Page 65 of Give Me a Chance
“What did you take for the pain?” He takes out a few pill bottles.
“Ibuprofen.” He returns two pill bottles to the bag and shows me the third.
“Naproxen would probably be best, but it can’t be mixed with ibuprofen. So, our best bet is plain old paracetamol. The good news is you can combine it with ibuprofen and double the chance of something helping.” I put my palm forward waiting for him to drop some pills.
“Wait.” He heads to the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water. Looking in the bag, he fishes out another pill bottle and drops a single fizzing tablet in the glass.
“Magnesium,” he explains. “It’s good for cramping.” I wait for it to fizz out before downing it with two paracetamol pills.
“You’re like my dealer now,” I say, making him laugh.
“I brought snacks as well.” He smiles and starts taking the rest of the bag out.
“Wow, chipsandchocolate?”
“Don’t knock it till you try it.” He shrugs.
“What’s that?” I ask, as he takes the last thing out.
“A heating pad. When medicine fails, a simple thing as heat can go a long way.”
“How do you know all that?”
“I grew up with only a mom and a sister. By the time I was eighteen, I knew more about tampons than shaving my beard. My sister had awful cramping, and I was her support system, even when I moved out.” He talks about it like it’s no big deal, but all the guys I know run away as soon as they hear the word.
He gets back to the kitchen and starts heating the water for the pad.
“Here, you should probably lie down.” He’s back with the pad.
I do as he tells me, and he lifts my shirt slightly, pressing the pad to my stomach.
“Tell me if it gets too hot, but it should be borderline scalding.”
He’s right, the heat sears into my skin in an instant, but the surface burn relieves the deep pain. In a minute, I feel my stomach muscles relaxing, soothing the pain.
“What did you eat?” he asks me, and I nod to the pile of chocolate wrappers on the coffee table.
“That’s it? Wow, if I’d known, I would have cooked something for you.”
“What? Gnocchi again?” I joke, glad I’m fine enough to make jokes.
“I’ll have you know, I learned a new recipe yesterday.”
“Yeah? What is it?”
“A stir-fry.”
“Wow, someone really doesn’t have big expectations from you.”
“It’s my mom, and she finally realized the level of my incompetence, thank God. First couple of times, her ideas were way too complex for my skill set.”
I blame hormones for my eyes welling up imagining him and his mom cooking together.
“The food will be here soon.” He sets his phone to the side. “What are we watching?”
“Normal people,” I whisper.
“You don’t say, Ms Barnett? Is someone a closeted romantic?” I throw a candy wrapper at him, not dignifying him with a response.
