The next morning, I wake up with an awful taste in my mouth. It’s a combination of cotton, blood, and whatever solution they used to rinse my mouth out after the root canal.
Smacking my lips together, I push myself up from my pillow and survey my surroundings. There’s a sharp sting in my scalp as I turn my head, and I grimace as I realize that the locket necklace my grandma gave me years ago has gotten twisted and tangled up with my hair. I wear the locket almost every day, but I usually take it off at night so that this kind of thing doesn’t happen.
I undo a little knot in the chain, separating it from my hair, then blink a few times and try to get my bearings. It takes me a moment or two to figure out where I am and what day it is.
I’m in my room.
It’s morning. Saturday morning.
I have a vague memory of Noah driving me home yesterday, and since I’m still wearing the clothes I had on then, I assume I’ve been sleeping ever since he brought me back.
There’s a glass of water on my bedside table, and I down the whole thing in a few big gulps. My mouth feels like a desert, and I’m thirsty as hell, so I stand up and head straight to the bathroom. I fill up the glass once more, down it, then brush my teeth. Then I splash some cold water on my face and run a brush through the rat’s nest of my hair before heading into the kitchen.
A mountain of stuff is laid out on the counter, and I blink at it in surprise.
There are a few electrolyte drinks, as well as soft foods like bananas and packets of oatmeal. Noah also left me two notes. One is attached to a Gatorade bottle and informs me there are smoothies in the fridge, ice cream in the freezer, and soup in the cupboard. Next to the drinks is the info packet from the dentist, and my bottle of painkillers.
It takes a second for all of this to sink in, and then I read the second note Noah left me, which is sitting on top of the packet.
Good morning,
I tried not to wake you when I left last night. Hopefully, you got enough rest. If I don’t hear from you by 9am Saturday morning, I’m going to come by and check on you. I hope that’s okay. Text me when you see this, and take your meds.
Talk soon, Sunflower.
Noah
As I gaze down at his scrawling handwriting, it occurs to me that he probably stuck around until well into the night, just in case I needed anything. I’m touched by the way he went above and beyond just picking me up from the dentist, especially since I can’t have been good company at all last night.
I grab one of the drinks and take it with me to the couch, and since it’s only a little after eight in the morning, I decide to call my sister before texting Noah. She answers right away, sounding a bit frazzled, so I keep our conversation quick and to the point. I assure her that the root canal went well, that my pain is manageable, and that I have someone I can call if for some reason my recovery doesn’t go as planned.
When she asks who took me to the appointment, I keep it vague and just say, “A friend from work.”
Fortunately, she accepts that answer without question, and we hang up soon afterward.
Next, I take another round of painkillers and mark down on a sheet of paper what time I took them. Then I sip my drink and stare down at my phone in contemplation.
I should text Noah and let him know I’m doing okay, but I’m not sure exactly what to write. I want to thank him for taking care of me last night, but I’m worried about bringing too much attention to the subject. What if it’s not as big of a deal as I think it is? What if this is the kind of thing Noah would do for any of his friends, and I’m just reading way too much into it?
I opt for a simple ‘thank you’ text that I hope makes me come off as polite and grateful, but not too emotionally invested.
ME: Thanks for the ride yesterday, and for all the provisions!
He texts back almost immediately.
NOAH: Not a problem. How are you feeling this morning?
ME: Not too bad. Still in a little bit of pain, but it’s a lot better than it was before the root canal. I think sleeping for like 16 hours really did the trick.
NOAH: Haha yeah, you were pretty loopy when I drove you home yesterday.
ME: Did I… say anything weird? Oh god, please don’t tell me you recorded me.
NOAH: I would never! But yeah, you definitely said some funny things.
ME: Funny how? Like, how much of a mess was I, really?
He takes a moment or two to answer that text, and I can’t help but feel like I’m hanging over the edge of a cliff while I wait to hear back. There are so many stupid things I could’ve done or said to him, and running through all the options in my head is driving me a little crazy. Finally, a message comes through.
NOAH: I guess that depends on how we’re measuring things.
I groan and lean my head back on the couch. This can’t be good.
ME: On a scale of loopy and acting like a little kid to acting in a way that’s so deeply embarrassing, I will never be able to recover. That’s the scale.
NOAH: Lol. I’d say you were somewhere in the middle then. You were mostly just talking nonsense. But… you did tell me your deepest, darkest secret, so there is that.
My stomach drops, and I sit up straighter, clutching my phone. Fuck. If Noah is referring to what I think he’s referring to, then this is way worse than I initially thought. It’s one thing if I was goofy, or even a little flirty. But if I told him about that, my entire life could fall apart.
I text back right away, my hands shaking a little.
ME: What do you mean? What exactly did I tell you?
NOAH: I was just kidding! You didn’t say anything that crazy. But you do get a little handsy when you’re high on painkillers. 😉
ME: You’d better be joking.
NOAH: I am, I am! You behaved like a perfect lady, and I like a perfect gentleman. I tucked you in, you fell asleep, and that’s really all there’s to it.
I let out a slow breath. I’m pretty sure he’s telling the truth, because if I had told him the secret I’m thinking of, there’s no way he’d be joking about it. I start to craft a response, but then another text from Noah comes through.
NOAH: That said, I could tell you wanted me. So, if you still feel that way once you sober up from the painkillers, let me know. I’d be happy to show you just how ungentlemanlike I can be.
My cheeks grow warm, and I have to make a conscious effort to keep my mind from going to several incredibly dirty places. I think about sending an equally flirtatious text back, but then think better of it. I don’t feel high anymore, but I’m still sleepy and groggy, not totally in my right mind. Now isn’t the time to play this game—even if the game is really fun.
ME: I have to go lie down some more, but thanks again.
That’s all I send in return, and when Noah texts me back a few seconds later, his message is short and sweet.
NOAH: Anytime, Sunflower. Truly.
