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Three times that Hannah & Baker help each other survive freshman year.
I. Homesickness
It’s really not that Hannah craves being home, nestled in her bedroom at her parents’ house. Home isn’t what she misses the most. That’s probably because home is where the heart is, which means hers is at LSU with Baker.
Hannah saw her in her new LSU environment two weeks ago. Baker was made for college life. She knows the name of every girl on her floor and eats meals with different people pretty much every day. Baker spends her evenings with her volleyball teammates or with other girls who are planning to rush the same sorority in the spring. She has a biology study group with people that are actually not super nerds. Class President Baker from St. Mary’s has rolled over into Super-Involved-And-Loved-By-All Baker at LSU without a hitch.
It was a short visit - a quick flight out of Atlanta in the early afternoon on Friday, returning after dinner on Sunday. Yet forty-eight hours was plenty to see how perfectly Baker manages to fit in at LSU.
Hannah’s trying. She’s taking classes in a bunch of different subjects, hoping to find something that inspires her enough to major in it. She has people to eat dinner with that she met in her freshman orientation group. There have been club meetings, movie nights, and events set up to keep the freshmen on campus during those first few weekends. Hannah attends, determined to put herself out there. And she thinks she’s doing okay. That is, until she sees how perfectly college suits Baker.
Despite her growing commitments, Baker never misses a single phone call or FaceTime date. She’s as sturdy as a boulder, unwavering in her devotion. Hannah knows it’s silly to be upset that her girlfriend is so well-adjusted. The nagging insistence in the back of her mind that she should have chosen LSU as well keeps her up at night. If nothing else, she would have had Baker around to make things easier.
Emory’s campus is beautiful, especially now that the leaves are all starting to change color. Her classes are interesting, and she knows that Emory offers everything that people imagine about the college experience. Then why is it that Baker seems to love college so much more than she does?
It’s after midnight on Wednesday and Hannah is still up, trying to get through her reading for class the next morning. She rubs tiredly at her eyes and yawns loudly, trying to push the exhaustion out of her system so that she can absorb some of the text in front of her. On the other side of the room, her roommate Jessie has her earbuds in as she flips through her chemistry notes, mumbling every once in a while as she recites definitions. The difference is that Jessie actually likes chemistry. Hannah, on the other hand, sort of hates everything about her Ethics class. Eventually she flips over to Facebook, and the first thing on her feed is a picture of Baker with two girls that Hannah didn’t get to meet in her short visit. Baker’s face is shining with sweat, and the three of them wear matching volleyball team t-shirts. They grin giddily at the camera, arms thrown around one another’s shoulders like they’ve known one another for a lot longer than a month.
Hannah’s stomach twists, the knot that has been growing over there the past two weeks tightening uncomfortably. She shuts down her laptop and grabs her toiletry basket, deciding that she might as well wash up and get some rest.
When she climbs into bed, she cradles her phone in her hand. The screen is void of new messages, but she stares at the background photo. Baker’s easy smile is lit up against the sunset behind her, happiness etched in every wrinkle around her eyes. Hannah is at her side, lounging in the grass. That last night with the Six Pack had been one of the best of the summer.
She presses on the tile that opens her text message inbox and scrolls through old messages from Baker. Her heart swells at Baker’s words, words that she knows are only meant for her. Her yawns grow more frequent, her eyes burning from fighting sleep.
I miss you, Hannah types out, pressing send with her thumb. She drops the phone onto the mattress next to her pillow. She’s asleep before Baker responds.
***
“I think I want to cut my hair,” Hannah tells Baker over their Sunday night FaceTime date. She runs her fingers through the blonde strands slowly. Hannah watches Baker’s expression, her eyes following Hannah’s fingers as they trail down past her shoulder.
“It looks really nice long, but I’m sure you’ll look just as beautiful with short hair,” Baker reasons. “Why the change all of a sudden? It’s been this length since I met you.”
“Exactly. I need something different.” Hannah glances beyond the screen of her laptop and takes in her appearance in the mirror sitting on her desk. Even though Hannah isn’t looking at the computer, she can feel Baker’s eyes on her, trying to figure out what’s going on.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll look amazing, Hannah,” Baker says earnestly.
