Page 84 of Perfect on Paper

“What?”I was aghast.

“True story. It happened to a guy in my class. He was leaning over the bowl and his head dropped down and—”

“Don’tfinish that sentence,” I cut in. “Do we have anything we can give him to sleep in?”

“Um… god, this would be easier if we had Dad. How about Sparkly Sweater?” she said, referring to the oversized, cream wool knit sweater covered in glittery golden polka dots I’d worn to death in sophomore year.

“Why can’t he borrow something ofyours? You’re taller than me!”

“Yeah but you’re wider, Miss ‘Child-Bearing Hips.’ Sparkly Sweater’s the baggiest thing either of us owns.”

Brougham had shuffled backward to lean heavily against the couch. “Would you like a glass of water?” I asked him. He didn’t seem to hear me. “… I’ll get you a glass.”

Ainsley traipsed into the kitchen with Sparkly Sweater while I was filling the glass. “Do you think he can dress himself right now?” she asked.

I regarded the sweater in horror as blood rushed into my cheeks. “Oh.”

We gave each other a stricken look.

“I’m not doing it,” she said.

“I’m not doing it! He’s my friend.”

“Uh, yeah. That’s exactly why it should be you.”

“Friends whomade outa few weeks ago, might I remind you? Besides, you’re older than him, it’ll be like a big sister–little brother situation.”

“We don’t have that kind of relationship!”

Awesome. It seemed like my choices were: a) put Ainsley in an uncomfortable position, b) leave Brougham to marinate in his sweat-alcohol-and-vomit-soaked shirt all night, or c) systematically and platonically assist a friend of mine in changing his shirt.

I was making way too big a deal out of this. Why was I doing that?

Because,a voice whispered,he is not just a friend, and you know it.

Well, tough. Right now, he was just going to have to be.

And, frankly, I wasn’t trying to cross any lines on purpose here: I would have byfarpreferred Winona to be the one looking after her boyfriend tonight. If she called Brougham’s phone in the next thirty seconds or so, I’dhappilypass the job off to her to avoid the sheer awkwardness of it all.

“Okay, fine.Fine.Can you grab some sheets or something for the couch then?”

“On it.”

I knelt in front of Brougham with a glass of water and Sparkly Sweater while Ainsley traipsed off to the linen closet.

Brougham was propped up against the couch, motionless and eyes closed. I shuffled forward and gave his upper arm a small squeeze. “Hey, you awake?”

He opened his eyes with a start and nodded.

“I have something for you to sleep in.”

Unfocused eyes took in Sparkly Sweater, and he nodded with a renewed determination. “Thank you.” His words were already resembling English more than at the party. He started unbuttoning his shirt, and I rocked back on my haunches, hopeful that maybe I wouldn’t have to intervene after all. Unfortunately, he got three buttons down and gave up, pulling the shirt over his head instead, where he got promptly stuck.

“Help,” he said in a pitiful voice, as I assisted him to shimmy the shirt over his face and off his arms. I did my very bestnot to look at the smooth muscles of his arms, or the unblemished, soft skin of his bare chest, or the small folds that creased across his belly button as he hunched forward. Or the light patch of fuzz near said belly button. Or the sharp jutting of his collarbone.

Apparently, an attempt did not equal success.

I fixed my eyes firmly on his face and helped him pull the sweater on. This must be what it was like to dress a toddler. If the toddler was almost six feet tall.

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