Celeste huffed. “I don’t trust her with my children.”
“But you trust someone with a plague?”
“Do quit whining, Olivia. I guess I’ll find someone to take the children. Maybe their nanny can come in early. Or Elton. I could ask him.”
“Goodbye, Celeste.”
“Did you type up my notes for theParenting for Professionalspodcast?”
“Last week. They’re in your inbox. Goodbye, Celeste.” I felt like a train was trying to barrel through my head.
“Alexander wants to know where you think he put those science flash cards you made him.”
“Left pocket of his backpack.” I plucked a tissue from the box and blew my sore nose. “Goodbye, Celes—”
“He’s asking me to create flash cards for his English test too. I don’t know what he wants. If I sent his notes to you, would you be able to make them?”
I meant to agree to her request, but my sinus medication kicked in, and instead I heard myself say, “Figure it out, please. Nighty night. See you next week.”
“Next week?!” Celeste squawked.
Click.
Later I would burn with regret over hanging up on my boss.
But right now, in my delusional, fevered state, it felt pretty darn good.
Not as good as having two functional nasal passages. But moderately dandy, indeed.
With a contented sigh, I snuggled into my pillow and closed my eyes. I was just about to fully commit to my next nap when a gentle knock rattled my door.
“Go away,” I said. “I’m not making flash cards.”
“Livvy?” Three more knocks followed. “Your studly hero has returned.” The door cracked and Lachlan stuck his head inside.
That got my attention. I shot to a sitting position and waved him away. “Go away, Lachlan. I’m contagious. I’m a plague carrier. Save yourself. You have a whole life to live. And by life, I mean interviews that you cannot cancel unless dead.” My husband didn’t move, but instead stood there looking impossibly handsome except for the frown marring his brow. I did not want to be responsible for anyone else getting sick. “Leave or I’ll tell the world I’m one of your four wives, and together we make a happy cult called Lachlan’s Ladies.”
“You know I believe in fake monogamy in my fake marriage. You and I are like penguins. The two of us bonded for eternity.”
“Stop it. You’re making my head hurt worse.”
“Canadian geese. Gray wolves. Shunning all others and shackled together for life.” Despite my dire warnings, Lachlan walked to my bedside and rested a hand to my forehead. “Babe, are you okay?”
“Yes.” No. “Mostly.”
“Define mostly.”
“I want someone to remove my head from my neck, blow it out with an air compressor, and return it to my body.”
“Sounds very doable.”
“What day is it? What year of our Lord?” The cobwebs cleared enough for me to check the date on my phone. “Aren’t you back early?” Maybe I had lost some days in a snot-induced coma.
“I came back as soon as you said you were sick.”
“That is so sweet.” I rubbed a hand across my damp nose. “But I didn’t tell you I was sick.”
“Yeah, you did. I called last night and you mentioned it.” His hand made smooth, even strokes over my hair. “You said, and I quote, ‘I’m dying, Lachlan, and I need you to wipe my brow and hand-feed me chocolates. The good kind. Not the ones from the dollar store down the road.’”
