It was green and grey, small round chunks of something brownish peeking in between the gooey layers wherever it saw fit. Eddy poked at it with the end of his spoon; the thing gave one pulsing jiggle before sucking the utensil up inside it like a vacuum.
"I'd give you this, but I think my mom would kill me for giving you food poisoning," Eddy decided, shoving the lunch tray away while passing Eddward the apple, himself the cookie and Pepsi (a growing boy's got to eat - a growing teenager even more, he figured). The discarded tray he allowed Ed to pilfer. He at least seemed excited about eating the fearful blob.
Eddward accepted the fruit gratefully and with much thanks. It had been a week since he'd found the last sticky note from his parents, and at least two-thirds that time since he had had anything edible in his home. He would never admit it to his friend, but his lunchtime offerings were what kept him running.
"Dinner's at six tonight, by the way. We're hitting the movies afterwards. Croctopus IV, baby!" Ed and Eddy exchanged energetic high-fives over the table.
And the Sullivan's nightly dinner invitations. Thank god for small kindness and Eddy's mother's home cooking.
Eddward hummed to himself, wondering just how long his good fortune would last. With any luck, his parents would return home by Monday and he could just forget this as all part of a pimple on the face of his adolescence. Until that time did come though, he was content for the time with spending the evenings at Eddy's home, eating and more often than not crashing on their couch beside his best friend. Cheesy horror flicks were becoming a great lullaby.
"As much as I appreciate the offer, I'll think I'll leave you and yours to your devious machinations after dinner. May I inquire as to what Mrs. Sullivan will be serving tonight?"
Eddy snorted, looking damned-near insulted. "It's Croctopus, Double-D. The unholy union of crocodile and octopus plus about two tons of deadly inking teeth-fury!" And Eddy honestly wondered why he thought they were all crazy. "And you sound like a creeper. Mrs. Sullivan? Dude."
"Be that as it may, but I'm afraid I still have to pass. I can't very well spend the whole weekend with you; I'm pretty sure your parents will grow weary of my presence shortly."
Eddy stared at him as though he was the half crocodile-half octopus. "You're crazy, man. My folks love you. I think Mom's about two dinners away from naming you a honorary Sullivan. Hard to dislike a guy that compliments their every breath, I guess."
Immediately guilt built up in Eddward's throat. He hadn't meant to suck up to Eddy's parents so much; it was instinctual for him to deal with stress with manners and compliments to gather others' interest on themselves. The last thing he wanted was for Eddy to feel like he was trying to steal his family. He would have to back off.
It would be much easier of course, if he wasn't depending on them for food.
Evidently his indecision was visible on his face, for Eddy coughed weakly, patting him roughly on the back to equalize. "Chill out, dude. I don't mind it. Hell, when Mom's buttered up by you, she lets me do whatever the hell I want. She doesn't let just anyone stay over five school nights in a row, let alone one." He paused to down the rest of his soda, passing it to Ed who dutifully crushed it between forehead and palm. "So, still going to try and pass on Croctopus?"
Eddward heaved a sigh, picking up his apple and the crushed can, disposing them in their respective recycling receptacles. "Fine, fine. Someone needs to point out the evolutionary errors involved, of course. We'll make a learning experience of it."
And just as planned, the other two groaned.
"Glad you could make it, Blake," Eddy's dad greeted from the couch after calling a 'come in' at the front door (as though he hadn't been staying at their house for about a week. Apparently Eddy wasn't the only Sullivan excited for the B-rated film). "Was starting to think you weren't gonna' show. Parents giving you trouble?"
Eddy wrung his hands. "Ahh... Something like that. I apologize for keeping you waiting." Not a lie. Not exactly.
Mr. Sullivan just waved a hand, seemingly indecisive as to whether the TV or Eddward's conversations required more of his attention. He gestured vaguely toward the stairs. "Dinner's still a little ways off. The boys are upstairs."
Was that supposed to be an invitation?
He debated momentarily as to whether or not to offer help to Mrs. Sullivan in the kitchen, but decided against it. Eddy's earlier comment - whether meant as a complaint or not - had him thinking about the prospect of family for the last couple hours. He had been trying to remember the last Blake family outing when he had realized that he had been running late to dinner. His own parents wouldn't have accepted the excuse. Now, they didn't even know he was gone.
Ed and Eddy glanced up as he knocked and opened the bedroom door. Both boys were seated before Eddy's television, controllers between each sweaty palm. Eddward chuckled at their wide eyes, glancing at the screen to find Eddy's character being beat up by a rather colorful looking young woman (doubtlessly they presumed him to be above said shenanigans - which he was. Or at least, he was above grand theft auto himself. They were, of course, welcome to continue).
