Little Miss Lovesick (27 page)

I hate it when people try to break other people up. Do they do it on purpose? Are they just not thinking about the consequences? Are they really malicious or just plain old-fashioned selfish?

I wondered what happened to the girl Dirk left me for earlier this year. Wow, was it only this year? I wondered if he left her for someone else, or if she left him. I wondered if he called the woman from last night.

And who takes someone’s phone number when they’re out with someone else just to be polite? Does that sound like a line of crap or what?

I really wasn’t feeling well, so I curled up in a little ball and channel-surfed some more. I finally flipped off the TV in frustration. (As in turned it off, not gave it the finger. Though for sixty bucks a month and there’s not even something on I want to watch, I should’ve given it the finger.)

I sighed and pulled myself up and over to the bookcase. At the bottom, near the back, were some of my favorite romance novels. Just a few that I enjoy so much I can’t help but read them again and again. I picked u
p
The Gif
t
an
d
A Knight in Shining Armo
r
and brought them back to the couch, turning on the light on the way.

Which one to read? Fall in love with a pirate who turns out to be your husband? Or fall in love with a knight from four hundred years ago after you’ve been dumped by the guy you thought was going to propose? The choice seemed obvious. I wanted to read again how you can find true love even after someone wh
o
say
s
they love you throws you out like yesterday’s newspaper. (Okay, I recycle, but you get my drift.)

I read for a while, then decided to see if anything new was in the fridge. The pizza in the freezer looked so delicious, but the whole process of having to take it out of the box, put extra cheese on it, heat it up — too much work. So I took a wiser course of action. I ordered a delivery pizza. Deep-dish crust, Hawaiian toppings, extra cheese. Yeah, baby.

When it came, I opened the box and breathed in the magnificent scent of hot cheese. Mmm, now this is happiness.

I ate two slices while I continued to read. An hour later, I reached for a third. Oh man, it was delicious at room temperature, too. Then I had another piece. Good stuff. I wouldn’t say my stomach hurt, exactly, but I probably should’ve quit sooner. In any case, I felt better. And the girl was getting her guy in the book. That’s what counted.

As I read, I tried not to wonder i
f
thi
s
girl would ge
t
an
y
gu
y
eve
r
.

The thought kept hounding me, so I got up and plucked a pint of Godiva ice cream from the freezer. The more I wondered if I’d ever be happy, the more sick I felt, so the more ice cream I ate. Not helping.

I got up and found the Grasshopper cookies. They’d be great with the chocolate ice cream. “Lady Godiva,” I said, “meet the Keebler Elves.” Then I put a whole cookie in my mouth, followed by a spoonful of ice cream, and chewed it all up together. Ahh
,
no
w
I felt better.

I ate almost all of the ice cream and a third of the cookies, crying as the heroine loses her man. I put the ice cream back but left the cookies on the couch beside me — just in case.

I got to the part where the girl finds her guy again (albeit, four hundred years earlier). I felt awful. I wa
s
neve
r
going to be happy.
I
kne
w
it. Even though I was reading a funny part, I cried anyway.

CHAPTER 32

I STOOD on the walkway of the castle wall in a flowing white gown. A strong breeze blew my hair around, but the flowers never came undone. Next to me stood an entirel
y
to
o
handsome man in a Scottish kilt. Wow. I’ve got to be the envy of every girl in three counties.

A vicar stood before us with a Bible in his hands. “We are gathered here—” But the scenery changed and suddenly I was in a little country church. The man next to me wore khaki’s and a white shirt, not at all dressed up. I looked down to see the beautiful wedding gown I’d had on in that other dream.

“Do you take this woman—”

The man next to me smirked. I couldn’t marry him! I tried to get away, but a crowd pressed in from behind. No matter which way I turned, there was no escape. I tried to put my hands over my ears, but they were full of flowers.

“I definitely don’t. No way,” he said. “Not in a million years.”

There was a break in the crowd. I ran and ran and found myself in the woods. I’d be safe there. Then another man was next to me, holding me and comforting me. He started kissing me. His tongue was in my mouth and I couldn’t breathe.

He pulled back for a second and I saw he had fangs like a vampire. He was going to suck the life out of me! I twisted and turned, trying to get away. He kissed me again and my stomach rolled. I was going to throw up on him.

I woke up suddenly, sweating and nauseous. It took me only a few seconds to realize that I was going to be sick. And not in a dream. If I didn’t move soon—

I stumbled from my bed, dizzy and disoriented.

