Page 12 of Captivating Anika
It shouldn’t surprise me Hog clearly recognized the medication. He’s a firefighter with EMT training. Most of the guys on my brother’s crew are. It’s the reason I always put the bottles away in the cupboard over the fridge in case one of my family members pops in. But lately, I’ve been getting a bit lax, occasionally leaving them out on the counter.
Looks like I’m paying for it now.
“Maybe because I haven’t told anyone,” I respond a bit snippy.
“No one?”
I sharply shake my head and turn toward the counter, dose out my pills and swallow them, followed by the glass of water. By the time I turn back around, Hog is back at the stove, stirring his pot.
He doesn’t push, only asks casually where I keep the plates. I end up setting my small round dining table, while he gets the food ready. He must know me well, because by the time we sit down, I find myself volunteering information I’ve kept from everyone for what feels like a really long time.
Like lancing an infected wound, the words flow freely, providing instant relief.
“For months I’d roll out of bed in the morning, feeling like a truck hit me. No strenuous activity the day before that might explain it. I wasn’t feeling well, had a variety of symptoms that eventually pushed me to see my doctor. That was early last year. Long story short, I was eventually diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and fibromyalgia.”
“That sucks,” he states simply.
His eyes stay focused on the taco he is putting together with the pulled pork, mango chutney, and coleslaw. No sympathetic lamenting, no pats on the head, no unsolicited advice, nothing over the top. I’m not dying, it’s not going to kill me, but yeah, it sucks.
“It does,” I agree.
“Any particular reason you’ve kept it to yourself?”
None good enough to satisfy my family, I’m sure.
“I needed a moment with it by myself. Wanted a chance to adjust to it without…” I wave my hands around my ears, “outside noise,” I finish.
“Hmm,” he hums with his mouth full, nodding in understanding.
Following his lead, I slap together my own taco, and take a healthy bite.
Damn. The flavors explode in my mouth. So good.
“Did you make this salsa too? It’s delicious,” I mutter, covering my mouth with a hand.
“Not much to it. Just a bit of chopping.”
Understated, like the man himself.
“Be that as it may, it tastes fantastic,” I enforce.
After wolfing down three tacos, I sit back in my seat and rub my hands on my belly. I feel so much better. A combination of meds, good food, and a burden shared seems to agree with me. It makes me feel better equipped to deal with whatever it was Hog wanted to chat about.
Speaking of…
“Wasn’t there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
He wipes his mouth with the paper napkin he thought to bring with him as well.
“Yes.” He moves his plate aside, drops the crumpled napkin on top, and leans his elbows on the table. “I owe you an apology.”
“You do?”
He nods earnestly.
“You may have noticed, I’ve been avoiding you for a while,” he admits.
I roll my eyes. No kidding.