“Try not to get me sick,” I feel bad when she doesn’t laugh. She’s obviously not feeling well at all because she normally laughs at my sarcastic quips.
“Go rest. I’ll go down to the store on the corner and get you some soup.” I stand from the couch. Reaching down, I straighten my shirt before moving toward the door.
“You’re the best. I was going to stop on the way home, but I was so tired and needed to nap. Hopefully, that will make me feel better for tonight,” she says as I’m already walking to grab my bag. Her words have me stopping in my tracks and looking over my shoulder as I shake my head at her.
“What’s tonight?” I ask her because unless it’s dinner with God, she is one hundred percent not going.
“My first solo gig.” She coughs, and her face turns red like she’s choking and can’t find any oxygen to breathe.
“You can’t be serious.”
“Deadly.”
“You can’t go, Mag. You are seriously ill right now.”
She shakes her head, but from the movement and the way she groans, it’s obvious she’s even too weak to do that.
“I have to. I have no other option. I can’t fuck this up.”
I know how important getting her new company up and running is to her. Maggie launched a new party planning business where she facilitates and rents out servers and bar staff for private parties. Maggie had worked for years in the city as the manager of a luxury champagne bar. She started taking private waitressing jobs, and it grew from there until she was asked to bring more help.
The company has been months in the making. I know how important it is for her, but for her to show up looking the way she does would be career suicide.
“Don’t worry about it. When I get back with your soup, we’ll figure something out.”
She nods and grimaces at the same time. I don’t think she believes me, but there’s no way she’s going to work tonight.
The faster I go, the faster I can fight my case, so with nothing more to say now, I give her a little wave and leave.
Before I head out the door, I grab my hat and glasses. Even though I dyed my hair brown permanently when I first got to New York, I still don’t feel safe walking around the city without the rest of my gear. If Maggie notices I’m putting on my disguise, she says nothing.
I leave for the store, head down, trying to blend in. I might feel safe in the apartment with Maggie, but when I’m outside in the city, I’m always looking over my shoulders. Afraid someone will recognize me.
The market is only half a block up the road, but it’s crisp outside. People walk by, all bundled in large jackets, while my only protection from the chill is my arms at my chest, protectively clutching myself for heat.
In the rush to leave and take my hat, I forgot to grab a coat. I’m not sure when the air temperature dropped, but Lord, did it ever.
The air smells of burning leaves.
The market, however, reeks of all the prepared foods when I step inside.
It’s as if I’m at the spice market and not a grocery store. I move quickly to grab a carton and pour some soup into it.
Chicken noodle should do the trick.
When I was growing up, my mother always said that. A smile spreads across my face as I think of her feeding me it as a child, saying it was better than penicillin. Still grinning and lost in my memory, I walk up the aisle with the soup in hand.
Since I’m already here, I scour every aisle to see what else we might need. Passing the paper products, I grab tissues and toilet paper. Then I head over to where they have medicine.
Once I have everything I need, I go to the register and pay the bill and hurry back. When I step back inside Maggie’s apartment, I find her passed out on the couch.
“Mags,” I say as I stop beside her, and she lets out a long-drawn-out yawn that ends with a wince. “I have your soup.”
I grab a spoon and set the soup in front of her on the coffee table. “Mags.” This time, I say it louder, and she must hear me because she stretches out her arms, opens her eyes, and gives me a weak smile.
“Thanks,” she whispers before sitting up and starting to eat.
I take a seat and turn to face her. “What do you have tonight? Can you have one of your staff cover for you?”
She puts her spoon down at my question and furrows her brow.
“No.” She shakes her head. “We are already short.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Technically, I wasn’t prepared to open up shop this early, but I got a fantastic break on this, and I couldn’t say no.”