“Whatever you say,” he mumbled. I swear he whispered “idol” under his breath.
Yeah, whatever.
After I had forced down almost half of the sandwich, I handed the plate back to him. “I’m done.”
He shook his head. “All right. I’ll make you eat more for dinner.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. Can you hand me the pill bottle?” I pointed to it on the coffee table.
He lifted it and then rattled it before opening it. “You’re running out.”
“Yeah, I need to call in a refill.”
He read the bottle. “Says you don’t have any.”
My eyebrows furrowed. “What? How can I not have refills when I just had surgery?”
“I don’t know. Email Dr. Simon and get a refill.”
“I can’t,” I responded. “It hurts my fingertips to touch the screen.”
He smiled. “I’ll do it, baby.”
“Thank you.”
“What if we get you some pot?”
My eyes widened. “Weed? Why do I need to smoke marijuana?”
“You know they prescribe it for cancer patients.”
I shook my head. “It’s not my thing.”
“I bet it will take the pain away.”
“I can’t smoke because of my lung they chopped off,” I stated.
“Well, get a vaporizer.”
I lifted my head. “A what?”
He laughed. “It uses water to cool the smoke, and you inhale it from a tube.”
“I’ll pass.” I frowned.
“I think you should try it. It’s natural and used for pain. It might help. Plus, it will give you the munchies, so I won’t be frustrated with you for not eating.”
“God!” I groaned. “You’re so pushy.”
“Maybe, but I love you, and I don’t want you to hurt anymore.”
“I don’t want to hurt either.” A tear slipped from the corner of my eye.
“Smoking pot won’t kill you. If so, I would have died in high school.”
“You used to smoke pot? Geez! I’m like the only one who’s never smoked.”
He chuckled. “Probably.”