Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24251 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 81(@300wpm)
“What?” I say to her. She licks her paw and scratches her ear, the early morning sun shining on her dark gray fur. “I’m allowed to have a sick day once in a while.”
She stares at me and hops off her cat tree, strolling onto my blue and white patterned area rug before parking herself right in front of me. I sigh and pick her up to place her on my lap, ignoring the dull ache behind my eyes that’s only gotten worse since yesterday.
I haven’t developed a cough yet, but I tossed and turned all night as my head pulsated with pain. Those tiny jolts of discomfort are still making my head throb with agony and not even medication, food, or water can make it stop hurting. My incessant sneezing kept me up all night as well, the gentle tingles a rude interruption during my slumber. When I awoke this morning and padded to the bathroom to peer at my reflection in the mirror, I wasn’t shocked that the bags under my eyes were black and blue, heavier and more prominent than usual. I know I look awful.
So much for thinking that I was healthy. I called Bernice and let her know that I wouldn’t be going into work today. She sounded a little too excited on the phone to learn of my absence, but I guess that’s a good thing. Public health is important after all. My manager assured me that I should take as many days off as I need to rest. Given how incredibly terrible I feel, I may take her up on that offer.
I shiver as goosebumps spread across my bare arms, yet I feel perfectly warm in my blue pajama set. Hot even, come to think about it. My muscles ache like something fierce, each movement earning a small wince from me as I reach forward to grab my hot coffee. Do I have a fever?
Quibbles is my little heater in the winter when it gets brutally cold in Camdale, so I don’t need any extra blankets on my bed if my cat is sleeping beside me. Yet as she sits on my lap and purrs away, I shiver again. My body aches in protest with the sudden movement and Quibbles stops purring to give me an odd glance.
Then my cat meows on my lap and jumps off. She circles the coffee table as I take another sip of my morning joe. Then she sits in front of me, staring as I gulp my coffee, still shivering.
“What?” I say to her cute little face.
She stares.
“What is it, Quibbles?”
She stares.
I sigh. “I don’t have a fever, I swear. How would you know, anyways?”
She stares.
After a few more moments of us staring each other down, I give in to Quibbles’ silent demands and walk to the bathroom, her tiny paws padding on the hardwood floor behind me. I yank open a drawer and pull out the trusty thermometer that’s been laying idly in my drawer for years.
The metal tip is cold underneath my tongue as I insert it in my mouth and put a hand on my hip. I look down at my bare feet to see Quibbles rubbing her furry body against my leg and purring like crazy. I roll my eyes at her contentment.
“Oh, you’re happy now because I did what you want?”
She purrs in response.
The thermometer beeps and I take it out of my mouth and read the numbers.
100.4.
Damn it. I do have a fever.
My phone rings from the living room and I rush out of the bathroom to grab it before the gentle wind chimes stop. My mom usually calls me every morning on my way to work, which should be about right now.
But as I stare at the cell phone ringing in my hands, I debate answering. I know my mom’s going to freak out when I tell her that I called out of work sick, especially in the midst of this pandemic. But as I weigh my options, I realize answering and being honest with her is better than her calling the police and reporting me as a missing person for rejecting one phone call.
I hit the big green button on my phone and say, “Hey, Mom.”
“Hi, sweetie,” her loving voice filters into my ear. I instantly smile at Susan’s warmth, and the soothing tone that lulled me to sleep as a child. I was definitely a mama’s girl growing up, and I still am. “How’s traffic today?”
I grimace.
“There’s none because I called out of work today.”
She’s silent for a moment and I can practically feel her worry and concern building, growing rapidly like a wildfire in her chest. Mom is always a bundle of nerves when it comes to me and my well-being. I’m her only daughter, not to mention her only child.