They hang up shortly after - Baker has to meet her biology study group in the library. Hannah spends some more time staring at her reflection, taking in her gray-blue eyes and pale skin and the way that her blonde hair cascades down her shoulder blades, just as it always has.
Hannah eats lunch with two girls that live on her floor, Bailey and Sahar, the next afternoon.
“How is the infamous Baker doing?” Bailey asks, munching on her celery.
“She’s great,” Hannah replies simply. A twinge of guilt passes through her with the instinctual bitterness that arises from the question.
“Is that all? Normally you can go on for an entire meal about Baker,” Sahar teases her good naturedly.
“Baker’s perfect. She’s made about a million friends and she’s on a club volleyball team and she’s talking about rushing a sorority with a bunch of girls. Her grades are perfect, and she’s the queen of everything already,” Hannah blurts out, her cheeks heating up when she realizes the other two girls are staring at her. She pushes the rice around on her plate, her appetite fading.
“Well, from what you’ve told us, Baker has always been the overly involved social butterfly,” Bailey mentions. “Are you upset that she’s spending so much time with other people?”
“No, no, it’s not like that. I’m not jealous of Baker’s new friends,” Hannah corrects. The girls don’t respond. They continue eating in a slightly awkward silence. Sahar plays with her cell phone next to her tray. “I guess I’m just used to Baker being there to help me navigate everything. I never really had to reach out to make friends or get involved because when Baker is your best friend, those things kind of just happen for you.”
Sahar looks up from her phone and Bailey meets her eyes from across the table. They both give her shy smiles.
“You’ll figure it out, Han,” Sahar tells her. “Baker’s doing her own thing and you’ll find a way to do the same.”
***
Hannah’s test on Friday was nearly impossible. Taking it on an hour of sleep was probably not the best decision she’s ever made, but at least it’s over and it’s the weekend at last.
Sahar is heading home to visit her family and Bailey’s boyfriend is visiting from Florida, so she trudges to the dining hall alone for dinner. From her seat, she can overhear conversations all around her about everybody’s exciting weekend plans, revolving around Emory’s football game and a variety of frat parties.
It’s still early when Hannah gets back to her dormitory after dinner, though Jessie has already disappeared for the night, presumably with her group of pre-med cronies. Hannah sits down at her laptop and checks her social media haphazardly. Next door, the two girls laugh in high-pitched voices over the reverberating sound of their music. Nobody is online, and Hannah has no plans with Bailey and Sahar not around for the weekend.
Hannah picks up her phone and commands Siri to call her parents’ landline. Four long rings later, the answering machine picks up. Her mom’s greeting clicks on and Hannah hangs up before it beeps for her to leave a message.
What are you doing tonight? Hannah texts Joanie.
Big game against St. Joseph’s tonight. What are you doing that’s way cooler than high school football? Joanie responds minutes later.
Her stomach tightens. Is staying in and watching One Tree Hill on her laptop more thrilling than cheering in the bleachers with her friends? Of course not. They spent pretty much every Friday night of high school cheering on Clay, followed by some sort of party that a football player arranged. She didn’t live for those nights, but they were part of the experience of being in high school, and she was always happy when the Six Pack was together.
Oh, you know. All the fancy things hot-shot college kids do, Hannah writes back, trying to act nonchalant. Hannah’s glad that Joanie can’t see her face right now because she’d know in a heartbeat just how much she’s lying.
Joanie doesn’t answer her, and Hannah figures she’s too busy getting ready for the game or that Luke called after his track practice.
Hannah showers and changes into sweatpants before settling onto her bed with her laptop. She scrolls through the New Releases section on Netflix, though nothing catches her interest. She glances at the time. It’s only 8:30. Baker probably hasn’t left to go out yet - college events always seem to start so much later.
Baker picks up on the third ring, sounding breathless. Hannah can hear Taylor Swift playing in the background and a few girls laughing.
“Hey you,” Baker says, and Hannah can picture her girlfriend standing in a cramped dorm room, her makeup half done as she sips from a cheap beer that someone smuggled in.
“Hi, Bake,” Hannah says softly, instantly regretting interrupting Baker’s fun. She doesn’t want to be that clingy girlfriend that needs Baker to fix everything.
Baker doesn’t respond, but the music and voices fade and she hears a heavy door close. Suddenly, it’s silent.
