Saturday morning at 6:17. Even though The Murderess' visit felt much shorter, I'd still missed an entire day of work. Again. Head still on the pillow, I emailed Little Cut. "So sorry I wasn't in yesterday." I drummed my fingers. What was there to say? "I was very very sick. Much better today. Sorry again. Nora." I reread, deleted one of the "verys" and punched send. "Please don't come on workdays anymore!" I yelled into the universe. Then I watched the third season of "The Good Place" in bed with a frozen waffle. Like any sucky person would do. I knew when I was too rotten to even be around people. Like now. I wouldn't be nice to anybody I came in contact with, so I wouldn't come in contact with anybody. You're welcome, world. Sometimes the right thing to do is staying in bed all day.

Abby called around 3pm. "Want to come over for dinner?" I hemmed and hawed. "I'm making mom's lasagna," she tried, gently.

I closed my eyes. "You need to put in like a third less cheese and add some basil," I whispered.

"Okay," she whispered back.

"I don't think I can make it today." Right now? You suck. I heard The Murderess say. "Abby? Do I suck?"

I imagined my sister on the other line, twisting her mouth, thinking of a tactful answer. "I don't think you suck," she said, emphasis on the I. "I think you've been in a slump for a very long time and it's become a habit."

"Yeah. Maybe you're right." I curled up tight under my covers. "I'm sorry I can't make it. Next time?"

There was a very long pause. I heard my niece babbling in the background. "Are you okay though, Nora? You sound... different."

"I've been at Cutter Co. for ten years."

"Wow. That's... an accomplishment." We both knew that she meant "shame" not "accomplishment, but Abby would never say that. I'm the one who would say that if the situation were reversed. For the millionth time I admired Abby's resilience. Eric's too. They bounced back from things. They didn't let themselves wallow so long they couldn't emerge from grief and resume happy, normal lives. Not everyone can do that. Or, not everyone does do that, I suppose.

After I spoke with Abby, it occurred to me I hadn't brushed my teeth that day. I could do that. With a foamy, minty mouth, it seemed feasible that I might get dressed. Sweatpants and a sweatshirt, but still. That counted as "dressed" today. I was staring at my window trying to remember the last time I got my mail, when a text came through from Gwen. It was a picture of a dinner plate. The caption read: best sweet potato/black bean tostada I've ever had. We have to go here when come visit!

It looked delicious. Like something I could make for myself. With some avocado on the tostada and a margarita? Maybe some homemade queso? My mouth watered. I peeked out my window to the city street. I couldn't see the farmer's market from here, but it was only 3:30. Surely, it was still going on. I looked at Gwen's text again. I imagined texting her my own picture and telling her she talked me into it. I might not be ready for mom's lasagna, but I could make one stinkin' tostada.

My reflection reminded me I was a slob, but isn't everyone on Saturday? At least I brushed my teeth. I slipped on shoes and practically ran out of my apartment before I lost my nerve. But when I got down the street, there were only cars and people where it should have been blocked off for the produce tents. I spun around on the sidewalk like I might have missed an entire street of fruits and vegetables. A sign shivered beside me, its flimsy metal poles stuck haphazardly into the dirt beneath a young tree. "Farmer's Market! Every Saturday 9-5 thru October 14th!" Pictures of little squash and strawberries danced in a row, underlining the words.

October 21. I missed it by a week. In fact, I'd missed it every week for the whole summer. How had I let that happen? Now I had to wait until May. I scolded myself. How sad can you really be if you forgot to go every single week for the last six months? I had no right to be sad. No right. Also, the grocery store had everything I could ever want to make a tostada. Just go to the store, I commanded myself. But my legs wouldn't move. Annoyingly tears were blurring my vision. This is what happened to people who suck. Sucky things happen back.

"Nora?"

You must be kidding me. "Hi Carol." A little boy held her one hand. He was licking the fingers of his other hand. 

"This is my grandson Maverick." She swatted his fingers out of his mouth. "Germs!" He smiled a dimply smile at me. When she looked back up at me he stuck the offending fingers back in his mouth. I liked him. "What are you up to today?"

"Oh. I was going to go to the Farmer's Market. But..." I pointed at the sign.

"Oh yeah. They finish it up the second week of October." Yeah, thanks for the pro tip, Carol. We stood there a second while I took in how weird it was to see her outside of work. She wasn't wearing her signature cardigan for one thing. In its place was a jean jacket and... super cute, dangly earrings. Like the kind I would have worn before I stopped caring about my appearance. Was Carol stylish and I never even knew? My sweats were especially embarrassing now.

"We missed you yesterday. At work." Well, I didn't think you meant you missed me at your weekly euchre tournament, Carol.

"I was really sick. Hence the sweatpants." As if normally I was the epitome of high fashion.

She cringed. "Yeah, you don't look good." Why, thank you, Carol. She began rummaging in her purse. "Here. Take this." She shoved a plastic card at me and I took it without thinking. "Go to Bergman Deli and get their chicken noodle soup. It's better than any antibiotic on the market." It was a gift card. Carol was giving me a gift card.

"Oh, I can't take this. You might want it."

She was already shaking her head before I started talking. "Nope. Take it. Trust me. It's worth it to have you back at work. I was drowning in calls yesterday." I felt a tug of guilt. The way anyone feels when someone they're trying to hate does something nice for them.

"Sorry about that."

She shrugged. "Not much you can do about getting sick. Hope you're back Monday, though. Let's go, Mav. Hey! Germs!" She pushed his hand down again. This time when he gave me that mischievous smile, I returned with a little wink.

"Thanks, Carol!" She waved without turning around and I stood stupidly in the middle of the sidewalk holding the gift card. What the heck was I supposed to do with this? I wasn't actually sick and using it in my healthy state felt sacrilegious. I stuffed it in my pocket and headed home. I tried not to think about the picture of my tostada that I would not be sending Gwen. Instead, I replied to her text, "Looks good!" And slammed my apartment door shut, started the final season of The Good Place, and treated myself to another frozen waffle and a beer for dinner.