| November 8 | Wednesday |
I jolted awake. Wait. Why hadn't there been an alarm? What time was it? Did I really sleep through Megan leaving this morning?
My body sat up, but I realized Megan was still next to me. Charlie was still curled up in her bed. Then I looked at my phone and realized it was already eight o'clock.
Megan had overslept!
I ran my hand gently over her shoulder. "Megan?"
But no response.
This time, I moved into her and rocked her again, which finally got a response.
She groaned.
"Megan, you overslept."
"I'm not going to school," she claimed.
I furrowed my brow in confusion.
"Why?"
"Because I feel like shit."
"You're sick?" I wondered as my hand stroked her back. "Nauseated? Fever?"
"Yes and... probably yes, I don't know. Every time I get out of bed I want to puke," she informed.
"Do you want to go to a clinic?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because it's just a virus."
"Yeah but maybe they could-"
"Sam," Megan interrupted. "Please stop making me talk. It just makes it worse."
My heart deflated. Not because she had declined my attempts at conversation, but because she really wasn't feeling well. If there was anything Megan wasn't, it was a wimp. She had gone through an entire day of classes before breaking down and going to the clinic, only to find out she had a full-blown sinus infection. So, for her to miss school, I knew this was serious.
I stood from the bed and retrieved a small trash-bin and lined it with a bag, then set it next to her head on the floor.
"Just in case you need to puke..." I claimed.
"Thanks," she muttered painfully.
"Do you need anything? A wet towel? Some water...?"
She shook her head. "I just need sleep."
My shoulders shrunk in defeat as I left the room. I didn't like feeling helpless, but what could I do? I never had to take care of Megan. Most of the time, it was the other way around. She never got sick. Like, ever.
So, I did what I usually did and proceeded with chores around the house. I tried to be quiet for Megan's sake, especially since she was trying to sleep, and checked in on her every now and then.
It wasn't until around lunch that I heard her heaving in the bathroom.
I rushed to join her as she was hunched over the toilet, her knuckles white from the straining. I knelt next to her and gathered her long, dark hair to hold it away from her face.
Luckily, I wasn't easily grossed-out by puke, or its rank smell.
She stood and washed her mouth and face. I couldn't help but pity my girlfriend at the sight. She honestly looked like shit, but I wouldn't tell her that.
"Are you sure you don't need anything?" I wondered.
She declined before crawling back into bed.
I felt as if she was just trying to tough it out, but I was afraid she would dehydrate. The knowledge I had on this matter was minimum, so I decided to call for help.
"Sam?" my mom answered. "Is everything alright?"
I sighed. "Megan came down with the stomach flu and I have no idea how to help her."
"Oh no," she said. "Do you have ginger-ale? And is she running fever?"
I looked back into the bedroom from the den. "I don't have ginger-ale. I don't even know that that is? And she won't let me near her. Says she doesn't wanna get me sick, too."
"Your father is the same way," mom claimed. "Thinks that he can tough things out on his own, until he realizes he can't."
I just released a small laugh. Yeah, that sounded like Megan.
"You need to go to the store," she finished. "Here's what you'll need..."
* * *
I returned from the store with the supplies mom had instructed me to get. If Megan tried to shut me out again, I would just have to demand a change of behavior. She was independent most of the time, but this was different.
I put a few bland crackers on a plate and toted the concoction my mother had instructed me to make into our bedroom. Megan stirred, which meant she was no longer asleep.
I set the crackers and drink next to her head then sat at the foot of our bed.
"I'm not eating."
"You have to try," I said. "You need something in your stomach."
"It'll just come back up."
I lifted the trash-bin. "Then you'll be prepared."
"I just need to sleep it off-"
"Megan," I stated. "Eat at least one."
I hated using that tone with her, but sometimes her stubbornness could become her downfall. Her blood-shot eyes locked onto mine for a good minute before she forced herself to sit up.
"I'm gonna get you sick if you stay in here," she said.
"I'll be fine."
She nibbled slowly on a cracker and then took a sip of the drink. Luckily, she didn't spit it right back into my face. I reached out to check her temperature.
With the back of my hand pressed against her forehead, I determined she wasn't. Her temperature was normal, which was a good sign.
I waited with her until she ate two more crackers and nearly finished her drink. It was a long and slow process, but at least she was willing to work with me.
"Feelin' better?" I asked.
She took a deep breath. "Still nauseated, but... yeah, as of now I am."
I smiled and lied next to her, signaling for her to take her place between my arm and chest. This always made me feel better, so it shouldn't be any different for Megan.
"Sam... I don't think-"
"Get over here," I demanded. "You're not gonna get me sick."
She realized arguing with me on this one was useless and decided to embrace me. Her body curled up into mine as she closed her eyes.
After a few minutes of silence, I figured she had fallen asleep, and I wouldn't be far behind. Hopefully I wasn't woken with projectile vomit.
"Thank you," I heard through my dazed state.
I looked down at Megan, whose eyes were still closed.
I smiled. "Anytime, babe."
* * *
It took Megan twenty-four hours to combat most of the extreme symptoms and start looking like herself again. And I had refused to leave her side.
Honestly, it just felt really good to be needed. It wasn't often that Megan required something of me, granted, it was the same vice versa. Other than the need for affection, of course.
"Do you wanna try soup?" I asked.
Megan nodded from the couch as she petted Charlie, who was curled in her lap.
I heated it up and brought her the bowl, along with more crackers.
"How long has it been since you've thrown up?" I asked.
She thought. "It's been a while."
"Think you could keep this down?"
"I think so."
As Megan and I watched her favorite show I couldn't help but feel like I had passed a test. I found myself smiling.
"You know," she started. "You don't give yourself enough credit."
I looked at her in confusion as she set her bowl down.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean..." She crawled over to me. "You claim the nurturing gene skipped you but... you just keep proving yourself wrong."
I just stared at her.
"Like when we got Charlie, you were so afraid you wouldn't be able to handle her, but you did." Megan smiled. "I mean, I'm starting to think she likes you more than me."
I rolled my eyes. "That's not true."
"Is too."
"Is not."
Megan tilted her head. "And then when I needed you, you stepped up and took care of me. And took care of me well, might I add."
I laughed. "Were you expecting me not to?"
"Let's just say, I wasn't expecting much."
"Oh whatever," I groaned. "As if I'd watch you suffer and not help."
"You could've," she said. "When I kept pushing you away. But you didn't. You stepped up and made me listen, which is what I needed."
Okay, maybe she had a point. Maybe some of her qualities that I admired so much were finally starting to rub off on me.
"I guess you're right," I agreed.
"Like always."
I just rolled my eyes playfully.
"Were you going somewhere with this conversation?" I wondered.
"I was..." She eyed me warily. "I just think you'd be a great mom."
The blood in my veins iced over. The fact that me taking such good care of Megan made her think of kids was... hilarious and frightening. My face must've given away my internal dialogue.
She grabbed my hand. "Don't look at me like that, it was just a thought."
"You think of kids when I'm feeding you crackers and soup?"
She shoved me. "Samantha."
I knew I was being cynical, but the thought of marriage still intimidated me, so you can just about imagine how kids made me feel.
"I'm sorry, I just..." I sighed. "I guess you're right. It was just a thought. No need to get freaked out."
"I'm just saying... give yourself more credit," she finished.
I smiled to myself as my girlfriend returned her attention to the TV. It was obvious I had impressed her over the past twenty-four hours. This was just her thinking out loud. No need to get freaked out.
So, I decided to bask in the sense of success instead and hugged her closer to me.