“What’s wrong?” Baker asks her.
“Nothing, why?” Hannah feigns, forcing herself to sit up against her pillows.
“Hannah-bear, I know you better than that,” Baker chides.
“I just miss you, that’s all,” Hannah replies quickly, her cheeks growing warm. “What are you up to tonight?”
“I was thinking maybe a Netflix date with my girlfriend,” Baker mentions casually.
“Bake…”
“One Tree Hill or The O.C.?”
“Baker, I-” Hannah starts.
“I need five minutes to change into my pajamas and load up on movie snacks, and then I’ll be good to go. I’ll call you back,” Baker promises.
Exactly four minutes later, Hannah’s cell phone starts vibrating on her stomach. As promised, it’s Baker.
“Okay, so I’m scared to make popcorn because that tends to set off the fire alarm in this dorm, even if you don’t burn it. I don’t have ice cream because dorm fridges suck. So basically my movie snacks consist of some stale pretzels, a jar of peanut butter with accompanying spoon, and two containers of Greek yogurt.”
“Please tell me you’re eating each of those components separately,” Hannah laughs.
“You never know. Things might get wild over here.”
And suddenly it’s like they’re back in Hannah’s bed, her laptop warming the space between them. They decide eventually on Parks and Recreation, even though they’ve seen every episode a dozen times. Baker laughs early every time she knows a good line is coming up; Hannah mumbles her favorite ones under her breath.
It’s just them, just Hannah and Baker hidden away from the world. Baker doesn’t mention the fact that she ditched her friends to watch reruns in her dorm room. Hannah doesn’t mention how lost she’s felt lately. There’s no need. They’ve always been able to communicate without the need for words.
II. Failing Out
Hannah’s professor struts purposefully through the rows of desks, dropping papers onto students’ desks. Dr. Gellhart is by far her favorite professor with his inability to contain his passion for literature. It’s the one class that she makes sure to do all of the reading for, highlighting and writing notes in the margins of her books for the discussions in class. Hannah sits up straight as he begins walking down her row. She’s the third seat back and she waits as he gives the two girls in front of her their papers back. Finally, he pauses next to her and she watches as the ten pages held together with their staple flutter onto her desk with a small plop.
She flips it over, anxious to see his comments. Right on the front cover, scrawled sloppily next to her neatly typed title, is a red C minus.
Immediately, her stomach starts knotting up and she forces herself to slip the paper into her folder without looking at the comments. Students around her are flipping through the pages, glancing at the notes Dr. Gellhart has scribbled in the margins. Instead, Hannah pulls out her Norton Anthology and her notebook, prepping herself for today’s lecture, though with much less enthusiasm than she normally has for English Lit.
The next hour drags on, Hannah’s mind still fixated on the red marker marring the cover of the paper that she worked on for a full week. Dr. Gellhart is picking apart the week’s reading with his normal exuberance, but today Hannah isn’t enthralled with his performance. By the time he finally dismisses them, Hannah is the first student out the door. Usually Hannah heads straight for the dining hall to have lunch after English Lit, but today she turns in the other direction and trudges slowly back towards her dorm.
Hannah’s roommate, Jessie, is still in her Anatomy lab, leaving the room empty for the next two hours. Hannah drops her bag and tugs off her jeans, choosing to change into sweatpants instead. She flops onto her bed, the rickety frame creaking under her weight.
After lunch, Hannah normally heads to Ethics, but she has already decided on skipping it. She pulls the pillow under her arm and hugs it into her chest. It’s not the comfort that she’s craving, however, and she untucks only a moment later.
She faces the cinder block wall, taking in the grooves underneath the coats of glossy white paint. The contrast of the bright red ink against white paper materializes in front of her eyes, projecting itself onto the bare wall.
Hannah realizes she has no choice. She needs to see what Dr. Gellhart wrote about her paper. Delaying the inevitable, she moves slowly, first sitting up, then reaching for her abandoned bag. The paper is still tucked into her folder and she pulls it out from behind her notebook, dropping the whole folder onto her comforter. Reaching inside, she pulls out the stapled pages and immediately flips to the first page, trying to not notice the graze emblazoned on the cover.
