I Love You, I Hate You: Part 2

Logan gets out and follows the nurses so I can pull around the building and park. I barely make it through the sliding double doors before the triage nurse flags me down. I remember her from the other night, when Molly was brought in for her allergic reaction.

“When did the fever spike?” Dad asks Logan. The nurse pulls the curtain of our makeshift cubicle closed behind me and stands in front of her rolling computer.

“About an hour ago, when I moved them to my house.” Logan looks at me for confirmation. “Right?”

“Yeah.” My voice cracks. I'm exhausted but there’s no time to rest because being a parent means putting your child’s needs before your own. Sleep can wait.

“Molly, baby,” Dad says, shining his light into her eyes. “Papa’s here and I have a lollipop. Can you stop crying, sweetie?”

Dad’s sucker trick doesn’t work. Molly cries louder, probably pissed at him for forcing her eyelids open and using that bright light. He presses his stethoscope to her back and listens. How he can hear anything past her wailing is beyond me.

“I want to draw some blood and test her for the flu. There’s a chance she caught a bug down at the other hospital.”

“Temperature is 103.7,” the nurse says.

Dad presses his lips into a tight line, exhaling through his nose. He pats my back. “Hang in there, kiddo. We’ll figure out what’s going on with her.”

Hours.

It’s been hours and we still don’t have answers. Logan’s laying in Molly’s bed while she sleeps on his chest. It reminds me of my Neonatal Unit days. The nurses used to tell me to hold Molly like that, skin to skin, so she could feel my heartbeat. They called it Kangaroo. Logan would have loved it.

“Strep throat,” Dad says, pulling back the curtain. “I don’t know how she got it, but we can treat it.”

“Thank fuck,” Logan mumbles. I’m thinking the same thing but I have a feeling he’s thankful just to have an answer. I’m thankful because maybe this means Molly will start to act like herself again.

“Some rest and antibiotics and she should be good to go.” Dad glances over her file then adds, “I’m going to give her azithromycin since she’s allergic to penicillin.”

Finally, a grandparent who pays attention. “Thanks, Dad.”

He prints the prescription then signs the paper but holds onto it. “One condition.”

“You’re a doctor. You can’t have conditions,” I tease. I know no matter what he wants, even if I don’t do it, he’ll give me the medicine. For one because it’s Molly but also because it’s his job.

“Call Nona. She’s worried sick.”

“Okay.”

I wake the next morning to a quiet room. Logan’s bed is like sleeping on a cloud. It hugs your body but doesn’t swallow you, providing the perfect amount of firmness and plush. I roll onto my side, expecting to see Molly asleep on the mattress beside me but she’s nowhere in sight. Neither is Logan. I’m not worried. That man would die before letting anything happen to us.

Reaching for my phone under my pillow, I press the side button. He let me sleep until eight-thirty. I haven't stayed in bed this late since high school. Stretching my arms over my head, I slide my legs off the side of the bed and walk into the living room.

“Morning, beautiful.” Logan has Molly on a barstool at the kitchen island, feeding her oatmeal. “How’d you sleep.”

I rub the back of my neck and take the stool beside Molly. She looks up at me and grins. It’s the first smile I’ve seen in days and it nearly brings me to tears. “Someone looks like they’re feeling better.”

“Her fever’s gone.” Logan takes a sip of his green smoothie then tips it towards me. “Want one?”

I shake my head. I’m hungry but not for that. Even in my hardcore vegan days, I never could stomach a green smoothie. Something about mixing sweet fruits with bitter vegetables never sat well with me. “Do you mind if I take a shower?”

“Go for it. We’ll be out here.” He airplanes a spoonful of oatmeal in the air, earning another smile from Molly who happily opens wide. “But I need to tell you something.”

I knew there was a reason Logan let me sleep in. He was trying to get on my good side. “What is it?”

“I got your Nona’s number from your dad last night.”

That’s right, I’m supposed to call her. She still lives in the stone age and doesn’t have a smartphone. She has the basic flip-type, which means no texting and no video-calls. I was doing good about talking to her every couple of days when Molly and I first moved back, but ever since Thanksgiving I haven’t felt much like talking on the phone. “Okay.”

“Well, with Christmas in a couple of weeks, I’ve invited her to spend the holiday with us.” His brown eyes look up at me. There’s a little hopefulness but a lot of worry swirling in them. “I hope that’s okay.”