So this is turning into more than a mini-story. But there aren't many chapters left. I think we'll hear Edward's POV in the next one, since that seems to be in high demand. I really can't believe I already have 91 reviews after five chapters. I'm loving the feedback!

Chapter Six: "Phone Call" Bella's POV

I felt a little hand shake me from my sleep. "Mommy," a weak voice said. "Mommy, please wake up."

I opened my eyes and came face to face with the huge stain down my son's shirt. That woke me up. "Oh my god!" I said, sitting straight up. "Baby, are you sick? What's wrong?"

"I threw up in my bedroom," he said sadly.

"Okay, sweetie, come to the bathroom," I said, leading him by the hand. Once we were there, I stripped his soiled pajamas off and left him in his underwear. He sat by the toilet and rested his head on the side. I filled a paper cup with water and handed it to him, but he immediately turned to throw up some more into the toilet, spilling the water out of the cup and into the floor.

"Shh," I soothed him, rubbing his quivering shoulders as he emptied his little tummy. "It's okay, sweetie. Mommy is right here."

Finally, he sat back.

"Are you finished?" I asked him, smoothing his sweaty hair.

He nodded. His little face was white as a sheet and was extremely hot to the touch.

"You have a fever," I told him. "Let Mommy get you some more water."

"I'm sorry for spilling it," he said quietly.

"Baby, you know you don't have to apologize."

"But I threw up in my room—"

"Emerson, honey," I whispered, hugging him tightly. "I'm not mad at you. I'm just glad you woke me up so I can take care of you. I love you, sweetie. I love to take care of you. Now rinse your mouth out so we can go lay down. I'll bring you fresh pajamas."

He relaxed, gargled some water, and I carried him to the couch. He was shivering, so I covered him with a quilt. I took him a trash can, in case he got sick again. "Throw up in this," I instructed him. "I'll be right back."

Ugh, he had really made a mess in his room. I held my breath as I stepped over the puddle of vomit and to the closet. I pulled out his Buzz Lightyear pajamas and took them to him. He was practically limp as I dressed him-the poor kid didn't even feel like sitting up.

Now comes the hard part. I stayed silent as I went to the kitchen and found the necessary supplies. Emerson was very mature for his age in almost every aspect—except for when it came to medicine. That was when the baby really came out in him. He didn't like any form of medicine. He was a bear when it came to actually taking medicine. He didn't even like to have his temperature taken. "Okay, Bella, you've got to toughen up," I told myself as I grabbed the Children's Motrin, the medicine dropper, and the thermometer. I didn't like to force anything on my little boy…

He gave me a terrified look as I walked to the couch. "No, Mommy, please…" He rolled over and hid his face in the pillow. "No," he sobbed. "Mommy, please don't make me…"

I sighed. He always became very emotional when he was physically sick. The littlest things upset him. "Emerson, baby. Stop. Turn over and look at me."

"No!"

I dropped my items in the floor next to me and used my hands to roll him over to face me. It wasn't difficult, but my heart nearly broke when I saw him. His face was red with tears. He really hated medical care.

"Charlie Emerson Swan," I said firmly. "Listen to me. I really don't want to punish you while you're sick."

He sniffled, his eyes darting around, trying to find the dreaded Motrin.

"I have to take your temperature," I said in a very clear voice. "Your temperature will tell me whether or not I need to take you to the doctor. Do you want to go to the doctor, or do you want to lay on the couch and watch Saturday morning cartoons?"

"I wanna watch Batman," he whispered.

"Then you need to let me take your temperature."

"I don't like it, Mommy…I don't like it at all…"

"I know you don't," I told him, my hand going back to his forehead. I didn't have to have a thermometer to know that he had a fever…but if he had a bad fever, then that could require a trip to the doctor.

Please don't have a high fever. We can't afford this.

"But," I continued, "we all have to do things we don't like. I don't like cleaning people's mouths, but I do it so I can buy you food and toys. So can you put the thermometer under your tongue for me?"

He shook his head.

"Emerson," I sighed. "There is another way to take your temperature. It's very uncomfortable and humiliating. It's what they do to babies. You don't want to be a baby, do you?"

He looked like he was going to cry again.

"Fine," I bluffed. "Roll over on your stomach and I'll pull your pants and underwear down."

He blushed and gave a little gasp. Finally some color in that pale face. "No!"

"Then open your mouth."

He let out a grunt of frustration, balled up his fists, and hit the couch, but opened his mouth.