He sat down on the bed behind Eddy's legs, crossing his own and propping himself back on his elbows. "I think that prostitute may have just hijacked your previously stolen vehicle."
Eddy's attention jerked back to the screen in time to watch his character be run over by the Ferrari-imitation. With a muttered curse, he passed the controller to Ed, who immediately began mashing the buttons. Eddy leaned his head back to get a better look at his fairer friend. "You look like someone ran over your cat. What's up, Sockhead?"
"I don't own a cat, Eddy." Said boy looked up to the ceiling, fingertips idly finding Eddy's hair against his knees as he contemplated his answer. "I suppose I'm just... tired. It's been a long week."
Eddy grumbled, the sound traveling up his fingers, where they finished their compulsive grooming of the other males' hair. "You've been here all week. Am I supposed to be offended now, or something?"
"Not at all. Your home is lovely, by the way. I appreciate your allowing me to stay for so long," he said softly, adding an awkward pat to the top of Eddy's head. On screen, Ed's avatar fell to his demise from a helicopter - where he got it, Eddward wasn't sure - and he passed the controller back to Eddy.
When they were finally called down to dinner ten minutes later, the three boys were seated along one side of the table, the parents on the other. Eddward was the only one without a body across from him, and despite how delicious the food, made no effort to participate in the conversation. He and Ed were guests. Seeing the tallest teen shovel mashed potatoes around his plate reminded him that his stay had a departure time attached (no matter the leeway, or Mrs. Sullivan's insistence that he was welcome any time). This wasn't his home or his food, and he spent the thirty minutes being as quiet and polite as he could be, and no one interrupted him.
They left at a quarter to seven. One would think, given the Sullivan males' whining, that the film had already begun and were missing valuable plot. Eddy's mother was brilliant however, and informed the monkeys in the back that it didn't start for another hour. That shut them up quickly (or at least until Ed's stomach growled and they started screaming about Croctopus being in the car with them).
Eddward gazed out the window as the building lights flowed past. The transparent pane reflected everything back in glowing blurry two-fold, and he allowed himself the momentary solitude it provided him. As long as he didn't focus on the obnoxious volume beside him, he could almost - almost - imagine it was his own family he was going out with. They were seeing a documentary on the marine life of the south Pacific; five o'clock showing so they had plenty of time left for a late dinner, in the living room for once. They didn't own a TV - polluted the mind and made one lazy, his father adhered by - so they would entertain each other with tales of their day at work or school. His parents would apologize for leaving him home alone so often and tell him they loved him. Before bed, Mother would heat him up a glass of milk and rub his feet, humming softly (a Lifetime drama had been playing in the background of Ed's house one summer day, and Eddward always secretly thought that sounded wonderful).
Then Eddy's father crashed into him, jamming down the window controls and the daydream was broken.
"Sorry, son," the man groaned, weight lording over him towards the window until he was nearly one with the seat's leather. "I thought it was just the front seat. Guess I get car-sick in the back too, haha."
"It's fine, Mr. Sullivan."
"Call me Robert, please. Mr. Sullivan's my dad." Robert chuckled, obviously proud of the joke, while his wife in the front seat sighed, pulling the SUV into the theater parking lot.
It quickly became obvious that the movie was a popular one (though Eddward honestly couldn't see the appeal), as all the spots in a comfortable walking distance had been taken and a line was just starting to peak out the doors. Instead of being discouraged, however, Mrs. Sullivan cheered from the front while her husband groaned.
"A little walk never hurt anybody. And now we're closer to the grocers, so less of a walk there, alright?"
The Sullivan's had a system. Movie theater snacks, he was informed (quite determinedly at that by Eddy's mother), were edible heart attacks and only a step above rubber. A small bag of popcorn also cost half the ticket price, and somehow he thought that might be the main motivator, not that he blamed her. She bustled them up and down a few grocery aisles, instructing the males to each grab a bottled drink and about ten bags of candy between the four of them. At the register she set down a bottle of iced tea and a Dove chocolate bar for herself, and politely declined the cashier's offer for a bag.
Only steps outside the doors, she collected their food back from them. "Drinks on bottom, candy on top... I still need to be able to get to my wallet, Eddy." And amazingly enough, it all fit with room to spare inside her huge red purse. The acne-laden teen at the ticket counter eyed it as she paid for the movie, but didn't say anything.
Eddy and his dad high-fived as soon as they were around the corner.
"Paging, Sullivan. Paging, Sullivan."
The PA system crackled coming on and, for all she knew, someone could be crinkling tin foil for all the racket it made turning off. Her theory was that it was intentional. After all, hospitals were supposed to spend their money on life-saving equipment and not sparkly new Over-Coms, right? She had tried to set up a betting pool to that very fact; apparently gambling on hospital grounds was frowned upon and she was advised to do her intern duties and leave the budgeting to Corporate.