Inside, it only gets worse. Each paragraph is covered in red pen, with circled words, underlined phrases, and filled-in margins with more notes than she saw on her any of her neighbors’ papers. Before she can even read the first comment, tears well up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She drops the paper back onto the bed before the tears can start soaking into the ink and lies back down, pulling her knees up tightly until she’s in a ball.
For a moment, Hannah tries to remind herself that she chose Emory for the challenge. She could have gone to college with her friends, skating by on her natural intelligence and throwing herself into the social life in the same way that Baker and Clay seem to be doing. Emory was her ticket out of Louisiana and into a whole new world, filled with endless possibilities.
It’s the middle of the day and she knows that Thursdays are Baker’s busiest day, but she still reaches for her phone, hoping to catch her girlfriend before her afternoon classes.
“Hey,” Baker says, her voice filled with that hint of excitement that always seems to be present when she knows Hannah is on the other end of the line.
Hannah just sniffles with the phone pressed against her ear.
“Hannah, what’s wrong?”
“Wh-what if I’m not smart enough for Emory?” Hannah chokes out. Embarrassment burns her cheeks at admitting it.
“Don’t be ridiculous. They don’t let just anybody into those fancy hallowed halls. Do you want to tell me what happened?”
Hannah rolls over to look at the alarm clock perched on her bookshelf. Baker’s next class starts in seven minutes.
“It can wait,” Hannah lies, squeezing her eyes shut in an attempt to get her emotions back in check.
She hears Baker sigh softly, and Hannah knows that Baker is aware that she’s lying through her teeth. As usual, Baker can read her better than anybody, even just from her uneven breathing over a phone line separating them by 500 miles.
Baker doesn’t say anything and Hannah focuses on taking deep breaths. Just knowing that Baker is standing there, probably outside of her next class, waiting patiently, makes Hannah fall a little bit more in love with her.
“You’ll feel better if you tell me about it,” Baker prods softly. Hannah knows that Baker’s right.
“I bombed my first English Lit paper,” Hannah admits, glancing down to where the paper is sitting near the foot of the bed. Baker hums softly, indicating that she’s thinking about her words before she shares them.
“Did your professor not like the angle you took for your analysis? I know how much you enjoy that class and that you put so much time into your paper.”
“Um, I haven’t read his comments yet,” Hannah says bashfully, sitting up to grab the paper again. She’s a little calmer with Baker breathing on the other end of the line and she reads through the first comment. It’s not terrible, but there’s definitely nothing flattering there.
“Do you want to read them to me or would you rather me just stay here while you get through it?”
Hannah responds by verbalizing the first comment, which basically tells her that she needs to clearly define her thesis in the introduction. It’s something she’s known since at least 9th grade, but as soon as she rereads the sentence, she understands Dr. Gellhart’s point. It’s weak at best.
Baker listens intently as Hannah goes through line by line, sometimes just reading his remarks aloud, sometimes commentating her own complaints about how harsh she feels he was or agreeing that she didn’t organize her ideas as clearly as she had thought. Her tears manage to be kept at bay, and by the time she gets to the end, she’s more disappointed in herself than in the actual grade.
“You should go talk to him at office hours. There’s nothing weak about asking for help, and I’m sure he’ll appreciate how hard you’re willing to work,” Baker tells her.
“Thanks, Bake. Sorry for making you miss class.”
“One class isn’t going to kill me. I’m always here if you need me.”
“I love you,” Hannah says, the words coming so easily.
“Love you too, Hannah-bear.”
***
Hannah spends the afternoon making up for her guilt over skipping Ethics by getting ahead on her reading and outlining her next paper for English Lit. She’s still not sure about going to meet with Dr. Gellhart - he’s intimidating and she doesn’t want to come off like she’s arguing about her grade when there’s still half of the semester to go.
She meets Sahar for dinner, though her mind is still fixating on Dr. Gellhart’s comments.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Sahar mentions after a while. “Rough day?”
“My English Lit prof tore apart my paper that I spent so much time on, so I’m just worrying about the next one that’s due on Wednesday,” Hannah confides, pushing soggy carrots around on her plate.
“You have Gellhart, don’t you?” Sahar asks. Hannah nods. “My sister said he’s really tough on people that he sees actual potential in. She took a few classes with him, and she got a D on her first couple of assignments, but ended up being fine for the semester. Though she says that he’s the reason that she switched her major from pre-Law to English.”