I popped the thermometer under his tongue. "I'm hoping that rude little outburst is a symptom of your sickness," I said disapprovingly. "I know that my sweet Emerson would never hit anything."

He only scowled at me and started to squirm. "Stop it," I warned him. "The way you're shaking the thermometer is only making this process longer."

Finally, the thermometer beeped. "101.3," I read. "So we're not going to the doctor…yet."

He let out a sigh of relief.
"But you still have to take some Motrin," I said softly.

"Mommy!" he cried. "You know I hate it! It's yucky and you are so mean!"

He rolled back over and pulled the quilt over his head.

"Fine, we're going to the doctor. He'll hold you down and force you to take it."

"No!"

"Then roll back over and take the Motrin, Emerson."

"I refuse!"

I closed my eyes. Bella, calm down. He's sick and he isn't thinking straight. You can't explode on him, no matter how difficult he is being.

Finally, I took a deep breath and said, "Emerson, you either take the Motrin or we're going to the doctor. And baby, if you want that bicycle for Christmas, we cannot afford to go to the doctor. I'm already scrimping and pinching to buy that bicycle."

He peered out of the cover at me. "That's not fair."

"That's how life works, sweetheart."

He retreated back under the covers.

I grabbed the remote and turned the television on. Luckily, Justice League was already on. Hearing the familiar music, he poked his head back out to look at the TV.

I grabbed the Motrin and moved so his head was in my lap. "We're going to compromise," I informed him. "We're going to sit here and watch Justice League, but only if you promise to take a little bit of Motrin for every commercial break. If you don't take the Motrin, then I drag you to the doctor and you don't get to watch TV."

He let out a heavy sigh. "You're a mean mommy."

I tried not to cringe at his words, knowing he didn't mean them. "I'm sorry you feel that way," I said quietly, attempting to sound indifferent, even though it was really, really hard. "Make your decision."

"I'll watch Justice League, but I'm not happy about it," he grumbled. "And I'll only take the Motrin if I can sit in your lap."

"I can live with that."

He moved so he was curled up in my lap, resting against me. I wrapped my arms around him. He was shivering because of his fever. To let him know that he was forgiven, I kissed his hair and rubbed his back soothingly.

Finally, a commercial came on. He tensed as I opened the Motrin and used the dropper to pull a little bit out. "Open your mouth," I told him.

He buried his face in my neck. "I changed my mind."

"Fine, we're going to the doctor. He might even give you a flu shot…you know, with a needle." He had inherited my fear of needles.

He sighed and gave in, tears sparkling in his eyes.

I managed to give him half a dose with the medicine dropper—yeah, he was such a baby about it that he used a dropper-but he made a show of gagging and refused to take any more until the next commercial break. However, he didn't feel good, so he wanted his mommy near him. I let him stay in my lap until I coerced him into taking the rest of the dose.

"Thank you for finally being a big boy about it," I told him, kissing his forehead. "I have to go clean up, but I'll be back. Call me if you start to throw up in the trash can."

He clutched at me until I pinky-promised him I would come back and hold him.

I went to his bedroom and scrubbed at the beige carpet with Clorox, trying to get the orange stain out. I sighed as I realized that I would have to have it shampooed. I wasn't angry with Emerson, of course. He was little and couldn't just keep himself from puking on the carpet. But I knew the office would give me trouble about it.

I called the office and asked them to send a maintenance man over to shampoo the carpet sometime over the weekend.

"That will be forty dollars," Jasmine told me methodically.

"Wait," I said. "Forty dollars? I can't afford that. And it's only one little square of carpet."

"That's the flat rate for a carpet cleaning, Bella," she replied.

"That's ridiculous. Isn't maintenance one of the things I pay for with my monthly rent?"

"You're the one who stained our carpet."

"Uh, for your information, my five-year-old has a 101 degree fever and he accidentally threw up in his bedroom."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she said insincerely, "but it's the rule."

I wasn't about to back down. "I really want to talk to your supervisor. I'm not asking to have my entire apartment cleaned. I just need one patch of carpet to be cleaned so the germs won't stay in my child's bedroom and so your carpet won't be permanently stained. And by the way, I'm a single mom who has an associate's degree. Every extra penny is going toward buying my baby one Christmas gift. I don't have forty dollars lying around!"

Jasmine told me that her supervisor would give me a call sometime. I let out quite a loud noise of disgust and dropped to my knees to scrub at the carpet some more.

My phone rang a couple of minutes later. I didn't even look at the caller ID before I answered it. "Hello?"

"Is it a bad time?" the musical voice asked me.

