Episode 16: Cold Birthday
Odette pulled the thermometer from Sugar’s lips and looked at its screen. Her younger sister pouted as she read the temperature. Then she shot Sugar a look of sympathy.
Sugar reached up from where she lay among her blankets and pillows, yanking the thermometer from her sister’s hand and staring at the digits. She sighed heavily and closed her eyes.
Her temperature was 100.8 Fahrenheit, which made sense because she felt like she was burning up from the inside out, her skin glistening with a fine coat of sweat. Her messy hair kept sticking to her face, and her silk peach-hued nightie clung to her skin, making her feel even hotter.
Sugar let out a rattling cough that hurt her lungs and placed the thermometer on her nightstand.
She rasped out, “Well, that’s that then.”
“I can’t believe you got sick on your birthday of all days,” Odette said.
“There’s been a bug going around at the restaurant for a few weeks,” Sugar said, sniffling her stuffy nose hard. “It was only a matter of time before I caught it.”
Odette pouted and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yeah, but it didn’t have to be on your birthday. I’ll call the girls and tell them girls’ night is canceled.”
“What? No,” Sugar protested in a soft, drained voice. “You should all go on without me. Celebrate in my honor. Make a toast or two in my name, and don’t forget to take good photos of y’all having fun.”
“It doesn’t feel right having a birthday celebration without the birthday girl,” Odette said. Then, her eyes lit up as an idea popped into her head. “Oh, oh! Let’s just bring the party here. We could cozy up in our pajamas, chill out, watch movies, drink hot tea, and slurp down some soup.”
Immediately, Sugar imagined Helena wearing pajamas and pouring hard liquor from a flask into a cup of hot tea, doing what she did best: guzzling it down and partying it up.
Sugar groaned in objection and shook her head. “I don’t have the energy to do any of that. I just want to be miserable and sleep.”
“But who is going to take care of you?”
“I’m gonna take care of me,” Sugar assured her. “Just because I’m sick doesn’t mean I’m incapable of taking care of myself. Do you actually think Lance stayed home to make me soup and spoon-feed me cough syrup every time I got an awful cold? Ha!”
Odette sighed. “I just feel terrible leaving you here.”
Sugar reached over to get a tissue from a box on her nightstand. She blew into it, sounding like a sick elephant. She sniffled and balled up the tissue, tossing it into the small purple trashcan she had brought in from her bathroom for that very reason.
“Stop worrying about me and go home, so you can get ready. You’ve got about two hours, and you know you’re a slowpoke,” Sugar demanded in a nasally voice.
Odette leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “Call me if you need anything, alright?”
“Mm hm,” she hummed, nodding. “Now go.”
Odette strolled over to the opened bedroom door and then stood there, giving Sugar one last look of worry—of reluctance.
“Go on, Ettie! Stop acting like I’m on my deathbed,” Sugar said, flicking her wrist at her sister as a gesture to leave.
“I’m being serious, Shug. Call me if you need anything,” Odette replied, wagging a finger at her before leaving the room.
She rested in bed, listening to her sister’s footsteps and the front door opening and closing at Odette’s departure. She sighed heavily in relief now that her baby sister was gone and snuggled into the softness of her bed. Not that Sugar didn’t appreciate the visit from her sister—of course, she did—but she never got used to the idea of people worrying about her when she was sick.
She picked up the remote control and turned on the television fixed to the wall ahead of her.
She flipped through the channels, unable to find anything interesting to watch. When in doubt, she always settled for a food-cooking channel. A food contest show held some entertainment value as contestants and their teams frantically scrambled around a kitchen to cook creative meals for the judges using the key ingredients of deer, quail, and rabbit.
Eventually, she dozed off to sleep.
Sugar awoke later to the piano ringtone, groaning a little in protest.
Groggy from sleep and utterly exhausted from her cold, she blindly fished around for her cell as she lay on her side with a pillow over her head. When she found the device, she accepted the call with a swipe of her thumb and put the phone to her ear.
“Hello?” she croaked out miserably.
There was silence from the other end.
“Um, hello?” Then she coughed roughly, gasping for breath after it finally passed.
Once more, silence.
As the quiet moments passed, Sugar finally regained her breath.
“Bein’ sick is never good on your birthday.” It was Chef.
She shivered at the sound of his voice, or maybe she had the perfectly timed chills from her fever. She wasn’t sure anymore.
“How did you know it was my birthday?” she asked. “I never told you that.”
“Your mother just sent me a text message tellin’ me it was your birthday with a reminder that you were ‘very much single and ready to mingle,’” he said with slight amusement.
Sugar closed her eyes and let out a groan of embarrassment.
“She’s something else,” she said in a defeated tone.
“I’m startin’ to think she wants us together,” Chef stated.
“She’s hellbent on pairing me off,” Sugar sighed. “She sent me a text message yesterday saying that you and I would look good together as a couple.”
Chef chuckled a little. “We do look good together as a couple.”
“We’re not together as a couple,” Sugar reminded him. “Do I need to remind you of the conditions you agreed upon, or should I make things easier for both of us by saying goodbye and hanging up the phone?”
“I remember your conditions quite well. Uncommitted, adventurous, no heavy emotions, no romance,” Chef summarized perfectly. “Just no-strings-attached fun.”
“So, you do have an excellent memory,” she said.
“It’s one quality I take pride in,” he replied, “along with my dashin’ good looks.”
Sugar burst out a giggle, which ended with some coughing.
“Mm,” he grunted in approval before questioning, “What else I gonna say to get you to giggle like that again?”
Another shiver passed through her, and she bit her bottom lip, gulping. “My giggles sounded like they belong to a truck driver who’s smoked cigarettes for thirty years.”
“Then you’re the sexiest cigarette-smokin’ truck driver I know.”
“And you’re the craziest man I know.”
“Oh, I’m crazy, alright. Crazy about y—”
Sugar cut him off quickly, trying to contain her panic. “So, remind me why you’re calling me again?”
“To sing happy birthday to you.”
She bit back a laugh. “So, you’re handsome, have an excellent memory, and can sing?”
“Aren’t I a good catch, darlin’?”
“You would be if I were interested in catching you,” Sugar said, “but I’m not.”
“Yet here I am, caught in your web.”
