When Sparks Fly

My sandwich sits untouched on the table beside me, along with a glass of water. I’m guessing the sandwich is probably cold and the water is warm. I reach over and pick up one of the triangles, noting that he’s cut it exactly the way I like it, into three sections, once diagonally and then again through half, creating three triangles, one of which is bigger than the other two.

I’m right. It’s cold and the bottom is soggy, but I take a bite anyway. My mom used to make me grilled peanut butter and honey sandwiches when I was a kid. It was my very favorite thing to eat, and only she could seem to make it the right way. When she passed away, I started making them myself, but they were never quite as good.

It doesn’t matter that it’s cold, or the bottom is all soft, it’s still the most delicious thing I’ve eaten in more than a week. I scarf down the rest of it, drain my lukewarm water, and lean back against my pillow again. I hate that something as simple as eating wears me out, but I close my eyes again, too tired to even bother wiping the crumbs off my chest before I pass out.

* * *

The next couple of days are a rough transition from hospital nurses to Nurse Declan. I understand that he doesn’t want to leave me alone out here in the living room, but every time I shift or move or so much as make a noise that isn’t an exhale, he practically jumps off the couch, and that in turn startles me awake. Two days in, we’re both ridiculously bitchy from all the broken sleep, and I’m on the verge of snapping. So I tell him that his sleep farts are disgusting and they keep waking me up because they’re so rancid. It’s a lie, but it does the trick.

It’s tough to find any kind of balance. I’m not used to this version of Declan, always hovering, always fussing.

I struggle not to cringe with every move, because each time it happens—which is often—it incites another round of apologies from him.

On day number three, Declan seems more ramped up than usual. He’s been working from home and spends a lot of time with his laptop on the couch. When he has to make calls, he moves to his bedroom so he doesn’t disrupt my frequent naps or my TV bingeing.

While Declan takes a call, I occupy myself by checking the Spark House social media accounts. Usually Harley is the one who takes care of that stuff, but with me off until I’ve healed enough that I can take care of my basic needs, she’s had to take over a lot of my duties. It means she’s behind on responding to some of the messages. I take it upon myself to answer all the most pressing ones, and to answer any of the questions in the comments as well.

My sisters have been by every day to make sure I’m doing okay. I love them, but between them and Declan, I’m feeling ridiculously babied. It sure is motivation for getting my mobility back as quickly as possible.

Declan returns to the living room, all shifty-eyed, with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“What’s up?”

He bites his bottom lip, chewing three times before he releases it. It’s one of his major tells that he’s nervous about something.

I raise a brow and wait.

“Tomorrow is Monday.”

“Okay.” Since I’ve been home, the days all blend together. I’ve basically been binge-watching TV shows because my brain is too mushy from the pain meds to be able to do anything that requires actual focus or attention. I can maybe make it through a chapter in a book before my mind starts to wander and I have trouble remembering what I just read.

“The guys were hoping they could come over. They want to see you, and I’ve been putting them off ’cause I don’t want to it to be more than you can handle.” He removes his hands from his pockets and rocks back on his heels.

It’ll be beer and wings and sports and loudness. Things I’ve missed. Something normal when all I’ve had is not normal. “I can totally handle it.”

“Are you sure? Mark can always go to Jerome’s place if it’s better for you.”

“It would be great. I’d love to see the guys, and it’s nice to have something to look forward to.”

“Okay.” His shoulders come down from his ears. “I’ll let them know. We can make a list of things you want, and I’ll get the guys to pick up snacks and stuff.”

“Candy. I want candy, and chips. And chocolate-dipped Oreos, barbecue kettle chips. Oh, and gummy bears! And Jerome has to bring his bacon-wrapped jalapeño poppers. And nachos, let’s make nachos!”