Hannah mulls over Sahar’s words. Could Gellhart actually see something among her sloppy work that’s worth his time? She doubts it, but Baker’s suggestion of attending office hours pops back into her head. She promises herself that she’ll at least ask him to look over her thesis for her next paper before she hands it in.
All weekend, Hannah works on English Lit. She picks apart his comments and puts the edits into her digital copy of the paper. She gains nearly two pages of text, but overall, she can feel that the depth of her arguments has strengthened. From there, Hannah takes those notes and starts applying them to her new paper. Words fly from her fingertips as she taps away at the keys of her laptop. By Sunday night, she has a draft that she feels pretty proud of.
Dr. Gellhart has office hours directly after their English Lit class on Monday, so Hannah stalls for a few minutes and lets him leave class first before walking slowly toward his office. The door is still open when she arrives and she knocks timidly on it, causing Dr. Gellhart to spin in his desk chair to face her.
“Ms. Eaden, come in,” he greets warmly. She steps into the office, leaving the door open behind her. “How may I help you?”
“Well, I - uh - I went through your critique of my last assignment and I redid it. You’re definitely right and I think I was able to do a better job on the paper for Wednesday based on using your comments, but I was just wondering if you could read through my thesis at least to make sure I’m on the right track.”
He gestures for her take a seat across from his desk, so she does. She opens the folder in her hands and pulls out a copy of her paper.
“Do you have a copy of your re-written paper with you?” he asks. Hannah nods. “May I see it?”
Hannah reaches back into the folder and flips through a few pages before extracting a fresh copy of her paper. Dr. Gellhart takes it and Hannah sits in awkward silence as he skims through the pages.
“The points of your analysis were strong in the original draft, but the paper just wasn’t well executed,” Dr. Gellhart tells her as he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “This, on the other hand, shows that you’re just unseasoned. You have potential to be excellent with some polishing.”
“Uh, thanks. I really like this class and I was disappointed with myself when I saw some of the comments. I guess I just haven’t adjusted to Emory standards yet,” she tells him.
“Well, this re-write is a great first step. Most students wouldn’t take the time to redo an assignment just to get better. Do you mind if I hold onto both of these and email you with more detailed comments?” Hannah shakes her head no. “Great. I’ll be in touch tonight so that you have time to make corrections before the due date. Keep up the good work, Ms. Eaden.”
She thanks him and leaves his office quickly and quietly. In the hall, her heart is thudding in her chest with relief.
Baker calls her later that night after volleyball practice to ask how her day was. They go through the basics, as they do every night without fail, Baker filling Hannah in on all of the latest drama with some of the girls in her dorm, Hannah rambling on about how much she hates her Ethics course. Eventually they run out of the regular play-by-play.
“So I went to see my English professor today,” Hannah tells Baker. She just finished reading Dr. Gellhart’s email with his promised comments.
“Oh yeah?” Baker replies, waiting for Hannah to tell her how it went.
“He read my new draft of the first paper and decided to change my grade to a B, which I didn’t ask him to do at all. And he really likes the paper I wrote this weekend and just sent me notes on a few sections that he wants me to expand.”
She can’t help the smile that pulls at the corners of her mouth as she glances over Dr. Gellhart’s email again.
“I knew you had it in you, Han. I’m glad that you actually went to see him.”
“Thanks for believing in me,” Hannah tells Baker. She knows she probably would have never went if Baker hadn’t made her think about it.
“You’re amazing. Sometimes you just need someone else to make you see that.”
III. Curse of the virus
The air is crisp, and Hannah breathes it in deeply as she walks back from her last class of the week. It’s still early afternoon on Thursday, but the campus is awake with people sitting on benches clutching paper coffee cups. It’s only the second week back from the semester break and everybody’s spirits are still running high from the holidays and from four solid weeks of good home cooking.
Hannah takes her time strolling along the path in the direction of her dorm, her hands buried in the pockets of her jacket. Her phone starts vibrating against her palm and she pulls it out to see Baker’s name on the screen.
“Hey, Bake,” Hannah answers happily.
“I’m sick,” croaks Baker on the other end of the line in lieu of a greeting.
“Oh, hon,” Hannah practically coos. “What’s wrong?”
“I think I have the flu,” Baker whines pathetically.