I instantly smiled. "Well, I'm scrubbing a vomit stain out of the carpet and my son is deathly afraid of a thermometer and Children's Motrin. But other than that, it's a peachy time."

"Uh oh," Edward replied. "There's a twenty-four hour bug going around. Call me back when the little guy feels better, okay?"

"No, it's fine," I assured him. "He's watching cartoons while I try to clean up. You're saving me from some pointless Clorox-ing. I thought you were busy today."

"I am. Alice is dragging us to the mall so she can buy Emmy an outfit for a Christmas party. Alice just went into a Victoria's Secret, and Emmy says it's not cool to be with your dad at the mall, so I'm avoiding the lingerie store by chilling at the food court…and I'm wishing I could buy some Chik-Fil-A chicken nuggets."

I chuckled. "Was the handsome and charming Edward Cullen just rejected?"

"Yeah, by quite a beautiful redhead. It really hurt my pride," he joked.

"I bet," I said.

"You never replied to my text message last night," he remarked. "It makes me nervous."

"I was half-asleep when I received it," I fibbed a little. "Plus I didn't know how to respond." That was actually the truth.

"That makes me really nervous."

"No, trust me, that was the most adorable text message I've ever read," I said quickly. "But…well, I told myself the same thing—that Emerson would be my only man. And well, frankly…" I let the silence hang in the air as I searched for my words. Finally, I finished, "You're always in my head. And I'm not sure why. But I'm really attracted to you, and it's weird for me to be able to split my thoughts between Emerson and someone else."

"I know exactly what you mean," he said. "It's a foreign feeling."

I grinned as I moved and collapsed on Emerson's twin bed. "But it's a good feeling, too."

"Definitely," he agreed. "It feels so good to finally connect with someone who understands the importance of fabric softener and the pains and joys of being a single parent."

"I concur," I murmured. "And it's nice to have little doses of spontaneity…in between doses of Children's Motrin."

"Is it a fever?" he asked.

"Yeah," I groaned. "101.3. I'm really praying that we don't have to go to the ER."

"Alice's boyfriend had a similar virus recently," he said lightly. "It only lasted for twenty-four hours. I bet Emerson has the same thing."

"You're probably right, but it hurts me when my baby is so uncomfortable."

"Believe me—I totally understand, sweetie," he replied.

My heart turned somersaults at the term of endearment.

"I'll let you go be with him," Edward volunteered. "You can text me or call me if you need a moment away from the insanity of a sick child."

I giggled. "Okay. Have fun with your women."

"I'm missing a certain brunette, but I'll try to get her out of my head."

"I'm not sure I want to be out of your head," I said slyly.

He laughed sweetly. "The only better place for you is right next to me. We should still get together before Thanksgiving…Emmy already misses Emerson."

"I'm sure Emerson will have cabin fever after he recovers, so maybe we can go to the park or something," I suggested. "If this cold snap ever lets up."

"Darling, you're in Washington," he pointed out a bit condescendingly. "Cold snaps don't just happen in a snap."

"Guess I'm still an Arizona girl. The weatherman keeps hinting at snow, but I keep denying that it will happen. Maybe my denial will become reality."

He snickered. "Okay, Arizona. Give the little man a hug for me and tell him I hope he feels better. You will both be running through my head all day, I'm sure."

"Tell Emmy we said hi. 'Bye, Edward. It was nice chatting…we should do it again sometime."

"Definitely. See you later, beautiful girl."

I sighed happily as I clicked the end button. I gave up on the stain and went to clean up the water out of the bathroom. After I scrubbed the toilet, I went and poured a glass of Pedialyte.

"How's the tummy, Superman?" I asked softly, putting the bendy straw to his lips.

"I think it found Kryptonite," he said sadly before taking a hesitant sip.

I chuckled, put the drink on the coffee table, and moved him so he could lay his head in my lap. "You're one silly boy," I said affectionately. "You need to keep drinking the Pedialyte so you won't dehydrate. It's cherry-flavored, so it's yummy."

I softly stroked his hair as he watched cartoons. Finally, his fever seemed to break and he fell asleep. I quietly slid off the couch, tucking a pillow under his sweet little head, and went to the kitchen to make myself some brunch. I hadn't even considered my own needs all day.

I had one text from Edward waiting for me:

And when I touch you, I feel happy inside. It's such a feeling that my love, I can't hide…yeah, you got that something I think you'll understand. When I feel that something, I want to hold your hand.

The Beatles obviously own the song "I Want to Hold Your Hand." I couldn't come up with something that epic.

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