Sign Me Up by Dulcie Dameron
Parker
on Monday with a smile born of sheer happiness plastered on my face. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Jamie all weekend. The way she blushed when I asked if her favorite color was pink, the way her perfect body felt in my arms as we lay side by side on her couch, and the sweet way she smelled when I pressed a soft kiss on her head…
It’s all burned into my memory and playing on repeat.
I’m clinging to and savoring those memories probably way more than I should be. I shouldn’t be sitting at my desk wondering if my best friend is thinking of me the same way I’m thinking about her. I shouldn’t be wishing I was her boyfriend instead of stuck in the friend zone. And I definitely shouldn’t be getting excited about the last office activity to boost the overall morale in this dismal place.
Per the email Stefan sent to us this morning, there will be no more outings for the employees of the Gazette. And given our boss’s penchant for exposing vitamin D deficient adults to activities geared toward children, that’s understandable. But we will still be having the Halloween party next week to cap off this thrilling social experiment.
And surprisingly, I’m looking forward to it.
Maybe it’s because I get to spend more time with Jamie or maybe it’s because Stefan’s crazy scheme actually had some merit to it and I’m starting to tolerate my co-workers. It has most definitely allowed me to see a different side to some of them. Either way, I don’t have time to figure it out when an incoming text has my phone buzzing in my pocket.
I pull it out and open the message.
Jamie:Bad news. I won’t be there today. :( I’m. So. Sick. Ugh.
I frown as I stare at the screen. She seemed fine Friday night. I wonder how long she’s been feeling poorly.
Parker:Aw, James, I’m sorry. What do you need? Cold and Flu meds or some Ginger Ale and crackers?
I raise my head and look over my cubicle to make sure Stefan’s not heading my way while I wait for her incoming text.
Jamie:I don’t need anything but thank you. D’s got me loaded down with tissues and Tylenol.
Parker:OK. But if you need something, please tell me. I’ll be there ASAP.
She texts back a string of smiley emojis and praying hands. I hate that she’s not feeling well. An idea forms in my head and I sit toying with it for far too long. Finally, I text Daria.
Parker:Hey, I hear Jamie is sick. Is it like a cold or something more serious?
D:Hey! Yeah, our girl is pretty pitiful. Coughing, sneezing, chills, fever…the works. She just came down with it last night.
Parker:Do you have to work today?
D:Yeah, I’m about to head out. Won’t be home until late too. Planning on stopping by?
I bite my thumbnail, considering what I’m about to do. Ah, well. No guts, no glory, right?
Parker: Yeah, actually. I want to make sure she’s okay and bring her some stuff. Will that be alright?
D:Absolutely! I’ll leave the door unlocked. ;)
I smile to myself as I type out a quick thanks and pocket my phone. Now to work my butt off and convince Stefan to let me off at lunch.
To my sheer and utter shock, it surprisingly worked in my favor to explain to Stefan that I wanted to go and check on Jamie after lunch. Maybe this whole employee morale thing going up in smoke has softened him toward us or maybe he’s feeling bad about her run-in with the camel. Either way, I’m grateful and not stopping to ask questions.
I pull into Jamie’s driveway and scoop up the bags from my truck’s passenger seat. I don’t know what all she’ll need to make her feel better, but I came prepared.
According to what my family tells me, it’s not easy for me to be quiet, but as softly as I can, I open the front door and tiptoe inside just in case she’s sleeping. Mom says you should never wake a sleeping baby or a napping woman so I’m taking those words to heart.
Jamie’s not in the main living area which makes me think she must be in bed. Moving slowly and still trying to be as silent as possible, I inch down the hall toward the bedrooms. But as I do, I realize I don’t actually know which room is hers. It’s a small house with one hall and only four doors, so four options. For some reason, the thought of being in her room with her in the bed makes me pause.
Did I make the right decision to come here and try to take care of her? Part of me thinks like Daria…yes, absolutely! The other part wonders if she’ll think I’m being creepy by showing up unannounced with all her favorite snacks and drinks. None of it’s healthy, either. It’s all the stuff I know she loves but denies herself on a regular basis, only saving it for special occasions. I just wanted to do something nice for her, something that would brighten her day.
But now, I’m like a motionless statue of indecision.
Except I’m already here. In her house. Just steps from her bedroom door. Whichever one it is. Blowing out a breath, I shift both bags to one hand and take a step forward.
The door to my left flies open, startling me, and Jamie walks right into me in just a towel, her soaking wet hair hanging around her glistening shoulders.
