“What the fuck, Jada?”
She glares at me and points.
“I don’t need this from you right now. I feel like crap and you walked in on me while I was on the goddamn toilet!”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Don’t you know that when a bathroom door is closed it means you shouldn’t go in?” she snaps.
“If you’d supplied my bathroom with toilet paper, I wouldn’t have had to hunt for toilet paper in the middle of the night. I didn’t think you were awake. Why are you hoarding it all in there?”
She looks at me like I’m insane.
Maybe I am insane.
“I am not hoarding all the toilet paper. I didn’t realize you were low,” she defends.
“Well I wasn’t until you fucking poisoned me!”
“I don’t need this. If you wanna fire me, can you do it after I’m not feeling like I’m going to either hurl again or shit my pants? Because clearly I poisoned both of us. The cramping is insane, I might even die and the last thing I need to do in my short life is argue with the likes of you.”
“Whatever.”
“Nice comeback,” she snaps.
And I want to throttle her.
I can’t believe that thought crosses my mind as she passes me the bottle of Pepto Bismol. I grab a spoon from the drawer, already feeling guilty about it. She passes me a bottle of blue Gatorade, too, not gently. I think she wants to hit me with it.
“Thanks,” I mutter as I snap it away.
“Again acting like I have the cooties.”
“You do. And you fuckin’ gave ‘em to me tonight.”
She flips me the bird and then heads down the hall. She’s got her underwear all twisted in the back with her pajama pants. One pantleg is up around her knee and the other is long. And her ponytail is crooked.
And I fight the urge to laugh.
She flipped me the bird after food-poisoning me.
She’s got some nerve.
Then again, I walked in on her while she was having diarrhea.
I double over and hold my gut while I take the medicine and then find my way back to bed.
***
I sleep until noon and feel half human when I sit up. But only half.
I take a long shower and then head out to the kitchen.
There’s a note written in neat cursive handwriting, with a purple pen.
Austin,
You forgot to text me your number. I don’t know if you want me cooking for you 7 days a week or ever again, but I have plans today so I won’t be back until later. If you need me to make dinner, please text me. There’s cereal and eggs and bread for breakfast choices. Or yogurt and granola and fruit. I’m only planning on soup today for myself. I’m picking up Pho on my way back later and can get some for you if you like. I’m sorry you got sick from something I cooked. I hope you’re feeling better. I threw out the rest of the shrimp and whatever vegetables I used.”
Jada
She wrote her number on the bottom, so I add it into my phone and send her a text.
“Pho sounds good. Beef please. With crispy noodles. And Vietnamese fresh vermicelli rolls. Extra peanut sauce.”
She replies right away.
Jada: Seafood or vegetarian fresh rolls?
Me: Usually seafood but not in the mood for shrimp today.
17
Jada
Shane has lost weight. And he was skin and bones already.
Bonez.
Yeah, bones. That nickname sends a chill up my spine. Bonez the drug dealer. How did I miss that? How did he have enough money to get high and not help me out with the rent, never put a loaf of bread in the kitchen, not find a way to save us from eviction when the coffee cart went out of business?
And then to steal my last seventy-five dollars and my ex-boss’s credit card after throwing a wild party in Aiden’s apartment? He could’ve gotten me arrested, too. I could be in prison right now!
I’m lucky Aiden and Carly were so awesome.
He looks gaunt through the glass window separating us. Though, he looked like this before everything went bad because of no sleep, no appetite, and I thought it was all the by-product of him being off his medication, but it wasn’t just that. It was also whatever drugs he was on.
But yeah, he looks terrible. Even worse than he did.
I lift the phone and put it to my ear. He does the same.
“Hi,” I whisper.
“Jayjay,” he says, and his expression hurts. It physically hurts me to see the pain and devastation on him. But it’s the first time in weeks he hasn’t looked just vacant to me.
“I’m really sorry about everything, Jada. Really sorry. I fucked up huge this time.”
He’s weeping silently. His shoulders are shaking and his chin is trembling as he rocks back and forth slightly in his chair.
And the sight of my brother crying has always bothered me, but today I feel a little numb, feel like I’ve seen it too many times, fallen for it. I know his illness is real, I do, but it’s been so exhausting. And this time? He really messed things up for me.