Page 55 of Backup Plan

She narrows her eyes at me.

“Why did the coffee file a police report?”

“Why?” she asks.

“Because it was mugged.”

She offers an eyeroll with a half-hearted laugh, and I rub little circles on her back.

“My stomach is okay so far, and I figured the hot liquid would help with the throat,” I say. “And maybe the headache.”

“Caffeine isn’t known for curing headaches.”

I laugh and tick off the occasions when it actually is. “Hangovers, addiction to coffee…”

“Okay, okay,” she relents. “Can I grab a Gatorade?”

“Take anything you need.”

“I could spend the day snuggling, but since the boys are home another day…” she says, trailing off as she pulls out of my arms and heads toward the fridge to grab her drink.

“Let’s rest, but maybe if we’re feeling up to it, we can have a Mario Kart tournament later,” I suggest. “Or, better yet, since we’re all sick now, let’s veg on the couch and have a movie marathon.”

“Oh, love that idea. What movie?”

“I don’t know. What’s the best kids’ movie?”

“The boys love the Cars movies, the Lego movies, Sonic…”

“I haven’t seen the Lego movies,” I admit.

“Oh, you’re in for an absolute treat.”

“Yeah? You like them?” I ask.

“Who do you think got the kids into building Lego?”

I laugh. “You build Legos?”

“Uh-hum, excuse me, it’s Lego sets or Lego. Never Legos.” She rolls her eyes. “My prized possession is the Disney Lego Castle. I put it together myself.” She’s gloating proudly. “What about you? Are you a builder?”

“I was when I was a kid. I haven’t done a set in…oh, I don’t know. Twelve years, maybe? I guess football sort of took over my life at that point.” My Keurig beeps, and I grab the cup and fill it with cream and sugar.

“Well, time to get back into it. You can start small, maybe with one of the age-five sets your housekeeper picked out for Benji.” She winks at me with a gleam in her eye, and I laugh.

“Deal. But first…I need to go lie down,” I admit.

“I’m going to chug this Gatorade and sleep until the boys wake me up.”

“Moms don’t really get to be sick, do they?” I ask.

She pulls a totally sarcastic face. “Never.”

“I’m happy to take care of you while you take care of them.”

“But you have the man flu,” she protests. “Doesn’t that mean that, like, you can’t get out of bed for at least the next week and we’re on our own because it’s far worse for men than for anyone else in the house?”

I laugh. “Did your ex tell you that?”