(I know New York City is called the Big Apple. It's been an inside joke forever.)
I came home a little under the weather, and may or may have not been on my knees in my seat when the plane landed, holding my whole head, looking for the locking mechanism, trying to find a way to take it off.
It would have hurt less than leaving it. My ears have been doing that thing where when I talk or open my jaw very wide it sounds like someone is crinkling plastic wrap inside my brain.
Congestion.
Yes, I know what it's called. Like traffic. My head is rush hour. My nose is the freeway.
Where'd you get it from?
Probably a door handle on 8th Avenue or at the Met. Maybe Otto brought it. Maybe the Flight attendant was sick. Maybe Ben is festeringly ill. Maybe, just maybe I'm a human girl and I carry germs everywhere I go and the minute I get run down they pop out and just take over. Maybe, just maybe, Lochlan, I got it from you. Maybe YOUR nose is the freeway.
Listen, smartass.
Well, it's a misquestion!
A misquestion? That's great.
I meant to say a dumb question but I want to be polite.
You're beautiful.
No I have Rednose the Rudolph rainy day.
Yeah. You really do. I think your fever's making you a little delirious too. I think we got home just in time though.
Why?
So I can make Caleb look after you.
He doesn't know-
Oh, Bridget, I might not have a choice, I'm getting sick too.
