The Grump I Despise (When In Waverly 3)

I wander to the back of the house and find a nice, semi-quiet office. I go inside and close the door, breathing a sigh of relief for my aching head. The room has a whole wall of books that I’d love to peruse any other time and a large, wooden desk. There’s a tufted chair in the corner that would look inviting under any other circumstance. I need to lie down—now—or I’m going to pass out. I decide the fluffy rug in the center of the room will be my home for the foreseeable future.

I lie down on my back and look up at the ceiling. Just above me is a ceiling fan. It’s not on, but it sure looks like it’s spinning. Or maybe it’s the whole room that’s spinning. I feel like I’m on one of those carnival rides that’s put together in an hour. It’s doing nothing to ease my nauseated stomach. I close my eyes tight to try to stop the spinning. It’s not working.

Colby

Hannah and Seth’s party has been in full swing for several hours. Hannah wanted one last good hurrah before becoming too pregnant and exhausted to host…and then there will be the baby afterward. It looks like all her friends came, and she’s beaming with excitement as she dances in the middle of the room with her friends. I’m happy for her.

There’s really no one here that I’m particularly interested in talking to other than Seth and Jameson, but they’re both surrounded by people at the moment while they tell some of their more entertaining work stories. Jameson is a state trooper, and Seth is a firefighter. They both have plenty of stories to go around.

I’m sitting in the corner of the room by myself, observing everyone. Norah’s sisters are chatting with one of the rookies at the fire station. Seth told me all about him last week. He seems interested in the younger one…I can’t remember her name for the life of me. Leslie? Lily? No. Layla! That’s it. Norah was rambling on and on about her at lunch the other day.

I look around the room, realizing I haven’t seen Norah in a while. The last time I saw her, she was walking down the hall. I had assumed she was going to the bathroom, but it’s been far too long for that—unless something’s gone wrong.

I stand from my seat and do a quick scan of the room. Nope. She’s definitely not in here. I check the kitchen just in case she got roped into helping with the food, but it’s just Hannah and Millie fixing themselves something to drink. They’re both out of breath and glistening with sweat from dancing. I back out of the room without them noticing me and make a beeline for the hallway.

I knock on the bathroom door, but it’s a man’s voice telling me he’ll be out in a minute. I continue on my way, peeking into the bedrooms. The only occupant of Hannah and Seth’s room is one of their fluffy cats. The nursery that Hannah has spent hours working on and gushing about is also unoccupied. The last room to check is the office. I open the door, and there’s Norah sprawled out in the middle of the floor, looking very miserable.

I step into the room and click the door shut behind me. I immediately notice a foul smell lingering in the air, but I don’t know where it’s coming from. As I get closer to her, I hear her soft snores and realize she’s out cold. Crouching down next to her, I place my palm on her shoulder and give her a gentle shake to wake her up. She groans, sounding absolutely miserable, and peels her eyes open slowly before snapping them shut again.

“Oh no. This is mortifying. Just go ahead and put me out of my misery,” she says in a groggy voice.

“Come on,” I say. “I’m going to take you home.” I tug on her arm to urge her to get up from the floor, but she drapes her hand over her eyes and shakes her head.

“I’m just going to stay here and cuddle with this cute cat,” she says, revealing the furball tucked into her sweater. “I’ve named him Willoughby because he seems like a ladies’ man.”

I chuckle to myself and say, “That cat is a female, and her name is Diana.”

“Well, this just got awkward. I’m so sorry, Diana,” she says to the cat, patting her on her head. Diana purrs and nuzzles her head into Norah’s hand. “My mom’s name is Diane,” she says with a dreamy voice.

“I know,” I say.

“I was talking to Diana.” She laughs at her own joke, and I shake my head in disbelief. I don’t understand how someone who is so clearly sick can still be so cheerful, but Norah has a smile on her face as she watches the cat.

“Okay, I’m busting you out of here. Let’s go,” I repeat with another gentle tug on her arm, but she snuggles closer to the cat.

“I can’t go home.”

“Well, if you’re sick, you really shouldn’t stay here. You’d be more comfortable at home in your own bed.”

“No!” She’s on the verge of shouting, and then she winces like it pained her. She clutches her head and says, “My mother will worry, and hover over me, and think I’m dying.”

I chuckle at that, thinking she’s being dramatic, but she grabs hold of my arm. “I’m serious. I can’t let her see me while I’m sick. Not yet. It’s still too fresh for her,” she pleads with me. I don’t understand what’s going on. It doesn’t seem that serious. People get sick all the time. It’s a very normal part of being human, obviously. I’m sure her mom has cared for her while she’s been sick countless times before, so why is this such a big deal?

“What’s too fresh for her?” I ask. I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t help but ask when she alludes to it so freely.

“The cancer,” she says in a whisper-soft voice. My heart plummets all the way to the floor. This is why she had to move back to Waverly. She had cancer. Everything is starting to make sense now. The doctor appointment she couldn’t miss the day of that bad storm and her unwillingness to talk about it. Her reaction to the fake obituary. I told her she was overreacting. I’m an idiot. She had every right to be upset.

“You have cancer?”

“Had,” she corrects. “But yeah, breast cancer. We found it early, and thankfully, it was easy enough to treat. I even got to keep my hair,” she chuckles while she plucks at the dark, curly locks laying on her chest. I think she’s on the verge of delirium, because I don’t think I’d be the person she’d choose to open up to about this under normal circumstances.

“My mom, though. She didn’t handle hearing that her daughter had cancer well. She went into a complete tailspin. She cried nonstop—not to me, but I still knew about it. She called me a thousand times every day, checking on me. It’s like she thought I was going to drop dead at any moment. She wanted to move in with me. And look, here I am, living with her, just like she wanted, thanks to my crappy health insurance.”

I sit back and listen as she tells me about the past six months of trying to pay off her outrageous medical bills from her surgery and subsequent radiation treatments and finally accepting the fact that they’d never get paid off if she didn’t make some drastic changes. Those changes being moving back home for a little while. I had no idea any of this was going on in her life. She’s always so upbeat and optimistic. If it were me going through all of that, I’d probably be a drag to be around. I’m amazed that someone can still have so much joy while struggling so much.

I let her talk as long as she wants because it seems like she needs it. I don’t think she has talked to anyone about it since moving here. When she’s done talking, I stand up and put one arm around her back and the other under her knees.

“What are you doing?” she asks while looking around the room. I pick her up off the floor, and she tenses up and fists her hand in the front of my shirt.