So far, the stakes were about two-hundred bucks in her favor.
She had to maneuver around a few wheelchair-bound patients to get to Reception, dinging the customer service bell a few times.
"Sitting right here, Cindy," the woman behind the counter drawled, eyeing her over a Spiderman comic book."I'm always right here. Including yesterday."
"Testy, testy." Cindy Sullivan dumped her clipboard and stack of patient charts on the counter top, leaning forward onto her elbows to take some of the strain off of her lower back. "What's the deal?"
"Family of six, Doctor's thinking strep. Don't know why people always come to the ER for something their family physician can take care of... Your turn to play nurse. Have fun."
"Wonderful. Don't work too hard, now."
The woman shot her a salute, heading back to the comic, and Cindy set off down the East Wing hallway towards room... five-oh-six, according to updated charts she had snagged off of the desk. Her off-white Keds squeaked on the lacquered flooring; a cheerful sound amidst the EKG's and coughing and that God-awful PA. She had tried once to lighten up the monotony with a little music, but the doctors didn't tend to like the interns that couldn't hear them over their headphones. Honestly, she should have known better (two boys, one already grown - she certainly had gotten enough calls from agitated teachers to drive in the message). It was hard to talk yourself out of something though, when it sounded oh so good.
Five-oh-six opened to two parents and a medley of children, all wearing drug store-issue surgical masks. "And you must be the Trigham family. My name is Cindy, and I'll be your nurse this-"
The mother interrupted quickly, tone critical. "I asked explicitly to speak to the doctor. What is the meaning of this?"
Oh, if only she were allowed to say what was on her mind... "I'm sorry for the miscommunication, Ma'am. You came to the Emergency section of the hospital; our doctors are very busy trying to save lives, and they rely on us to gather all the information we can about what ails you, so that they can better and more efficiently help you. Now, if I could just get out your-"
"The doctor, please."
"Of course, Ma'am." Only by pure force of will could she maintain her Customer Service smile until she exited the room, placing the patient chart backwards into the holder for good measure. The Trigham's would get their doctor, but most likely not until they either came looking for one, or the doctor came in for the end-of-day chart notes. Whoops, they must have been overlooked. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence.
Although it was worrying how little common courtesy someone could give the person trying to help them.
"At least I left the chart this time," she explained to the woman at the desk when she came back after five minutes (the last two of which were spent fighting with the vending machine over her bag of peanut M&M's).
"Fair enough." She was passed another chart, this one about a fourth as thick. The woman's face told more than the file. "Little old lady complaining of diarrhea."
"Ugh. Next time, don't tell me. Now I have to think it about all the way up to the third floor."
Suddenly the cell phone in her pocket started buzzing, reminding her of the fact that she had forgotten to transfer it to her locker after changing at the start of shift. The little screen read Home. Normally she would have taken the call into the bathroom or down an empty hall, but her boss had been in an especially bad mood all morning and didn't want to piss him off any more. With a guilty wince, she silenced it.
She spent the next hour taking chart notes for several patients, most of which weren't serious and with a cast or prescription were fit for release. Grunt work, honestly. However, even the steady flow of names and faces and ailments couldn't keep that phone call out of her mind for long. Her boys were self-sufficient (to an extent, she would admit), and knew enough to not call her at work unless it was an emergency. Eddy, of course, was liable to call as he pleased (as he had proven the past week when he had asked if he could get a pet iguana. When she got a spare moment she snuck into an unused room to check her cell phone.
Four Missed Calls..
Just as she was pressing the send button, the door flew open. "Hey, we could use you in two-thirteen. Chart's on the door." Feeling annoyed, she grunted out an affirmative, the man leaving the room just in time for her home voicemail box to click on.
By the time she pulled the chart from the holder outside the door, her mothers' mind was already dreading all the shenanigans Eddy could possibly be getting up to that required not one but five calls during work hours. (Granted, any of those could have belonged to her husband who - good for him - didn't have to work on Saturdays, but Robert had learned sometime around their third year of marriage that workplace hanky was a big no-no. Even over the phone.) She had let the two boys spend the night, and had left Eddy instructions to either find entertainment at their home or Eddward's, so she couldn't think of any reason for him to be calling that wouldn't end in an argument. Frankly, she felt bad for whoever was behind the door, because she was certain that she was failing at keeping the frown off her face.
She was surprised, however, when she opened the door. Her son and his smart little friend stared wide-eyed back, both pressing bags of ice to one of Eddward's arms.
Yes, I'm evil. 3 Enjoy it.
So here is your Valentine's Day (AKA: Singles Awareness Day) present. Be sure to give me one back with your review! 3
Things are really going to be picking up from here, the most urgent being the matter of Eddward and his suspiciously absent parents.