Wednesday, March 27

To say we got along like a house on fire would be an understatement. I dare say a cosmic synergy has developed in the three days we’ve talked. 

We loved many of the same things and shared many political stances and values. It was scary how much Angel was my ideal man, made real. Seriously, I’m questioning if a matchmaker acquired my biodata and checklist, saw I was going through it, and sent him my way. 

I’m really starting to like him and want to meet him in person again, but I have two immediate obstacles in my way:

1. I’m sick. My bug symptoms started halfway through my shift today, forcing me to go home and canceling our doughnuts+coffee hangout (our first real meet-up).

2. He’s leaving soon.

Part of me worries that this is an omen for the universe that I should stop while I’m ahead. 

Angel’s a travel nurse; his assignment at the nearby hospital will end after the 31st. Now that we had to call off what would’ve been a date, it’s almost like there’s no point in meeting him at all. The worst part is that the same man breaking my heart also gives it a lot of joy.

My mom and Junior have been on some bullshit the last few days, and I can barely catch a break. Mom’s bitching because she found my brochures for colleges again. On the other hand, Junior is doing his best to drive me up the wall: blasting the surround sound, hogging the bathroom, and burning incense he knows intensifies my headache. 

It’s only by talking to Angel that I feel less miserable. In fact, he’s calling me right now.

“Hey, princess.” Yes, he started calling me princess on the second morning of texting. 

“Heym Dee. How was your shift,” I ask, trying to burrow further into the pile of blankets. I’m in the middle of trying to break a fever that began two hours ago.

“Pretty crazy. Had a patient try to run away and had to step in when a huge guy tried to assault one of the women at the desk.” I could hear his voice echo slightly and soon heard the ‘shhh’ of his showerhead turning on.

“I’m sorry about that,” I mutter sympathetically, but my mind starts to wonder what he looked like without-

“Feel any better today?”

“Sorta. My stomach doesn’t want to rearrange itself anymore, but the cough and the congestion aren’t going away any time soon, and the fever hasn’t broken yet.”

“Have you been-”

“Yes, I’m staying hydrated, eating fruit and even added garlic to my soup.”

“Good girl.” 

I'm too sick to be thinking about him using that phrase in a different scenario. I have to bite my lips for a moment before I blurt out my first thought. 

“Uh, you're taking a shower right now? I can call you back afterwards.”

“No, stay.” 

Don’t have to tell me twice. The whisper of clothing dropping beside the phone was enough to hold off the drowsiness trying to set in. “You sure? All you’ll hear is me struggling to breathe.”

“I like knowing you’re there.”

“Me too,” I whisper. 

“I’m going in, but the phone’s on speaker if you want to talk.”

“I don’t want to ruin your peaceful shower.”

“You could never.”

“Fine, but I think I’ll just rest my voice until you're done. The white noise from the shower is honestly soothing.”

“Your god brother was being a shit again?”

“Yeah…”

We both fall silent. From how the water falls, Angel sounds like he cleans methodically; the plop of a wrung-out washcloth and the faint slide of his feet across the tub’s bottom felt rhythmic in its timing. It was peaceful enough for me to sink into my pillow. I don’t know how long it is until he finishes, but I come to as he calls my name.

“Princess, you still there?”

“Yeah,” I mumble sleepily.

“You sure you want to continue?”

“Yeah, because…” Because you’ll be gone soon and forget about me. “Actually, n-nevermind.” 

I could feel my grip on my emotions slipping. Being sick and tired exacerbates my sadness at the thought of Angel leaving soon. I feel the stinging growing in my eyes and purse my lips so I don’t unravel more.

“Keisha? What’s wrong?”

“I just don’t feel well.”

“This doesn’t sound like you simply don’t feel well.” Of course, my nose would finally start running as I tried to hold back. “Can I switch to video?”

“I don’t care,” the gig is already up.

Immediately, I hear the ringtone for a video call and press accept without considering how bright the bathroom would be. I squint until my eyes finally adjust to light again. He’s got me propped up by the sink since I can see most of the counter and him.

Angel is halfway through drying, his upper half still wet while sleeping shorts hang off his narrow hips. He’s in the middle of roughly scrubbing his arms when he notices me looking like a disgusting toddler.

“Keisha?” He instantly drops the towel and holds the phone close to his beautiful face. It makes what I have to do all the more difficult.

“I can't talk to you anymore,” I managed to get out with minimal cracking.

“Now, or…”

“In general.”

“Did I do something that made you uncomfortable?”

“I just…”

I fall silent as I watch him give me a moment to think while flossing and brushing his teeth. He glances at the phone the whole time but doesn't rush me as I clearly struggle (mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water). 

“Fess up, Princess. Is it the nine-year age difference,” he finally questions as he exits the now-dark bathroom. 

“Hell no. You’re thirty-three, big deal.” 

He immediately settled on his bed, lamp already lit so I could see his face clearly, and as a result, he could see mine. 

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t see the point in doing all this, whatever the hell this is,” I confess brokenly. And just like that, the dam broke. I feel a few tears escape my eyes, and Angel's face immediately crumbles.

I know it ain’t fair to dump this on him after his long day, but I’ve had nothing but time to think today. He has a whole career, is good-looking, and is really kind and considerate. Why the fuck would he waste his time with me after he goes? I’ve done this before; talk to guys who were just visiting and wanted someone to make them feel less lonely. I’ve been told that I make people feel wanted. 

He lets out a shaky breath before pushing forward. “Do you hate how fast we’re going?”

“That’s the thing.​​​​ This probably won’t go anywhere.”

“But what if I want it to?” he asks, and I don't dare question his sincerity. Angel's eyes flit all over my face as if he could find a solution that sadly doesn't exist. 

“Then age really is just a number because you’d be as silly as me.”

“Can we at least meet up once before deciding anything major? My last day at Memorial is Sunday, so what if we met on Monday?”

Angel focused so intently on the screen, trying to keep a calm expression so he didn’t pressure me, I assumed. His eyes, however, the way his brows were furrowed and covered in shadow, shadows he still searched for me through despite the linear decision I made for both of us…

“F-fine. I usually don’t stay sick long and only have the morning shift on the first.”

“Can’t wait.”

“Okay. Goodnight, I guess.”

“Would it be okay if we stayed on the phone a little while longer? We don’t have to say anything?”

“...Yeah.”

He smiles with no teeth, but how his eyes crinkle tells me it’s genuine. Angel props me beside him on a pillow, and I do the same. I blink sleepily as he takes out his nightly reading–The Song of Achilles–and turns the page. I fall asleep in the glow of his lamp and the quiet of turning pages.