Oh, this is bad. Very bad. I made it to the toilet just in time.

I want my mom.

I leaned my head against the bathroom wall and moaned. My whole body hurt.

When I felt a tiny bit better, I started to get up and go back to bed. Barely into a standing position, I paused, leaning heavily against the sink. Oh, not good. My knees buckled and I leaned over the toilet again, retching.

The only positive thought that crossed my mind was, I am so glad I cleaned the bathroom recently. Of course, that thought was quickly followed by, now I’m going to have to clean it again.

I fell half asleep against the wall. Next thing I knew, Dirk was in the bathroom. When I started to ask him how he got in, he smiled. He had fangs. I woke up and dry-heaved into the toilet. I began to cry.

God, please help me. Please, please, please.

My stomach muscles hurt and my throat ached.

Please, please, please, God.

As I fought to keep from retching again, I thought how different life might be if I were married. I wouldn’t be alone in the bathroom trying to keep my hair out of last night’s supper. I wouldn’t be sitting on the bathroom floor wishing I could reach the sink and a drink.

I wouldn’t be alone.

I fell half asleep again. When I woke up, I tried to move a little, checking out how that felt. I looked toward the sink, so thirsty. “So close and yet so far” — the lyrics to that song danced through my brain. The last time I stood up, I threw up. I wasn’t willing to try that again. If only someone were here.

This is how old people di
e
, said a Voice
.
They fall in the bathroom away from the phone, too far from the front door to yell even if someone came.

A 28-year-old Traverse City woman was found dead in her bathroom today. Her apartment manager came in to have the place cleaned after the woman’s lease expired. Apparently she’d died by the toilet months before.

Note to self: don’t ever prepay the lease.

I wrinkled my nose. What a disgusting way to go. I’v
e
go
t
to get up.

I made it to my knees, leaning against the bathtub. Shaking, but staying upright. Whatever may or may not be left in my stomach was staying down. Progress.

On my knees, I crawled toward the sink, still using the tub for support.

The tub! More water and closer.

Eagerly, I moved to the faucet end of the bathtub. I turned on the cold water and put one hand under the spout. I cupped the water to my mouth, drank, spit, drank again.

Oh thank you, God! Thank you, thank you, thank you!

I rinsed out my mouth, drank a little, and rinsed my hot face.

Sighing gratefully, I turned off the water. Slowly, I got to my feet and reached for a towel. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up.

Waiting. Nausea, but nothing else. I dried my face, rested a moment, then made my way slowly back to bed.

I can handle an obituary about dying in my sleep, but not about puking up my guts in the bathroom.

Investigators believe Ms. Riley’s final act was to wipe down the toilet after a night of vomiting. She apparently passed out and hit her head on the bathtub, never regaining consciousness.

God, if my last accomplishment on earth is to clean the bathroom, help me to rethink my priorities and go to the beach instead.

I slept again, really slept this time, and didn’t wake up until after ten.

Stomach muscles aching. Throat stinging. In serious need of mouthwash. I groaned into my pillow. What a way to start a day. At least yesterday I just felt yucky. Today, I felt like I’d been run over by a Mack truck. (Who was ever run over by a Mack truck, and when? Why do we always say that? And wouldn’t you look and feel worse than even the sickest person if you got hit by a semi?)

I groped around on my bedside table for my phone. I explained to Carmen about my rendezvous with Ralph all night. (I once heard a sailor say that’s what they called it — ralphing.) She clucked over me and promised to have someone answer my calls for a day or two. I hung up and wished again for water. I was going to have to find a way to get to the nearest source before my throat caught fire and set off the smoke alarm.

I could imagine the added interest if my death announcement included scientific investigation into spontaneous combustion. Well, at least I would have contributed something to the world by my death, if not by my life.

That’s a pretty lousy way to look at yoursel
f
, said a Voice.

Well, I feel pretty lousy right now.

Because you ate an enormous and disgusting combination of food yesterday.

No, because I have the flu. Obviously.

You don’t have the fl
u
, insisted the Voice
.
You’ve been here before. This is stress-induced. You’ve got to snap out—

I turned on the radio part of my alarm clock.

I have the flu.

I carefully, slowly made my way to the kitchen and filled my biggest glass with water. Sliding back under the covers, I wished Matt were here. The old Matt. The one who liked to be with me.

