Page 26 of The Sweetest Risk

“Who doesn’t watchFriends?”

“Crazy people.”

“Exactly.”

“Chandler makes sense.” She shrugs underneath the massive blanket covering her immaculate body. I want to be that blanket. I want to have my arms around her and be the thing that is comforting her. The thing that’s keeping her warm.

“So does Monica.”

“Why, because she has massive OCD, is super competitive, and is wildly insecure when it comes to her and Ross?”

Although all of those characteristics do fit the bill of Brooke Beckett, they aren’t the characteristics I think of. “No, because she is caring, sweet and funny.”

Brooke shoots me a shocked look, adjusts in her seat and goes back to eating her ramen.

Shit, was that too much? I try to discreetly shift the conversation. “You know it’s interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” Her eyes don’t move from her bowl. She pushes around her noodles aimlessly, almost as if she istrying to distract herself or is overthinking, which is also her speciality.

“Despite the fact that Monica hated Chandler for a bit, they ultimately ended up together.”

“Well, you can’t blame Monica for hating Chandler. He did call her fat.” Brooke’s cute little crease in between her eyebrows deepens as if she actually is Monica and someone did call her fat, which would be the craziest thing ever since she has the sexiest body in the world.

“Yeah, but he was only covering up his true feelings for her in front of her older brother.” I can feel myself getting defensive.

“No way. He legitimately thought that she was fat. And it was only after she lost all the weight and had a massive glow up that he wanted her.”

“There is no way you can definitively prove that. He didn’t mean for her to hear that. She wasn’t meant to hear that.”

“Well, how is she supposed to know that? Plus, some cuts run deeper than others. If someone said something like that to me, it would be hard to get over. Especially if I liked the other person.”

We sit and let the ebb and flow of TV laughter fill the silence. At some point, after we both finish our ramen – well, I finish my ramen about fifteen minutes before she does because she eats at a glacial pace – Brooke moves to start gathering up the dishes, but I stop her from getting up. “Don’t even think about it, Cupcake. Sit that pretty ass of yours down on that couch and relax.”

“You don’t get to talk about my ass like that, Hot Shot.” She raises up her bowl and I stack it on top of my own empty bowl. She has that pretty scowl on her face, one that I’ve grown accustomed to over the years. She still has some fire in her, even if it is doused slightly by her illness.

“Oh I think I’ve earned that right to talk about it like that, don’t you?”

Suddenly, her nose isn’t the only thing that’s red. Her cheeks match and I chuckle on my way to drop the bowls off in the kitchen. I see a small brown bag is unopened, which undoubtedly has her medication inside. “Have you taken your medication yet?”

“Ugh I hate that stuff. It’s the worst cold medicine in the world.”

“I hate to break it to you, Cupcake, but you kind of have to take medication in order to get better.” I take the bottle out of the stapled bag and read the directions. “According to the label, you need to take ten milliliters every eight hours for the next week. So if you want to get some sleep, which by the look of the bags under your eyes, you should – you might need this.”

She flips me the bird.

“Look I’m kidding…kind of.” I open the cap and pour the necessary amount into the clear medicine cup. I fill up a glass with water and head over to the little couch potato formerly known as Brooke Beckett. I place the medicine cup in front of her. “Here. Drink up.”

Her nose scrunches up and she sticks out her tongue. “No way. I’ll just let the cold pass all on its own.”

“Drink it, Brooke,” I say sternly. This woman is like a brick wall.

“You are not the boss of me! You are not my mother or brother, for that matter.” She finally scoots up and takes the blanket off the top of her head. Her hair is sticking up from the static electricity. I press my lips together because I have a feeling that if I laugh at her one more time, she will actually throw me out of her apartment.

I lean down so that my forearms are resting on the back of her obnoxious pink couch. “You’re right. I’m not and I thank God every day for that, Cupcake. Now drink the damn medicine.”

“You’re not going to give in, are you?”

“Nope.”

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