Enduring

6

The phone rings once. God, I hope he isn't mad. What if he is? What if he prepared something really fun and romantic?

Twice. Maybe he won't even pick up. That would be good. No, no. Actually, that would be bad, because then he'd think I was bitching out.

When it stops in the middle of the third, a relieved breath wooshes from my lungs. "Seymour!" Cal's voice bounces excitedly when he picks up the phone, and I try not to feel too horrible. "Are you excited for our date?"

Of course I am... Or, was. "Hey, sweets. I-" I snatch the phone away from my mouth and sneeze loudly into my elbow. It makes my cottonball stuffed skull throb. Ouch. "I don't know if I can come today."

"Oh..." Oh, damn it. Not that voice. Cal sounds small, like he's about to force a smile that he doesn't really want. "Okay! That's okay. Another time, maybe."

Ugh, Seymour, you're making him sad. What if he hates you? What if you make him feel bad, and he decides he deserves better? What if he really does deserve better? He might...

No. It's okay. You can fix this. "Y-yeah, gosh, I'm really sorry... I'll make it up to you, I s-swear, it's just- I'm sick."

"You're sick? That's all? You didn't go make other plans or anything?" Cal's voice holds something sparkly and suspicion sparks in the back of my mind.

"Um... No?"

"Oh, good." Cal smiles a much more natural smile. He's planning something. "Bye, hun."

"Bye." The line turns into dead air before I finish the word. Oh, damn. He sounded way too happy... Something's up.

I swaddle myself into my blanket pile on the couch, stare dismally at the crumpled tissues all around me. Gross. Seymour: the ball of snot. Maybe I'll just take a quick nap, and then I'll feel better...

***

A knock at the door fumbles around my swollen sinuses and rattles my achy head. Fuck. "Who is it?" Seymour, goodness. You sound like Smeagol. Go to the doctor or something.

"Me," Cal calls through the door. "Come help me get the door. My arms are full."

Oh, no! Was cancelling our date a fever dream? I needed to actually do that. What if he dressed up? What if he brought presents or something? Oh, no. He's gonna hate me. "C-coming!" I spend the relatively short shuffle to the front door figuring out what to say.

Hi, Cal, listen. I'm really sick. I'll get flu cooties all over you if we go out tonight. Not bad. Cal, I just can't do thi- No, that sounds like a break up. Hey, I just-

My hand has twisted the handle before I settle on anything. "H-hey, Cal, look-"

The boy is wearing a Tigger onesie. I repeat. A. Tigger. Onesie. He has a blanket tucked under one arm, a fake movie theatre popcorn bucket in the other, with a dvd case sticking out of the top, and a napsack rests on his shoulders. Cute. Just. Seymour, look at him, in his little pjs with all his nighttime stuff. Look at him.

You probably look like you've been dying from the plague for days. Lord knows how he is with you. I smooth down my hair and try not to emphasize the bags underneath my eyes.

"Surprise!" Cal grins in the cute way he has of doing, with his bottom lip just barely caught in his teeth. "I know you're sick, but, well, I still wanted to see you. So, I brought some stuff so we can have a night in." He drops his smile a bit. "Unless, you're, like, busy or whatever. I get that."