It was halfway through the day when he first noticed anything was awry. His throat was scratchy, his eyes were sore, and his nose had begun running lightly. After rubbing his eyes and giving his nose a soft blow, he headed to the break room, forgoing his usual coffee for water. He was presenting at the board meeting in an hour, and he expected himself to be in top form, not struggling with whatever this was.
He put the final touches on his presentation and headed into the conference room with his presentation, prepared to discuss the fiscal prospectus of the company. He noticed his voice was hoarse during the presentation, and he had to keep clearing his throat. He made it two thirds of the way through the presentation before he started to notice an itch in his sinuses. He rubbed a finger under his nose and continued speaking. He made it three sentences before he had to turn around and sneeze twice.
“Excuse me.” He apologized and continued. He made it through the presentation and questions with out any more sneezing, but his nose was really running now, and he was working hard to discretely sniffle it back. He could hear the congestion in his voice and prayed no one else noticed.
Finally, it was over and he could hole up in his office. He stared blankly out the window as he blew his nose, depositing tissue after tissue in the trash can. 2 more hours to 5:00. He didn’t dare leave early, then everyone would know there was something wrong with their CFO. He shivered and went back to work, reviewing the numbers for the upcoming year, sneezing periodically, keeping the tissues close by as his nose wouldn’t stop running.
Finally, it was 5. Time to leave. Usually he worked late, but Thursday nights were date night with his wife, and everyone knew he left at 5 then. He didn’t get to be the youngest CFO at Expresscorp by not working overtime. He made a quick stop at the drug store on the way home for cold medicine, popping the orange capsules with orange juice the second he got back in the car. He was freezing, he noted and just wanted to crawl into bed.
But, date night. His wife had accused him of working too much and this, along with no weekend hours was their solution. They had dinner reservations at 7. Hopefully, the cold pills would kick in by then. He drove the 30 minutes to their home on the outskirts of the city, trying his best not to sneeze too much in the rush hour traffic.
“HahEhShoo!” He sneezed loudly upon entering the house, and it echoed through the foyer. It was quickly followed by a second, and a third.
“Bless you, Greg.” His wife appeared in the hallway. “Are you alright?” She rarely heard him sneeze, and seldom more than once.
He fumbled for one of the tissues he had stashed in his pocket before leaving work and blew his nose. “Fine.” He sniffled, shivering again. “I think I’m coming down with a cold” he admitted, shoving the tissue back in his pocket and slipping off his coat.
“A cold?” She asked, crossing over to get a good look at him. His eyes were dull, his nostrils beginning to tinge pink. “It’s starting to look that way.” She reached up and placed a hand on his forehead as he shivered again. “You feel a little warm.”
“Not warm. Freezing.” He turned away from her to cough. At least, he thought, the cold medicine was beginning to dry up his nose. “Let me just change into something warmer, and we can go to dinner.” He started upstairs to the bedroom, and she followed him.
He was going through his clothes when she stopped him, handed him the thermometer. “It’s warm in here.” She informed him. “Take your temperature.” He stopped digging through his sweaters and did what she asked. The thermometer beeped and she looked at it. “You have a fever” she told him as he doubled over with another powerful sneeze.
His face fell, or more crumpled. “Just a cold,” he told her. “I’m fine.” He picked out his heaviest sweater and began to put it on over his dress shirt.
She turned a rummaged through the back of the closet, pulling out a pair of sweats and an sweatshirt from when he went to physical therapy last winter after a knee injury, handing them to him.
He looked at them, both with distaste and appreciation. True, they were something he would never wear, but at this moment, the also looked like the most comfortable things ever.
“Put these on.” She ordered.
“I can’t wear that to Chez Pierre.” He protested.
“We’re not going to Chez Pierre.”
His face crumpled further. One little cold, and she wanted nothing to do with him. She’d probably make him sleep in one of the guest rooms tonight too, he figured.
“You don’t want to have date night?” He asked, a note of uncertainty creeping into his voice.
“You have a fever and a cold. I don’t want to drag you all over the city.” She paused as a coughing fit struck him. “You’re going to put these on, lay on the couch and have date night in.”
He looked at her, uncomprehending.
“Change, lay down, I’ll make soup and take care of you. Did you take anything?”
He nodded. She wasn’t mad. She was concerned. “I picked up cold medicine on the way home and took some.” He turned and sneezed again. “I think it’s helping some. My nose isn’t constantly running.”
She handed him the change of clothes, nodding. He fumbled with the buttons on his dress shirt, unable to get them undone. He gave a frustrated sigh. She crossed over, and unbuttoned his shirt and cuffs as deftly as he typically did, then handed him the sweatshirt. He changed into the sweatpants and she helped him downstairs.
She set him up on the couch in the den, wrapping a throw around his legs and feet and another over his upper body. She turned on the sports channel instead of the business channel and placed a tissue box at his side. “I’ll go make you some soup,” she said gently, kissing his forehead. “Do you need anything?”
He hesitated. Usually he was so used to telling people what to do, but right now, he felt unsure. He felt like such a bother which usually didn’t trouble him. After all, he was used to being a very important person. This cold had tipped the scales, and the fever had somehow stripped him of his self confidence.
“Greg? Can I get you anything else?” She repeated, softly.
“Can I please have another blanket, some juice, and something to put the used tissues in, please?” He asked.
She tried to hide her surprise. Please wasn’t typically in his vocabulary, let alone for him to use it twice in one sentence. “Of course.” She returned with the requested items, tucking him in. “Rest.”
He sneezed another three times before nodding off on the couch. 45 minutes later, he was aware of Anna shaking him awake. She helped him sit up, setting the bowl of soup on the coffee table. He managed half the bowl before hesitantly asking her to help him lay back down.
“You’re feeling pretty rough?” It was not a question.
“Yeah. Cold, tired, achy, congested, and this darn sneezing won’t quit.” As if to prove his point, he muffled a double into his elbow.
“Bless you.” She tucked the blankets in around him. “Want to watch a movie?”
“Whatever you want to do.” He told her. “It’s your date night.”
Aggedy Ann 