My angels

My god, how long can one sickness possibly hang around for? Honestly, if I wake up at 2 o’clock in the morning in a coughing fit one more time, I’m going to have to ask someone to put me out of my misery.

The girls have been listening to me complain all week via text, phone call, and once in person when Jen brought some leftover empanadas to my office for lunch, but last night, they really let me embrace it.

“I’m just so sick of it!” I say for the tenth time.

You see, normally I’m not the one to complain all that much. In a typical situation, Eperly will be the one with the problem, Jen will try too hard to fix it, and I try to moderate.

But no person is any one thing, and no situation will play out always the same, so right now, Eperly and Jen are listening to every word I’m saying, patient concern on their faces, waiting for me to be ready to be offered the advice they have both clearly come prepared with.

“Have you been taking those immune capsules I gave you?” Jen asks when she’s sure it’s her turn.

“Yes,” I say, trying to stifle my sigh, because I am grateful. I just don’t necessarily believe they’re working.

Jen catches all of that in my expression.

“Are you taking four a day?” She presses.

“Most days.”

She gives me that look of ‘well that’s probably why it’s not working isn’t it’, but doesn’t say anything.

“Wait,” Eperly says, having just thought of something, “So you’re waking up at 2am? Every morning?”

“Pretty much.” I say, taking a sip of prosecco then a sip of water straight after, as if to prove to Jen that I am, in fact, taking care of myself.

“Are you seeing 222 on the clock?”

“Like, 2:22?”

“Yeah.”

I see Jen purse her lips, already amused.

“Do you know what that means?” Eperly asks, like a scientist who has just found the molecular breakthrough to confirm the hypothesis that will change the world.

I look at Jen, who shrugs.

“No?” I say, slowly.

“Angel numbers.” Eperly says, her whole face lit up.

“What?”

“Those are angel numbers.” She says again.

“Okay. So?” I ask, not sure I want to hear the answer.

“Like, when you see the same number repeated, everywhere. Trust me, now that you know, you’ll start seeing 2’s everywhere. It’s good! 222 means balance, and cooperation and shit.”

“What’s your angel number?” Jen asks, trying to hide the smirk on her face.

Eperly glares at her.

“No one has just one angel number. That’s not how it works. You see repetition of the number that holds the meaning for you that’s relevant at that time. And right now, if you’re seeing 2’s everywhere, that means that like, balance is coming back to your life. You’re sweet.”

Jen laughs.

“There you go,” She turns to me, “You’re sweet. But I’d keep taking those supplements, if I were you.”

“Be cynical all you want,” Eperly says, “But someone is watching out for you, Jen. For all of us. The more you try to fight it, the more work you have to do for yourself, when the universe could be doing it for you.”

So when I went to bed last night, I can’t say that I believed Eperly’s guy in the sky was going to fix me before daybreak, but when I woke up at 2:22am, I can’t say I didn’t enjoy the feeling that it was meant for me.