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He stares at the emergency call list, dreading the next call he’ll have to make. No choice. He’s got to do it. It’ll only make things worse if he doesn’t. He’s got to call and disrupt her ‘girls long weekend away’.
Max’s temperature has slowly increased over the last 24 hours, spiking during their visit at the doctor’s office, where they’d confirmed that it wasn’t just sniffles. Not even as simple as a bad cold. All the firsts he’d fought for, tooth and nail for, and he wins his two year old’s first bought with the flu.
Little Man has been a trooper, though… a miserable little trooper, snuggling into Tom’s arms like a hedgehog, trying to get as comfortable as he can while periodically wiping his snotty nose into Tom’s shirt.
Max’s GP had warned him to wipe everything down, disinfect all that he can and wash the rest, which he’ll do once he can unwind his son from around his torso. For now he’s more than happy to continue right on letting his shirt be a much needed tissue and do his best to comfort his son.
He sets the emergency call list aside, tipping the pair of them to the left just enough that he can scoop up the paperwork for the medicines that Max’s GP had prescribed. Once more through the list, and a mental review of all that had been conveyed before he calls her. Just once more to make sure he’s got it all straight in his head.
He’d done it all by the book, done everything right to try to combat a cold. And done the right thing again when he called to schedule a visit as soon as Max’s temperature hit 37.7° celcius. Yes, though it had been higher even than that at the doctor’s office, it wasn’t unheard of for children’s temperatures to soar like that when they were seriously ill.
Seriously ill.
Tom closes his eyes, still rubbing his fingertips in small circles over Little Man’s back as he wearily admits the truth of what will happen when he makes the call. He’ll start to explain things, try to assure her that he’s got it all taken care of… that there’s no need to worry, he can be trusted with this…
She’s going to freak out, with accusations not far behind.
He sighs, fluttering his eyes open to stare at the device sitting next to Max’s medication. It’ll be worse the longer he waits, but he can’t quite bring himself to lean forward again to pick the device and make the call. She’ll want to know why he didn’t let her know sooner - while still at the doctor’s office, or before.
Better to just get it over with. Let her go ahead and decide to end the trip early, head back and scoop their son up.
Steeling himself for the inevitable cold shoulder, Tom sits forward on the couch, shifting Max in his arms as Little Man’s body shakes with a series of struggled coughs. At least the heat radiating between them isn’t as intense as it was before. It may be purely in his head, but it feels like the medicine is already hard at work.
Max quiets while Tom is still listening to the tones of the connecting call. That’s good. If she answers and hears him coughing the heated words will start before Tom is even able to hazard an explanation.
“Hello?”
It’s not Max’s mother that answers.
Tom blinks and pulls his phone away from his ear to check which number he’d dialed. Definitely Max’s mother. Which means she’d seen his name pop up on the screen and handed it off to her best friend rather than answer.
Typical.
“Hey. Uh.” Tom fights to keep his annoyance hidden, his voice light as he can manage given the circumstances. “Hey, Izz. I need to talk to her.”
His one-time-friend issues a sigh over the phone he feels mirrored in his bones. Weary. Worn through from the length and intensity of the battles. “Tom…”
Max squirms in Tom’s arms, emitting an unhappy noise. It’s all the push Tom needs to momentarily forget playing nice with Isabetta. “I. Don’t. Care that she doesn’t…” He catches himself before he careens over the proverbial cliff, feeling his son burrow a little further into his chest, “Put her on the phone, Izzy. Now.”