“You’re the only person I know who manages to get the flu when it’s fifty degrees in Baton Rouge,” Hannah tells her.
“I never thought I’d say this unironically, but I miss my mom right now. The dining hall is so far away from my dorm and all I want is chicken noodle soup and saltine crackers while I lie here.”
Hannah knows from her visits that the dining hall is barely a five minute walk from Baker’s dorm, so she knows her girlfriend must be really sick if she’s not willing to get up with the promise of a hot meal.
They talk for a few more minutes before Baker decides that she needs to take another nap. Hannah ends the call right as she’s walking into her dorm room and she grabs a duffel bag from the corner of her closet immediately after dropping her school bag. Within minutes, she has managed to pack haphazardly for the weekend, and she loads directions on her phone and prints a copy just in case. Hannah texts Jessie and Joanie to let them know where she is and she takes off across campus again, this time toward the freshmen parking lot.
It’s eight hours from door-to-door, and the minutes crawl by slowly. Hannah’s only companion is her iPod, which she blasts and sings along to for the first two hours.
By hour three, she’s starving and needs gas. She fills up her tank at a rest area on the interstate and grabs a burger and a Red Bull to keep her trucking along.
At hour six, Hannah hits traffic. Her legs are cramped and her neck is stiff. For a moment, she tells herself that this was a stupid idea. But immediately, she is reminded of how miserable Baker sounded on the phone, so she pulls over for a quick stretch in a McDonald’s parking lot.
A few miles before campus, she stops at the supermarket to grab supplies. Once she is on campus, she finds a place to park and tries Baker’s cell phone. It rings until it goes to voicemail.
Hannah tries Courtney’s number next - Baker’s roommate - and sighs with relief when Courtney picks up.
“Hey, Courtney,” Hannah greets, cutting the engine and reaching over into the passenger seat for her jacket and bag.
“Hey, Baker’s passed out. She’s been a zombie all day,” Courtney informs her. “Do you want me to have her call when she wakes up?”
“I’m - uh - actually at LSU. I was kind of hoping that you’d let me into the dorm.”
Courtney meets her downstairs and they chat amicably as they head up to the room Courtney shares with Baker.
Baker is snoring in her twin bed, her trash can overflowing with used tissues beside it. Hannah drops her stuff in the corner against Baker’s closet and thanks Courtney quietly. She kicks off her sneakers and places the grocery bag on Baker’s desk before lifting the edge of the comforter slowly and slipping into the bed against Baker’s back.
Baker sighs and molds herself into Hannah’s front. Her body is burning up, but Hannah doesn’t move away. She places her arm over Baker’s waist lightly and takes in the lingering smell of Baker’s shampoo on the pillowcase.
It’s 2 a.m. when Baker finally stirs. Across the room, Hannah can make out Courtney’s shape nestled into her own bed. She strokes Baker’s hair - which is drenched in sweat - and hums softly.
“Han?” Baker mumbles groggily.
“Mmm?”
“What’re you doing here?” She’s congested and her voice is scratchy.
“You’re sick,” Hannah states simply. It’s enough of an explanation. She’s sure that Baker understands why she’d drive over 500 miles by herself to be here, even though they’ll see one another for Mardi Gras in a few weeks.
Instead, she passes Baker the box of tissues and gets up to grab the bottle of Tylenol Cold & Flu from Baker’s shelf. Baker props herself up on her elbows and accepts the medicine. Hannah grabs a cold bottle of water from the mini fridge and unscrews the cap from it before handing it to Baker.
“Are you hungry?” Hannah whispers, perching on the edge of the mattress. Baker shakes her head and settles back down against her pillow with a sniffle. She reaches for Hannah, who crawls back beside her in the tiny bed.
“You’re gonna get sick too,” Baker tells her quietly. “But I’m glad you’re here.”
Before Hannah can even respond, Baker is asleep again, tucked tightly into her arms.
By morning, Hannah’s body is so stiff that she can’t wait to stretch out her limbs. Baker is pressed into her side, her breathing still even as she peacefully sleeps. Hannah doesn’t dare move so as not to disturb Baker.
Courtney gets up at eight for class and is in the bathroom showering when Baker finally wakes up. Her body is immediately racked with a coughing fit, and Hannah helps push her into a sitting position.
