I hear his forehead sliding along the wooden door as he squats down, probably too exhausted to stand. He chuckles bitterly. “I very much doubt they’d like to hear from you.”

Ouch. And there’s the jerk again.

“Who is it?” I ask, trying to sound unaffected. My voice is frayed around the edges, though, cracking mid-sentence.

“Rory, darlin’, this is not a joke.”

“You can’t leave the house, Mal, unless you’re going to urgent care—in which case I’m driving.”

There’s silence from the other end. The first minute, I’m guessing he’s contemplating my offer. The second minute, I suspect he might’ve fainted. I open the door timidly, looking left and right, but he isn’t there.

I step outside, frowning.

“Mal?”

I stride into the living room. The front door is slightly ajar. Surely, he didn’t…

The keys are in my hand, and it’s raining hail, so there’s no chance he just left. My eyes dart to the breakfast nook. The cake is gone. The little gift bag, too.

Jesus.

I jump into the car, still in my pajamas, and drive down the road. I catch him walking on the shoulder, cake wrapped in a plastic bag in his hands. He is soaking wet. I slow and roll down the window.

“Mal!” I yell.

His hair drips water into his face. His eyebrows are crinkled in determination. He is also a very unnatural shade of blue. “Get in! I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

“No, thank you.”

“Mal!”

“Go back home, Rory.”

“Please. I didn’t know…”

“Home.” He stops, turns around, and stares me down.

The finality of the word strikes me somewhere deep. Wherever he is going, I really am not welcome there.

“You can’t come with me, and I’m going no matter the cost. So your best option is to wait for me at home, really. You’re just wasting my time, and every minute I’m out in the pouring rain trying to convince you to stop following me is a minute I am still, in fact, standing in the rain, my condition worsening. Follow my logic here?”

Why is he so harsh? So broken? So…mad? He was completely different yesterday, and I refuse to believe this is all due to the fact he woke up with the flu.

But I’m confused, and furious, and a little forlorn over the way things have progressed this morning, so I throw an accusing finger his way.

“Keep walking, but I’m ordering you a cab, and you better be home by one o’clock or I swear to God I’ll find your mom and grandfather’s numbers and call them.”

I smash the gas pedal with my foot, leaving him there, with a soggy cake, a gift bag, and that invisible cord between us he seems to tug whenever I wander too far away for his liking.