All of Me

eleven • sick day

"Can I go see him?" I ask, already standing. Tad nods, filling his own mug, and I leave him with Mom. Following the creak of a bed, I find Gray looking sorry for himself in his bedroom. He looks bad, a greenish tinge to his pale cheeks, and there's a bucket by his bed, a towel on the floor.

"Are you dying?"

"I think so," he says. "Can you die of food poisoning?"

"Yes." I take out my phone and google the statistics. "Nearly half a million people die of food poisoning every year. What'd you eat? We all had your dad's beef last night."

"I got snacky," he says, groaning when he rolls over. "I made a chicken sandwich later. I guess the chicken was bad." He drops onto his back and drapes his arm over his forehead, breathing heavily.

"I can stay," I say. "I can give you a hand?"

"No. You've got a date today. You're not cancelling because of me." He lies still for a moment. His hand moves to his mouth. He takes a deep breath through his nose before he tips out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom. I can't bear the sound of him throwing up. There's nothing I can do to help him.

A few minutes pass. He comes out looking a lot worse, his eyes red and his skin pallid, and he drags himself back to bed with hardly an ounce of energy.

"I hate throwing up," he says, collapsing onto his crumpled comforter. "You should go."

I don't want to. I hover in the doorway. Gray stares at me.

"You don't have to go to class if you don't want to," he says, "but you should go and see Liam and have a great day. I'm not going to let you throw away the day just because I'm sick." He groans again, letting out a heavy sigh, and buries his face in his pillow. His words are muffled when he says, "Go, Storie."

"Are you going to be ok?"

"Nope. I just gotta flush it out of my system."

"Let me at least get you some water."

"Ok," he says, the word an effort to push out. "Then you need to go. Have fun without me."

• • •

It's weird driving alone. I'm not sure I've ever driven anywhere alone: I'm more of a taxi. I never have anywhere to be except college and I share that with Gray. His absence is painfully obvious as I sail down the I-90. I miss his narration. I even miss the sound of a book in his hands, the papery whoosh as he turns the page every thirty seconds.

When I get to South Lakes, I don't feel right. Nothing physical, just a niggle at the back of my mind that it's not right being here without him. It is, of course. It's normal, whatever normal's supposed to be. I'm supposed to be able to go to class without him; I'm supposed to be able to drive for a couple hours without being caught in a panic that clutches my chest.

It'll be ok. I tell myself that over and over and over. It'll be fine. I feel sorry for Gray too, and I hate myself for feeling bad that he's not here when I should be feeling bad that he's so ill. I do feel bad about that: I feel awful for him and I wish I could help but he'll only be happy if I just go about my day as normal.

Class first. I can do that. I can sit in one of those awkward chair-table combos and I can make notes on literary theory for ninety minutes. Then I can do it again for Shakespearean literature. Then I can swallow my nerves for a date with Liam.

I'm not sure if the feeling in my gut is even nervousness. Anticipation, maybe. Sending the text terrified me, but I want to go. I want to see him. I don't know where this is going, but I'm here for the ride.