Still, I can feel Ginelle's eye roll as she says, “All the more reason to humor your mom.” I don't respond. “But whatever. Your funeral.”
“Don't bring lilies,” I say as I open the door. “Too cliché.”
I knockon Toni's door a little over an hour later, arms loaded with bags of soup, meds, and snacks.
Whatever doubts and anxieties I'd been harboring around this mission flee once Toni cracks open the door. Her button nose is a painful shade of red while her typically rosycomplexion is concerningly pallid. She stares up at me with a mix of shock, disbelief, and maybe a dash of horror.
“I've brought provisions.” I lift both my arms, bags hanging from them. Admittedly, I may have gone overboard a little—or a lot.
“I see that.” Her voice is rough. “But—” She casts a wary glance behind her.
“If you've already got someone?—”
She scoffs, the sound turning into a cough. “Not unless you count the delivery drivers who've kept me alive.” I feel a twinge of regret for not reaching out sooner. “It's just my place is...”
“Toni.” Those big brown eyes flick back to me. “Do you think I give a damn what your apartment looks like? You're sick.”
“Yeah. Let's blame that.” She huffs a sigh, moving to the side to let me in.
If I didn't know better, I'd think this was the apartment of someone who recently moved in. Boxes still sit at the perimeter of the living room, one clearly serving as the coffee table. No art adorned the walls, though I clock several canvases in the dining room turned studio as Toni leads me to the kitchen.
She gestures for me to put the bags on the kitchen island. “You didn't need to bring all of this.”
“I know.” I take out two pints of chicken noodle soup from the deli. “Saucepan?” I ask.
“I can handle that.” She takes the pints from me, setting them on the counter with a huff. “Seriously, you brought all this, you don't—” I catch her wrist before she can reach to unpack a single item. Her skin feels too warm and a bit clammy.
“Don't you dare.”
She pulls away, hands settling on her hips. “I'm fine, Cillian.”
“Really? So you're always burning up?”
She opens her mouth to argue, but instead of words, she coughs hard enough to make my own chest ache. I pull a water bottle from the drying rack beside the sink, filling it for her.
Once she catches her breath and downs a few sips, I cup her cheek, pulling her focus to me. “Here's what's going to happen. You're gonna take that water and sit down. I'm going to start heating some soup and bring you some meds. Ok?”
“But the saucepan,” she croaks.
“I'm sure I can find it.” She gives me a skeptical look.
“I'm not.”
“Please, go sit the hell down before I carry you to the living room.”
“Fine.”
“Thank you.”
Without Toni's help, it does take me longer than I anticipate to locate the right size pan. Although seeing as it was still in a box under some Tupperware, I doubt she would've been able to find it any faster. I set the soup to warm on the stove, the comforting smell quickly filling the air.
If the location of the pan was any indication, there hasn't been much cooking going on in this kitchen since Toni moved in. Coffee prep, though? I shake my head at the significant portion of counter space taken up by one of those $300 drip coffee makers, a small espresso machine, and several accessories I can't name. With an impressive setup like this, I'm shocked she'd ever bother ponying up the $7 for a latte from Jac.
The cabinet above the collection reveals an equally impressive assortment of mugs, clearly curated over the years. I pick two and pull out the tea I'd brought. She'd balk, but I was fully prepared for that battle.
I unload the rest of my haul: a fresh baguette and a couple of salty-sweet baked goods from the same deli as the soup, meds, snacks, and...the silk at the bottom of the bagbrushes against my fingertips, cool to the touch. I set that one aside for now and check on Toni.
I'd half expected to find her frantically unpacking a box or trying to order the artistic chaos of her studio space. But to my surprise, she's curled up in a nest of lush jewel-toned blankets on her blush pink couch. Right where I told her to be.
