Page 74 of Cava with My Colleague

“Jade’s coming?” I realize I’m parched, and as if reading my mind, Fernando stands and fetches me a glass of water. I chug it down.

“She called me and told me you were sick,” Fernando explains. He returns to my kitchen and lifts a pot lid on the stove.

“How did she have your number?”

“She called me from your phone,” he explains. “Before she left last night. She was worried. She’s going to stop by on her way to work today.”

Work. I sit up. “We have the presentation in Marseille tomorrow.” The smell from the kitchen hits me: warm, starchy. I’m hit with the memory of making Fernando white rice dozens of times when he was sick.

“Jade does. You have to stay here. She can⁠—”

There’s a knock on the door. Izan leaps up, nails skidding on the floor, huffing out little guaus of excitement.

Fernando opens the door, and there she is—dressed for work, her hair up in a ponytail. Her eyes dart to Fernando, then meet mine, and she gives me a small smile.

Izan greets her at the door, hopping and spinning in circles. Jade bends down to give him belly rubs, carefully avoiding the patch of hair that’s still growing back.

“Who’s a good boy,” she says in a soft, low voice, and my dog whines at her, trying to lick her face while still getting petted.

I watch from the couch where I’ve slumped over, completely relegated for Jade’s attention, and that’s fine. I’m just glad she’s here.

When Jade finally straightens, her eyes meet mine again. Cool, professional Jade inspects me. “How do you feel?”

“Better,” I say. “Who is going to translate for you tomorrow?” They need to send the right person. Someone who will handle the setup so Jade can focus on getting her nervous energy out, someone who’s going to be delicate with her on that opening line.

The corner of her mouth quirks up. “Stephan, from the La Rochelle office. He’ll meet me in Marseille.”

I relax a little. I know Stephan a bit, and he’s better than some random translator for hire.

“You must be Fernando,” Jade says, turning to my son with an outstretched hand. “I’m Jade. We spoke on the phone last night.”

“Yes.” He gives her a kiss on each cheek, and I watch him taking her in—the professional attire, the way she moved to greet Izan first, the casual way she checked on me. “Thank you for calling me. And for taking care of him yesterday.”

“Of course,” Jade says, and there’s that professional tone again. “Anyone would have done the same.”

“Not anyone would have brought him home and made sure he ate,” Fernando counters, and I see Jade’s cheeks pink slightly.

“Well. He looked terrible.”

“I’m right here,” I mutter.

They both ignore me.

“Would you like a coffee?”

“Oh, I couldn’t⁠—”

“Please,” Fernando insists. “It’s the least we can do. You took care of Dad all evening.”

Jade glances at her watch, then at me, then back to Fernando. “Just one. I have a meeting at nine.”

Fernando disappears into the kitchen, leaving Jade standing awkwardly in the living room. She perches on the edge of the armchair across from me—not close, maintaining that professional distance.

“You really do look better,” she says.

“I slept for fifteen hours.”

“You needed it.” She glances around the apartment—probably the first time she’s really looked at it in daylight. She takes in the framed photos on the bookshelf, the worn rug, the organized chaos of my life. “Fernando seems to be taking good care of you.”