We both jump at the contact, and she nearly falls back as she covers her mouth with her hand. I can’t hear the scream that tears from her throat, but I have no doubt it’s probably loud enough to have alerted the neighbors.
I grip her still damp arm and right her, eyes as round as I’ve ever seen them. Her wide, wild gaze darts to the scrap of fabric wrapped around her. Unfortunately, so does mine. Her long legs, dotted with water droplets, peek out under the towel as she shifts her bare feet. And of course, her toes are painted hot pink.
Nope. Don’t think about Jamie and pink in the same sentence right now. NO PINK.
All at once, her hands are everywhere, trying to cover herself up. I raise the bags to cover my face and wave with my free hand for her to go to her room where she can get dressed. Except I still don’t know which room that is, so I just wave my arm around in a roundabout way, hoping she’ll get the gesture. Closing my eyes, I silently berate myself for being such an idiot.
Why couldn’t I have just texted her to tell her I was coming? That would’ve kept this little incident from happening. The look on Jamie’s face told me she was mortified that I saw her in a towel. I’m hoping it’s just because she wasn’t expecting me and not because she would never want me to see her in a towel. Not that I want her to want me to…
Ugh, I don’t even know what I’m thinking anymore.
I bang my head against the wall a few times just for good measure and wait for her to come to me. That seems like the next best thing to do at this point. Leaving would probably just add to her embarrassment, as if I was disgusted by catching her that way or something.
After what feels like an eternity later, she emerges from her bedroom in a pair of sweats and her Hello Kitty robe. It’s pink.
I swallow and shove the intruding thoughts away as I walk toward her. I’m sorry, I sign, then hand her the plastic bags full of stuff. She offers me a timid smile as she accepts them.
“It’s okay. You didn’t know.”
I frown. Neither did you. How are you feeling?
She shrugs and it looks like she sniffles, wrinkling her little red Rudolph nose. “I’ve been better.” Just as she says it, she starts coughing. It seems to take her a minute to catch her breath and my heart sags. She’s really and truly ill.
Taking her shoulders, I steer her into the room she came out of. Thankfully, she doesn’t argue. Her bed is in the center of the neat, white-walled room decorated in boxy, sleek-edged furniture. She’s got an entire family of plants lining her seventies style dresser and a large macrame wall hanging beside a giant poster of Shania Twain singing on stage.
I move her toward her bed that’s been haphazardly made but covered in pristine white covers and scoot a few of her throw pillows aside, then motion for her to get in the bed. As I do, something familiar catches my eye. There’s a smaller blanket—my blanket—underneath her comforter. I tug it out and hold it up, raising my eyebrows in question.
She begins twirling a strand of hair around her finger like she’s nervous. I think she mumbles something about me leaving it here, but she doesn’t enunciate or try to sign an explanation.
It doesn’t matter, though, because I just caught Jamie using my blanket. In her bed.
Tucking that little nugget away for a rainy day, I gesture for her to get in bed again. A small smile forms on her pretty mouth as she does as I command, setting the bags on the bed beside her.
She scoots far enough over that there’s room for me to sink down too. As soon as I do, I start pulling out things from the bags, making a show of it like I’m some gameshow host impersonator. At this point, I’ll do anything to ward off the embarrassment from the hallway.
She laughs and her eyes brighten when I pull out the bags of sour gummies, snack sized-peanut butter chocolate candies, and chocolate covered pretzels. Then I go for the big guns—the ice cream and soda pop.
She signs, thank you, but I hold her off with a hand. There are still two more surprises. I show off the last thing from the bottom of the bag with a grin I can’t seem to hold back.
“Parker! Is that what I think it is?!”
I nod, handing her the latest new release from her favorite author. It’s the last installment of her favorite urban fantasy series, and I know she’s been wanting it. But apparently, she’s got some rule where she can’t buy a new book until she reads everything on her TBR. I do not adhere to such a rule, so I stopped at our favorite indie bookstore on the way over.
“Oh my goodness, thank you!” She leans in and gives me a hug. Her freshly showered floral scent overwhelms me, so I pull back and hold up a hand.
One more thing, I sign, then get to my feet. Her bewildered expression is the last thing I see before I’m running out to my truck. When I step back into her room, she’s already flipping through the pages of her new novel. A sweet smile blooms on her face as I move closer to present the final gift that I hope will make her day.
I take the plant I purchased from Greg’s out from behind my back and hold it out to her. It’s not a succulent like Beatrice, but it’s got heart-shaped leaves with little stripes of pink that hang over the petite pot’s sides.
