One hundred and three

August fifteen. My eyes narrow at the digits circled in red ink on my phone screen. Is Josh right? Sinking my teeth into my lip, I contemplate redialing his number. Brandon's birthday is on the fifteenth, tomorrow, not the fourteenth like Josh was kind enough to point out. My hand grows clammy, I rub it on my nightgown and spare Brandon a look.

Sprawled on the bed with his head buried into the pillow, fast asleep like a child and oblivious to my confusion. A pang of jealousy shoots through me when he rolls onto his stomach and hides his face in the pillow. It will be a while before I can sleep on my back or stomach. Contrary to what the doctor said, I cannot get used to sleeping on my side. 

Maybe in a few more weeks, I might adjust to it, now, it’s a punishment. Sleeping on my back feels like a luxury I abused, every position is comfortable long enough for me to get tired and upset. They should have asked questions, told me the nitty-gritty in