TASTE

Part 4 of 6: The Pictures

Janet threw up in my toilet the instant we got upstairs. Maybe it was the jolty elevator, or her soul-bearing story, or the entirety of everything that had happened to her that finally did it. Through the bathroom door, I asked if she needed assistance, but she shooed me away. I let her know there were extra toothbrushes in the drawer and granted her some privacy. To make myself useful, I boiled some water for a pot of tea.

Janet emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later looking much better. She'd washed her face, fixed her hair, and brushed her teeth. Her eyes were still a bit bloodshot; she'd probably cried some more in the bathroom. I handed her a cup of tea and told her to drink some.

"I'm terribly sorry," she said, grabbing a seat on my sofa and sipping her tea. "I know I'm not very good company right now. I promise I'll make it up to you."

I told her not to worry and implored her to try to relax. She placed her cup on the coffee table, slumped onto the sofa, and lay there, squirming in place.

"I may have made a mess in your bathroom," she said.

Again, I told her it was okay, that I would attend to the mess when I had the chance. Her eyes moved down to the sleeve of her blouse where she spotted some rogue vomit.

"Ah shit," she exclaimed, "I'm a total disaster right now."

"You can borrow a shirt for tonight," I told her.

I went to my room and fetched a Star Wars T-shirt from my closet, the smallest shirt I owned. Janet was still sprawled out on the sofa when I came back, her eyes closed. "I'm not sleeping," she said, when she heard me return. "I'm just resting my eyelids."

I handed her the shirt and told her to put it on. She tried to unbutton her blouse but struggled with the first button. "Let me help you with that," I offered, sitting down next to her and undoing it for her. With her eyes still closed, she thanked me and allowed me to undo the others. With the last button unbuttoned, her shirt flung open to reveal her smooth stomach and a simple bra. I clumsily removed her blouse, folded it, and placed it on the table. She sat up, opened her eyes groggily, and took the T-shirt from me.

"I know I've inconvenienced you enough," Janet said, pulling the T-shirt over her head, "but would you mind if I crashed here tonight?"

"I would prefer it," I told her, realizing only afterwards how my words could perhaps be misconstrued. "I mean, I don't want you getting on the road in your condition—is what I meant. You can take my bed, and I'll sleep on the sofa."

"No way," she shot back. "I'll sleep on the sofa. It's your house after all, and I'm the guest. Besides, I'm practically asleep on your sofa already."

Having slept on my sofa plenty, I knew she would regret her decision in the morning. First, the cushions were old and unforgiving; they were soft in places that needed to be firm and firm in places that needed to be soft. Second, the living room got extremely cold at night, even in the summer months.

My arguments, however, wouldn't hold up in Janet's court, and she staked her claim to the sofa. I brought her a blanket and pillow and tucked her in.

"Have it your way," I said. "But if you change your mind in the middle of the night, feel free to join me in my bed. Just push me over to the other side if I'm asleep."

Janet was fast asleep by this point and didn't respond. I kissed her on her forehead and retired to my room, stripping down to my boxers and climbing into my bed.

I woke up the next morning to my phone ringing on my bedside table. The sun was peeking through my blinds; the clock on the wall read 8:43 AM. I picked up my phone, saw that it was my mom calling, and took the call. She wished me a good morning and asked if I wanted to meet up for dim sum in an hour. I told her yes and then remembered Janet sleeping on the sofa.