry in the pit of my stomach subsides completely.





18.


“Lucinda.” Something hard and gentle shakes me. “Lucinda, it’s me.”

My eyes barely have the strength to open, and I wave the hands off me, pressing my face into my pillow. “No, thank you.”

A chuckle, and then, “Having some good dreams?”

The previous night catches up to me in one swift moment. My eyes blink open, and Anders towers above me on the edge of the bed, his aftershave enveloping me. “Are you okay?” I get on my knees, pressing my hand to his neck, his head a little too out of reach at this angle. His skin is warm, but not at all hot.

He presses my hand in between both of his. “I’m a lot better, I promise.” He smiles. “I think there’s some residual fever in my feet, but that’s about it.”

My cheeks grow hot at the memory of massaging Vicks onto his heels.

“I have to go,” he says while I try to think of what to say. “I would have let you sleep in more, but I didn’t want you to wake up and me be gone.”

“What time is it?” I ask. “Where are you going?”

“A little after seven,” he answers. “Aunt Bethany is helping her farm owners with a horse that got out in the middle of the night. I’m going to bring Olive to her volleyball league for her.”

“What a cool kid,” I say, a yawn escaping me.

“I’ll be a couple hours,” he explains. “Go back to sleep.”

“Okay,” I say, shutting my eyes as if even speaking with him is exhausting. He lays me down, tucks me under the covers, and I wait until I hear the door click shut.

I open one eye, listen for the sound of the front door doing the same, and then I sit up, fully awake, and shove my face into the pillow and scream.

I slept with Anders.

Not sexually, not with his fever, but in the same bed, pressed against each other, cuddling without moving an inch away. Sleeping together without having sex somehow feels way more intimate.

I sit up. “No, no, it’s not a big deal,” I say aloud, like an insane person. “I just wanted to be close in case he needed me, and he wanted the same, in case he got sicker. Just being considerate.”

That would be more believable if the whole dry humping on the pool table hadn’t happened, but you know what, that’s already in the past. Basically, a faded memory. Forgotten as vegetables at the back of the fridge you swore you’d incorporate into your meals.

These are all problems for future me. I’m not going to sit here and replay the events in my head until I’m crazy. Anders isn’t even here to discuss them with, if I knew exactly how to discuss them at all.