tarotgal

"Let's make a big breakfast this morning, what do you say? Eggs and toast and pancakes and..."

"Orange juice," Langston coughed. "Please, Lily. Go to the corner store and get us some fresh orange juice."

Benny, too, coughed. "And some echinacea!"

"Sleeping outside in the dead of winter not such a smart idea, huh?" I said.

"Seemed romantic under the stars last night," Langston sighed. Then sneezed. Again. And again, this time with a full on hacking cough. "Make us some soup, please please please, Lily Bear?"

It seemed to me that, in allowing himself to get sick, my brother had finally, and totally, ruined Christmas. All hope for my semblance of a decent Christmas was now gone. It further seemed to me, since he made the choice to sleep outside with his boyfriend last night instead of playing Boggle with his Lily Bear as she specifically asked him to do and which she specifically used to do for him during his time of need, that Langston sicko would have to deal with this crisis on his own.

"Make your own soup," I told the boys. "And get your own OJ. I have an errand to run in Midtown." I turned to go back inside and leave the boys to their nasty new colds. Suckahs.