“You sound awful,” Hannah commiserates, reaching over for the bottle of water once Baker starts to catch her breath again.
“I feel awful,” Baker agrees. She takes a few sips of the water before capping it and tossing it haphazardly onto the bed beside her. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”
“Because I knew you’d try to stop me,” Hannah replies easily. Baker doesn’t bother trying to argue - Hannah’s sure that’s because Baker knows that she’s right and trying to disagree isn’t worth the effort. “And I knew that if I didn’t show up or call your mom to appear, you’d probably go the whole weekend without eating or drinking anything.”
“You know me too well,” Baker says with a smile.
By the time Courtney returns from the shower, Hannah has coaxed Baker into sitting at her desk. A bowl of canned Campbell’s Homestyle Chicken soup sits in front of her, steam rising from its surface. She dips her spoon in it and blows on the hot liquid before swallowing a bite.
“Good thing Hannah is here, otherwise your stubborn ass would be rotting away in that bed,” Courtney teases. Baker rolls her eyes.
“She is pretty stubborn, especially when she’s sick,” Hannah adds. “I’ve seen her show up at school with a fever bad enough to cause hallucinations just because she didn’t want to miss her Algebra midterm. Yet she managed to whine through the whole morning before the test while nibbling on Ritz crackers.”
Hannah smiles at Baker as she tells the story. Despite the angry look Baker is shooting her way, Hannah can see the softness in her eyes. She’s glad that Hannah is here, even if she’s going to tease her.
Once Courtney leaves for class, Hannah forces Baker to take a shower and change into clean pajamas before she lets her crawl back into bed. Baker lies down with her head on Hannah’s chest, and they flip through the daytime television programs with little interest. It’s not long before Baker is asleep again, and Hannah ends up watching Judge Judy as she strokes Baker’s hair.
They spend the entire day in Baker’s room, Hannah only forcing her out of bed once in a while to eat something. When Baker falls asleep again around nine, Hannah stays up and logs into her laptop to get some of her homework done. She’s distracted from time to time by Baker’s little, sleepy sighs. She holds her breath when Baker’s lungs rebel and cause her to cough before settling again. Even when Baker sleep, she manages to grab Hannah’s attention time and time again.
Baker wakes up late the next morning looking ten times better. She’s well rested and her fever has gone down, even though the cough still persists. Hannah kisses her forehead and feels Baker smile into her shoulder.
“Let’s go to Zeeland’s,” Baker announces, her voice muffled against Hannah’s sweatshirt.
“Seriously? Barely twelve hours ago you were complaining about me making you eat bland soup.”
“I want hashbrowns in our booth,” Baker demands adamantly, climbing over Hannah and up off of the bed. “Get up, lazy.”
Hannah pulls on a pair of dark jeans and exchanges an old t-shirt of Baker’s for a plain black shirt. Baker doesn’t manage more than her loosest pair of jeans and an old Hollister sweatshirt that she stole from Nate when he went to college. It swims on her thin frame, but Hannah thinks she looks adorable.
Baker doesn’t order anything besides hashbrowns and herbal tea, her stomach obviously still upset from whatever virus she’s trying to fight off. Hannah, on the other hand, has missed real breakfast food that isn’t rubbery scrambled eggs from the dining hall. She orders a platter with all of her favorites and warms her hands on a mug of coffee.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Baker tells her. “You’re better at taking care of me than my mom is anyway.”
“Well, let’s try to plan the next visit where we do fun things instead of me having to nurse you back to health, okay?” Hannah teases.
Baker attacks her hashbrowns with fervor, glad for some decent food after days of not really eating.
“I’ll even plan a date,” Baker promises. “A full-on romantic evening.”
“Oh yeah? I’m totally holding you to that. I want roses, starlit stroll, cloth napkins. The whole shebang.”
“Of course,” Baker says, sipping from her tea. “Only the best for my love.”
Hannah will never tire of hearing that. Her heart races. All of those times of sitting in this booth, wishing that it was more than brunch with her best friend seem to have set the foundation for this moment. Baker sits across from her, her hair tied up in a messy bun, Nate’s sweatshirt hanging from her slim shoulders. She’s perfect. This impromptu hashbrown date is better a night of romance would be with anybody else, simply because it’s with Baker.