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Leslie comes home at lunch, quietly opening the front door and shutting it softly behind her.
"Ben?" She whispers.
If they’re asleep she doesn’t want to wake them up, but she really wants to check on them. Needs to check on them and make sure everything is okay. And also she brought her laptop home with her so she can spend the rest of the day working at home.
Today Leslie has learned this—that she can’t concentrate at the office at all when both her daughter and husband are all sick, helpless, and miserable at home.
"Ben," she tries again, a little louder.
The living room is darker than usual, the heavy drapes drawn closed. It’s just when she moves past the back of the couch that she sees them—Ben on his back, still in sweat pants and his old Letters to Cleo t-shirt, laying down on the couch, eyes closed, their small daughter in her pink and green plaid pajamas laying on her stomach on his chest, both asleep. Ben is snoring. And drooling just a little.
But oh, still so cute even when he’s sick and leaking.
She walks forward, planning on touching their foreheads, giving them quick kisses when her daughter opens her eyes.
"Mommy?"
"Hi honey. How are you feeling?" Leslie kneels down, strokes her four-year old daughter’s hair, then sweeps her hand across the little sweaty forehead. She’s still warm, but maybe not quite as hot as earlier.
"Can’t sleep. Daddy’s snuggles good but noisy."
"Yes, well…" Leslie agrees, trying not to laugh. "You want me to take you up to your room for a bit?"
The little blonde head shakes side to side against Ben’s chest. “Stay with daddy.”
"Okay, sweetie," Leslie answers, giving the side of her head a kiss and then moving her hand to Ben’s face. He’s still burning up.
"Hey, babe, hi," he says sleepily, opening his eyes. "Is it time for dinner?"
"No, I came home for lunch. Did the nanny take the boys…?"
"To Ramsett Park, I think," Ben finishes, wrapping his arm tighter around the little form on his chest. "Or maybe the Ram’s Butter Pork—does that make any sense?"
Leslie shakes her head no. Picks the cool, damp washcloth up from the floor and sets it on the coffee table next to the bottle of baby aspirin.
Ben shrugs, gestures his head towards his sleeping daughter. “How’s she doing?”
"She seems better. It’s you I’m worried about."
"I’m just resting. I’m fine. Watch this," he says and then closes his eyes. "I’m doing cartwheels," he jokes eventually, eyes still closed.
"Okay, you can be funny, that’s a good sign. Do you want me to take her upstairs?" Leslie asks him.
"No. She’s all warm. Like a little snuggle blanket," Ben responds.
"You two are weird," Leslie tells him, smiling, as she gathers the soft blonde hair from over the small, sleepy face and smooths it back again.
"Like two letter P's in a pod,” her daughter tells Leslie sleepily, not even bothering to open her eyes.
Ben laughs. “Hey, that’s a good one,” he holds her little hand up and high-fives it with his.
"Okay, my two weird little P’s, I’m going to heat up some soup for lunch.”