Don't Kiss the Bride

Which is good, I suppose, because if she did? She’d probably have a thousand crammed into our house.

That leaves me with asking Megan or possibly Jude to go to my house, through the window, to take care of Gus.

Even though Meg’s my best friend, she’s never seen my living situation. She’ll be horrified. I know she wouldn’t tell anyone at school, but what if it changed how she felt about me? I pee in a bucket of cat litter. I shower at school. That’s a little hard to accept.

Jude will be horrified, too, but he doesn’t seem like the judgmental type. And we don’t have a relationship. What’s the worst that could happen? He’ll think I’m a mess and never give me a ride again? I can live with that.

Right?

But… Jude’s an adult. If he got caught climbing through the bedroom window of an eighteen-year-old girl, he could get into trouble. I can just see him explaining to police that he was only trying to feed my cat. Nobody would believe that.

Megan, being a fellow teen, is the safer choice. If she got caught, it would most likely be brushed off as typical teenage girl behavior.

I send her a text:

Me: Hi!

Megan: OMG where are you? I’ve been looking for you and texting you all day.

Me: I’m in the hospital.

Megan: OMFG what?

Me: I passed out right in the parking lot this morning.

Megan: Get out!

Me: I did! Jude saw me and drove me here. Sooo embarrassing.

Megan: Jude with the muscles and tats?

Me: Yes.

Megan: You lucky bish! LOL Are you sick?

Me: I have bad acid reflux and dehydration.

Megan: That sucks!

Me: I’m going to be here until tomorrow.

Maybe until Wed. I was wondering if you can do me a really big favor?

Megan: Of course.

Me: I need you to give my cat food and water and get my phone charger.

Megan: No problemo!

Me: I have to kinda tell you something.

Megan: Ok.

Me: You have to climb through my bedroom window. If you’re in front of my house, looking at the front door, it’s on the right side of the house. There’s a wooden crate under the window to stand on.

Megan: Um……. Why?

Me: Please don’t make me answer that now. I promise I will. I just can’t now.

Megan: You’re scaring me, but okay. Is your cat going to bite me?

Me: No! She’s a sweetheart. Once you get in my room, there're jugs of food and water right there. You can’t miss it. My phone charger is next to my bed. You have to leave from the window, too. Please don’t open my bedroom door.

Megan: What about your mom? Won’t she wonder what I’m doing?

Me: No. She probably won’t even hear you and she won’t see you.

Megan: This is highly suspect but I’m here for it.

Me: Make sure you shut the window when you go in, and then when you leave so the cat doesn’t get out.

Megan: Will do. Should I go tonight?

Me: If you can. I really appreciate it.

Megan: I’ll bring your charger to you tonight before visiting hours are over.

Me: You’re the best. I love you. I promise I’ll explain everything.

Megan: Don’t worry about it. I gotta go. Feel better! xo

Maybe this won’t be so bad. Megan might not even notice the buckets. I only have a dresser and a nightstand, and my mattress is on the floor, but my room looks mostly okay. It’s not messy or dirty—just sparse. So, I may just have to explain why I use a window instead of the door.

I can handle that.

I type a text to my mother that I’m at the hospital for the night, but not to worry.

Not that she will.

The nurse comes in, and we debate what I’m going to have for dinner. She doesn’t want to give me bread and water. She tries to sell me on chicken soup and Jell-o. I gag just thinking about it. We settle on tea with no milk and toast with butter on the side.

She also hands me a tiny cup with a pill in it.

“What’s this?” I ask.

“An antacid. It’s for heartburn.”

I don’t like to take pills unless I see them come directly from the bottle myself.

She eyes me with irritation as I take a photo of the pill with my phone before swallowing it. Later, I’ll google the markings on it and confirm it is what she says it is.

Half an hour later I sip tea and nibble on toast while I watch a game show on the television. I still haven’t heard from my mom, even though my message is showing as read on her end.

Thinking about her makes me think about how much this hospital visit is going to cost. I don’t have insurance. Or money. My mother is not the type to help me pay bills.

When I messaged Rebecca earlier, she was concerned but told me not to worry and to come to work when I was ready. But being out of work means not getting paid.