My eyes closed. I pictured us in his house with his puppy. I’d plant rose bushes and lilac bushes and he’d come home to a sweet-smelling, beautiful house. And a sweet, beautiful wife who loved him. That’s what he’d think anyway, that I was sweet and beautiful.

He’d kiss me and tell me how lucky he was. We’d argue about who was luckiest. Then he’d take me to the bedroom to “make up.” It would be like the night I was over there before, only we wouldn’t have to stop. If Matt thought that was only first base, in the dream life I’d get to find out what he meant by a home run.

I sighed. It wouldn’t happen. Not with Matt anyway. It was over. All we do now is yell at each other or ignore each other. I’d end up single, or with someone like Trent who was nice and sweet and that’s about it. Knowing my luck, I’d die of old age in my nineties. Alone. No chance I’d actually die of food poisoning this week.

My luck just isn’t that good.

“HI, THIS is Sydney — not Australia! Leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

Beep.

“Sydney, Perry. I hear you’ve got something. Well, don’t bring it back here. Get better and we’ll see you later. I’ll have Trent handle your workload for now. Bye.”

“Hi, this is Sydney — not Australia! Leave a message and I’ll call you back as soon as I can.”

Beep.

“Hey, baby, this is Mom. I hope you’re feeling a little better. I called your cell phone and the receptionist said you were home sick. Call me when you’re up. Love you.”

Bee
p
.

“Syd, Trent here. Call me when you can. Do you have the paperwork for the Olsen’s or is it here at the office? Hope you feel better. Later.”

Bee
p
.

“Hey, sister-friend. I guess you must actually be sick. I thought maybe you were playing hooky. (laughs) I called your cell yesterday and today, but Carmen answered both times. I hope you’re okay. Call me. I’ll bring you some soup or something. Geoffrey says hi. (sighs) You’re just gonna love him. Maybe we can have dinner or lunch or something this weekend. Hurry and feel better. Call me so I know you’re okay. Bye.”

I lay in bed, trying to sleep, waking up every time the phone rang. Since my cell phone was forwarded to the office, everyone was calling me at home. Screening calls via the answering machine is wonderful, but only when you’re not trying to sleep.

I listened to everyone leave messages, completely uninterested in picking up the phone. The sound of my voice was making me sicker. Maybe I should change the message
.
Hi, this is Sydney. Don’t leave a message if it’s not important.

Little grumpy, are we
?
asked a Voice.

Maybe I should record
,
You know what to d
o
. Short and to the point.

Definitely grump
y
, the Voice said.

Maybe I should just turn it off and unplug the phone. Of course, Mom would eventually send over the police. This was one of the few moments I wish I had voice mail instead of an answering machine.

I fell asleep again, escaping into the darkness. I woke up when someone called my name.

“Sydney? Hey, sweetie, where are you?” Emily.

I moved a pillow off my head and blinked toward my bedroom door. A moment later, Em was sitting on the side of my bed.

“Oh, you look awful, honey. What’s wrong?”

I started to tell her I was sick, probably food poisoning, but no words came out. I just started bawling. I cried and cried until I was exhausted. I curled up into a tighter ball. My whole body hurt.

Emily held my hand while I cried. When I finally stopped, she said, “Tell me what’s wrong, so I can help, okay?”

I shook my head and buried in my face in the pillow. “You can’t help. I’m messed up.”

“Well, you could use a shower, but I don’t think you’re that messed up.” She tried to tease me into a better mood. Not working.

“
I
a
m
. No one wants to love me
.
I
don’t even love me. I want someone who doesn’t want me. The one who’d be perfect for me doesn’t have sparks. Dirk saw another girl when he took me to dinner. I’m getting sued. And I threw up all night!” I rubbed more tears away from my sore eyes.

“Wait, you lost me. You’re getting sued? By who? And how many guys are you seeing, anyway?” Emily got up and brought me some Kleenex.

“I told you I was messed up!” I blew my nose. The only part of my body that didn’t hurt right now.

“Well, I always feel better after a hot shower. So how about I go run the water for you, then when you come out, we’ll have soup from the Grand Traverse Pie Company, and we’ll sort it all out, huh?”

I looked up at her being all nice to me when I didn’t deserve it. “I love their soup,” I said in a small voice.

She smiled. “I know you do. That’s why I took off work early and brought you some.”

“I don’t deserve you.” I started to cry again.

“Hey, stop that,” Emily said, handing me more Kleenex.

“
I
don’
t
. I’ve been so mad at you and you’re being so nice to me.”