The line is silent for a few seconds. "When this is all over, if I ever complain about working seventy-hour weeks or bitch about being too tired, you have permission to kick my ass," he orders. “Because I’d be happy to only be working that much right now.”
"Same, oh my God, same," I agree, feeling bad that he’s probably working over a hundred hours right now. “And if I ever complain about not knowing what to order for takeout, kick mine. I didn’t realize how good I had it until delivery was no longer an option.”
Ryan chuckles and agrees with me. “Did you hear Dad and Mom donated a few million to a relief fund to help the hospitals in the city get more medical supplies and the proper masks?” Ryan asks. “It’s been reported on the news, and people are posting articles about it. I've had so many of my colleagues thank me with tears in their eyes. I'm kinda taken aback since I had nothing to do with it.”
"Well, that doesn't surprise me. You're loved and appreciated either way." I smile, hoping he understands how true that is.
"Or rather, our parents love a great PR stunt," he mumbles. "Though I’m grateful and we desperately needed it, they could’ve made it anonymous and donated without the family name attached to it, you know? But they wanted the recognition, so I got dragged into it. They flashed my picture across the screen a dozen times. You know I don't want that kind of attention," he says. "I'm here doing my job because it’s what I’m passionate about."
"I'm sure it wasn't like that, though. They’re proud of you," I say. "I am too, Ryan. Though I worry about you."
“I'm more worried about you and Eli, and I’m pissed I can’t be there for you guys," he says.
"Your patients need you, and I'm better now. I won't let anything happen to your best friend. I care about him a lot."
“I know you do. This weird love-hate thing you two have has been going on for years. I was wondering when you’d both get over it.”
I chuckle. “Right? Too bad it took this long to realize it, but honestly, I’ve never felt this way about a guy before.”
“Eli’s in love with you,” he tells me matter-of-factly. “Please don’t break his heart.”
Wait, what? I blink hard at his words, my throat dry for a completely different reason now. Ryan blurts that out with ease, as if he has no doubt about it.
“Hurting him is the last thing I’d ever want to do,” I say truthfully. “This past month has been a game-changer for me. I’m falling for him, too.”
“Honestly, it’s about goddamn time.” He chuckles. “Take care, okay? Keep me updated.”
“I’ll do my best. I gotta call and check in with Mom, too.” I’ve been texting her because she wants to have full-on conversations, and I was too tired for that.
“Don’t forget to call the hotline. See what they say based on his symptoms.”
“I will as soon as we hang up,” I reassure him. We say our goodbyes, then I look up the number.
Little did I know how much of a disaster it would be.
The phone rings; I’m put on hold, then get disconnected. I'm not a quitter, so I call back, get transferred again, and hung up on after thirty minutes of waiting. Four hours of my time are wasted because I get nowhere, and I'm so goddamn frustrated that I can’t contain my aggravation.
I busy myself at the stove and attempt to cook hamburgers. When I remove the meat from the frying pan, it’s burnt. Bruno’s at my feet, and I pinch off a piece from the patty and fling it to him. He sniffs it, then walks off without eating it.
"Great," I whisper. "The dog won’t eat it, and he more than likely eats poop."
I heat a frozen pasta meal, then take it upstairs to Eli.
Not like it's anything new, but I sleep like shit, tossing and turning. Once I wake up and chug coffee, I attempt to cook more eggs. After another successful scramble plate, I deliver them to Eli, then call the hotline again. Determined to get through to someone today, I’m hoping since it's earlier, I won’t have as many issues. It takes two hours to speak with someone who’s knowledgeable.
She asks me all the basic questions, the same ones people can find online to self-diagnose.
"I'm sure I had it the past two weeks, and now he’s caught it. I'm more concerned because he's asthmatic."
"Has his fever risen above 102?" she asks.
I think back to all the times Eli has checked in with me. "No."
"Is he showing signs of improvement?"
"Compared to what?” I ask with a sigh, then continue before she can respond. “Listen, I just want you to be honest with me. What are the odds of him getting a test so we can know if it's the virus, flu, or something else?" I can only imagine how many people she speaks to daily who treat her like shit, so I try to rein in my frustration, but it's so damn hard.
"It looks like they're only testing those who end up admitted and need lifesaving equipment. They aren’t testing everyone at this moment…"
"Even for someone who shows all the symptoms and has asthma?" My words come out choked and harsher than I intend.
"I wish I could give you better news. If your friend gets worse, call a local doctor to get a referral first. Otherwise, I'd stay inside and monitor him closely."
The line is silent for a moment, and I thank the woman, then end the call. Tears pour down my cheeks, and I sob into my hands. My hands are tied, and there's nothing more I can do but watch him.
The cabin’s clean, the pets are fed, and now I'm lonely. I walk upstairs and knock on Eli's door, wanting his company. I sit on the floor and wait, placing my back against the wood.
"Yes?" he asks. It's not quite lunchtime yet, so I'm sure he's wondering what I want.
I rest my head against the door and look up at the ceiling, trying to find the strength to keep it together. "I miss you," I say.
He chuckles, then coughs before responding. "I miss you, too."
"I hate that you’re so close, yet so far away," I admit, thinking back to what Ryan said about his feelings for me. I hear him sit on the floor too. We're back to back with only a few inches of thick wood separating us.
“Me too. What have you been doing today?" He takes several puffs of his inhaler.
"I called the hotline for you to see if we could get a test and…"
"They refused," he finishes. "Amiright?"
"Yes." I grow quiet and close my eyes, wishing this would pass soon.
"I’ll be okay, Cami. I'm already on day five and am on the mend."
I smile. "You don't sound like it."
“Oh really? I heard women really like a man with a raspy voice," he tells me. “I’ve just been practicing to impress you.”
I chuckle and shake my head, appreciating the way he’s trying to lift my spirits. "I'm worried that if you recover and I get it again, then you could be re-infected. I was reading yesterday about someone who tested positive twice. We’ll both just keep passing it to each other, and eventually one of us will get it bad enough to be hospitalized," I say. I know I’m being dramatic, but it’s a possibility.