There’s a very distinct theme, and most of the food items include peanuts or peanut butter. Under the treats are some non-food items. She pulls out a face mask and some lotions and girly things.
“A few of the girls thought you could use some pampering stuff for when you’re starting to feel better,” Mark offers.
“We didn’t want to discourage them, even though you’re not really into that,” Jerome adds.
“It’s really sweet, and by the time I’m back on my feet, I may very well want to be pampered. Declan’s doing a pretty good job of that, actually. I’m sure he’d be happy to help me manage a face mask and a foot scrub, right, D?” Her smile is sly and knowing.
“I’ll do one with you; that’s how much of a team player I am.”
Mark gives me a look I can’t quite decipher. I feel exposed and transparent today, like they can see through me. Which doesn’t make a lot of sense since I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m taking care of my best friend because she needs me. Yesterday’s reaction was a fluke. She was emotional and so was I. That’s all there was to it.
Eventually Avery needs to use the bathroom. She moves aside all the pillows and the blankets, intent on doing as much on her own as she can before she lets me step in to help.
She can almost manage getting from the couch into the chair on her own now. It’s only a matter of time before she’s ready for crutches, and then she’ll be able to get around a lot easier on her own. For now, I’m serving my penance and feel like I have some value. It doesn’t seem to matter that I know she’s right; even if I’d been the one driving, she might very well be in the same state or worse. The fact that I wasn’t there when she needed me still weighs heavy on my conscience.
I wheel her to the bathroom, making sure she has her phone. “You doing okay? Feeling tired or anything?” I ask once the guys are out of earshot.
“No, I’m good. It’s nice to have them here. Makes me feel normal.” We have the bathroom routine down and most of her modesty has gone out the window at this point.
I help her over to the toilet, and once she’s seated, she braces her foot on the floor and lifts enough to tug her nightshirt free. She’s wearing one of my old oversized hoodies over it—we cut off the sleeve so we can get her casted arm through it easily. The bulk hides her chest and the fact that she’s braless, which is her most frequent state—apart from when she occasionally tames her boobs with one of those strapless, claspless numbers that look a lot like a bandana or whatever. It’s also often what she wears when we manage the shower situation.
“Tell me if you’re getting tired and I’ll kick them out, okay?” I maneuver the chair so it’s not in the way.
“It’s the first time I’ve had the energy to stay awake past eight since I came home. I can sleep in tomorrow. I’ll text when I need you again.” She shoos me out the door.
The guys are half watching the game, half talking between themselves, at least until I return to the living room, which is when the conversation grinds to a halt.
“Anyone need a beer?”
I’m hoping this is one of Avery’s quicker bathroom trips, although none of them are fast considering how much she likes to try to do everything herself. She almost pulled the wheelchair on top of herself yesterday. She’s pretty damn stubborn when she wants to be, and I highly anticipate that she’ll try some maverick shit tonight.
When no one answers, I glance over my shoulder to find both of them staring at me. “What?”
“What all does Avery need help with?” Mark asks, eyebrow raised.
“She’s only got the use of one arm and one leg.” I uncap a beer and take a long swig. This is why I was apprehensive about having the guys over—that they would see exactly how much assistance Avery needs.
“So basically everything?” Jerome asks.
I cross the room and drop down on the couch. “It’s only for the next few weeks. Until she has some mobility back.”
Jerome, who is the most laid-back, slides an arm behind his head and leans back into the cushions. “So if she needs help with the bathroom, I’m guessing she also needs help with the shower?”
“Well, yeah, she can’t really do much on her own right now.” I don’t like their raised eyebrows and pursed lips. “She can’t wash her own hair, and she’s been frustrated enough with the whole process that she’s mentioned more than once hacking it all off. I’d prefer if she doesn’t make drastic, emotional choices because she’s desperate to have her independence back. So I’m making it easier for her wherever I can, since it’s my goddamn fault she’s in the state she’s in.”