Her smile falters as she takes the pot in both hands and inspects each of the plant’s leaves, running her fingers over them one by one. Her misty gaze lifts to meet mine. “Thank you, Parker. This is gorgeous.”
I smile and nod. I know you wanted a friend for Beatrice. And this one isn’t a succulent, but it’s pretty and should still be small enough to fit on your desk.
A giggle or a laugh, I’m not sure which, bubbles out of her and she puts one hand to her mouth. A couple of tears stream down her cheeks, but she’s quick to wipe them away. Normally, I might tease her about getting so emotional over a plant, but I don’t, especially since she’s not feeling the best.
Instead, I gesture for her to lie down. She looks as if she wants to protest, but I repeat the motion and she obeys, still wiping her eyes. Once she’s lying on her back, I tuck the blanket around her and lay the back of my hand against her forehead. Fighting off a shiver, she sinks lower under the blanket.
You have a fever, I sign. Where’s your Tylenol?
She points to an array of cold and flu medications that pepper the surface of her nightstand next to her essential oil diffuser. I pop the cap on the Tylenol first, then offer her a couple of pills with the lemon-lime soda I bought her. She fights a smile as she takes them and chugs the soda to wash the medication down.
Next, I put the ice cream away in the kitchen and fill a glass with water to use to refill her diffuser. When I return to her room, her new plant sits in the center of her nightstand, and she’s got the bag of sour gummies opened with a wide grin on her face.
“This is so nice, Parker. I can’t thank you enough.”
No thanks necessary, I tell her.
Again, I sit on the side of her bed, right next to her legs. She doesn’t kick me off, so I’m guessing she’s cool with it. Hopefully your fever will go down soon, I sign.
She nods and offers me a sour gummy. I take it from her and toss it up in the air, trying and failing to catch it in my mouth. Her shoulders shake on a giggle and she hands me another. I keep doing it until she’s laughing so hard it throws her into a coughing fit.
Feeling like a jerk, I scoot off the bed, taking the sour gummies with me, and make her lie down on her side. I hand her a tissue before kneeling on the floor next to her. She turns toward me, a grateful smile lifting the corners of her lips.
“You didn’t have to do all this, Parker. You’re missing out on work to be here.”
I raise both shoulders in a shrug. You’re more important to me than work.
Her brow creases and I give in to the urge to run my thumb over the little lines that form there. She goes still under my touch, her entire body seizing up. I slowly retract my hand but don’t move away.
I can retreat, or I can hold steady. Almost every part of me is screaming to run away, to hide and not let her see how I really feel. But the part that’s been urging me to pursue Jamie these past few weeks grows bolder, ready to face whatever may come after confessing my feelings.
But instead of reading into the moment between us, she gives me a small smile and blinks her heavy-lidded eyes. I brush some of her hair behind her ear and watch as her lashes lower.
Her eyes close completely for a few seconds until she pops them back open. “You should go,” she says with a wave. “Get back to work, I’m fine. Especially now.” A pink blush fills her cheeks as she bites her lip.
I shake my head and sign, Just go to sleep. I want to stay in case you need something. Stefan gave me his blessing.
Her shoulders rise and fall on what looks like a sigh and her eyes close completely. I sit back against her nightstand, resting my hands over my knees, and watch her. As soon as she starts to fall asleep, her lips part, most likely so she can breathe since she’s so stuffed up.
I can’t help but smile at the achingly pitiful but sweet picture she makes all snuggled in her bed. It sucks that she’s sick. But it’s kind of cool that she’s allowing me to take care of her.
As I soak in the sight of her taking deep, even breaths, my mind starts to throw up images of us together in ten, twenty, even thirty years. In them, I’m still taking care of her and trying to make her laugh. She’s still writing and reading amazing stories and taking care of her many plants. But in each of them, we’re together and not just as friends.
In those dreams, we’re more. I can only hope and pray that someday, they’ll become a reality.
Just when I finally think she’s dozed off, I rise from the floor and her phone lights up on the nightstand. When it’s Mike’s name that shows up across the top of the screen, a hard possessiveness roars to life inside me.
I shouldn’t pick it up and read the message. I shouldn’t. But my curiosity gets the best of me, and I tap open the message. It looks like they exchanged another text about an hour ago.
Mike: I’m sorry you’re sick, babe. Is there anything I can do?
I want to type out, “No, you idiot, leave me alone,” but I don’t. Pretending to be her would be a whole new level of wrong. And I can’t text back as myself or else Jamie would know and wonder what possessed me to do such a thing.
So I carefully place her phone back on the nightstand and peer down at her. All my romance-inflated thoughts from mere moments ago flutter away like they never fully took shape at all.