Juked (15 page)

I
t feels like there’s a sledgehammer in my head, and it’s trying to demolish something, although I’m not sure what. Peeling my eyes open, the single ray of sunlight coming through my blinds makes the pounding worse. But something feels off so I power through it.

I vaguely remember falling asleep while snuggling with Daniel on the couch and then waking up in the middle of the night to throw up. But the memory is blurry. Could it have been a dream?

I roll over and look at the clock: 2:37 p.m.

Not only have I been asleep all day, I was asleep all night. That means Chance hasn’t eaten in… maybe as long as eighteen hours.
Oh no!

I jump out of bed, which, feeling like I do means I drag my feet over the side, try desperately not to vomit, and shuffle my way to the door. He’s not crying, which makes my heart pound even harder. Oh god. I hope he’s okay. How did I sleep so long? What is wrong with me? Maybe that blurry memory wasn’t a dream after all. It’s hard to think with my head pounding like this.

I peek in his room and find his crib empty.
Where the hell is the baby?

I’m confused and feel feverish. Was I drugged? Did Daniel drug me and steal my baby? No, that doesn’t make sense. Did someone else drug me and steal my baby? Am I having fever hallucinations? That makes more sense.

The only thing I know for sure is I need water or coffee or juice… something to get this terrible funky feeling out of my mouth. And maybe get rid of some of the cottonmouth in case I have to make some calls to find my child. Where is my phone?

It takes a few minutes to locate it, but there it is, sitting on the counter next to a bottle of water, a bottle of Tylenol, some Saltine crackers, and a note. I sink down onto the bar stool and take a swig of the water, which feels really cold in my mouth. That’s strange, considering it’s probably room temperature. I swallow a couple pills and start to nibble on a cracker, hoping it settles my stomach. I need to find my baby. He’s probably hungry. I’m a terrible pseudo-mom.

I pick up the note.

Oh good. They’re probably feeding him.

Dinner. Just the thought makes my stomach roll.

Oh shit. His mother met Chance. That means his mother came over here. I look around my small apartment, wondering what she may have thought of it. It’s not the fanciest thing. Surely not as nice as where Daniel lives. But it’s clean. It’s in a decent neighborhood.

I sigh. Definitely not the way I wanted to introduce my family to my boyfriend’s family. I’m not sure I was ready for that anyway. I don’t even know if he’s my boyfriend. Why am I trying to think through this when my head feels like it’s about to split down the middle?

After a few minutes of sitting and staring, I feel a little less foggy, so I take stock of how the rest of me feels while I follow Daniel’s orders and drink the rest of the water.

My head still pounds. My stomach doesn’t feel great. My throat hurts a lot, but mostly like I’ve been throwing up, which makes sense since I have some vague memories of puking several times. And I definitely have a fever. I’m clammy and sticky, and I’m sure I stink.

I really want to lie down, but if Daniel is going to be back in a couple of hours, I need to shower first. No, first I need to make a phone call.

“Thank you for calling Child Life. This is Hailey. How can I help you?” she says.

I clear my throat. “Hi, Hailey. It’s Quincy Watson.” I clasp my head with my hand. The sound of my own voice makes me hurt worse.

“Oh, Quincy!” she says loudly. Way too loudly. “You sound awful! How do you feel?”

I want to laugh that she answered her own question, but I can’t. I think I might hurl again. “Pretty terrible. How’s the baby? Is he okay?”

“He’s great!” she says. I’m holding the phone away from my ear so I don’t hear her screeching at me. I don’t think she’s actually screeching, but my poor brain can’t tell the difference. “No problems at all. Daniel said he only woke up once in the middle of the night to eat. Speaking of…. girl, you’ve been holding out on me! How did you meet
Daniel Zavaro
?”

It takes a minute for her words to register. “Wait, he spent the night last night?”

“That’s what he said. You must have had a way higher fever than you know to not realize that hunk of hotness stayed with you all night. You must have the flu. It’s brutal this year.”

I take a deep breath. This conversation has worn me out. “Okay I’m gonna go lie down now, Hailey.”

“Take care of yourself.” She giggles. “We’ll talk more about your new man later.”

I try to roll my eyes, but it takes too much effort. As soon as I hang up, I text Daniel, like he asked.

Awake. Wishing for death. :/

I press send and lay my head down for a few minutes. The coolness of the counter feels good against my cheek. I try concentrating on my breathing, willing the nausea away. I haven’t been sick like this in years. Next year, I might actually bite the bullet and get a flu shot.

A few minutes later, a beep causes me to raise my head. I’ve missed two phone calls and three text messages. That, and the drool spot where my head was tells me I haven’t been relaxing here for only a few minutes. It’s almost five.

I look at Geni’s text first.

All your clients are cancelled through tomorrow. Let me know if you need to reschedule the rest of the week. Love you!

The missed calls are from Daniel, as are the other two texts.

Go back to sleep. Sleep will help the death wish go away.

The second one is from just a few minutes ago.

Picking up Chance now. We’ll be back soon. Stay in bed.

As I move to stand up, I catch a whiff of myself. I need a shower first.

To get from the kitchen to my bathroom and under the water normally takes a few minutes. This time it takes days. The water feels like pins and needles on my skin, but the cool temperature is a small relief from what must be a monster fever. The effort to scrub myself with my loofa and my favorite body wash is ridiculous, and I finally give up and sit down on the floor of the tub.

Chills overtake my body, and I get the telltale signs of overactive salivary glands. I don’t even think about getting out. I lean over and throw up all over the tub.

“O
kay, buddy, give me one second, and I’ll get you a new bottle.” I shift him on my hip as I balance his diaper bag, my gym bag, and the key to unlock the door to Quincy’s apartment. He squeals and gets hold of my nose. “Yes, I know it’s big. But it’s not a toy.” He lets go when his attention is diverted somewhere else as the door opens. “Here,” I say as I throw everything on the couch and get him situated in his ExerSaucer. “You need to get some energy out. How about you bounce up and down for a while?” Sure enough, as soon as his feet hit the floor, he starts moving them as fast as he can. It looks like he’s running without actually going anywhere. One of my nephews used to do that. It cracks me up.

“Quincy?” I call. I check her bedroom. The shower is running so I assume she’s feeling well enough to clean up. That’s a good sign. I strip the sheets off the bed and throw them in the washer, making faces and farty noises at the baby when I walk by.