Lights (2019)

Lost Things

"Blair! Dinner!"

I had been fully invested in my book for the past hour and half. My head is pounding and every time I move I feel like my head is about to roll off my shoulders. I dog-ear my page and sit up slowly. I can smell dinner from here. I follow my dad's voice to the kitchen where he stands, stirring tomato sauce in a pot. He smiles at me when I walk in. I eye the spaghetti noodles.

"Hey hun," my father grins, "You hungry?"

"Yeah," I lie, I feel really sick actually. "Where did you get all this food?"

"I stopped by the store on the way home from work, I had a cooler in the back seat--did you not see it?"

I shook my head. I sit at the kitchen counter as he chops more tomatoes. I watch the blade of the knife move up and down rhythmically. My stomach churns. What's wrong with me? Maybe I am coming down with the flu or something--my whole body aches and I feel like I am dying.

"Are you all right, Blair?" My father asks.
"Yeah...I'm just...feeling a little sick," I say.
"When was the last time you ate something?"

"This morning," I shrug.

"Well, let's get some food in you," he says. He pours pasta onto two plates, sliding one to me. He sits across from me at the counter, twisting his fork in the pasta. I stare at my plate, my appetite diminishing rapidly. My father stops chewing, staring at me. I stare at my plate, my stomach becoming queasy.

"Blair?"

"I'm not hungry," I whisper, staring down at the way the noodles weave into the sauce.

"Are you sure you are okay?"
I shrug.
"Blair, we can go home," he says quietly. "It is all right."

"No, I love this place," I reply. "You know I love this place." My stomach flips and I feel bile rising in my throat. "Excuse me," I say, briskly walking to the bathroom. I lean over the toilet and let the contents of my stomach out, coughing and sputtering. It must be one of those twenty-four-hour stomach bugs.

"Blair? Blair!" My father interrogates from the door way. "What's going on?"
I tie my hair into a ponytail. "I'm going to lay down, I think." I say.
"Are you...you know, pregnant?"
My jaw drops. "Of course not!"

"You and Harry--"

"We don't... do that," I flush.

"Oh," My father mumbles. "I'm sorry--"

"It is fine," I say.

Worry is etched into every angle of my father's face. "Blair, are you taking...your medicine?"

My heart stops. "The pills...I left them at Harry's." Tears well in my eyes as I recall the dark days before, when all I wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. "I thought I could make it the weekend; I thought I was strong enough--"

"Blair, come on," my father says plainly. "Get your things. We need to go home."

"Dad--"

"Blair, this is a health matter. We need to go--"

"No, Dad, please. I'll feel better in the morning; we can leave then. I just need some rest."

My father looks at me warily before nodding. "If you feel bad, though--"

"I know, I know. I just need to get some sleep." I force a smile. He nods slowly, unsure if he should trust me. I sigh after he leaves me alone in the bathroom. I stand up, my knees shaking under my weight. I wet a washcloth and run it across my cheeks. I dig into my bad of toiletries, grabbing my toothbrush and toothpaste. Throwing up has left a sour taste in my mouth. After rinsing my mouth out, I walk to my room. I dig through my bag, pulling out a pair of sweats. And place them on the counter and I turn on the hot water in the shower.