He went from offering a rubdown to announcing a gift. There must still be some sexually repressed jock hormones in me because I’m instantly intrigued about this present. Wetting my lips, I raise one of my eyebrows in question.
“Get your mind out of the gutter.” He snickers.
“What?” I laugh when I know I don’t look innocent at all. “I didn’t say anything.”
“No, but you were thinking something. What was it?”
“Flavored massage oil?”
Laughing, he reveals a flat brown lunch sack type of bag and walks toward me, wriggling his eyebrows. “Maybe better than that.”
“What could be better than that?” I mumble under my breath, kind of lost in the idea of him massaging my body with his mouth now.
Smiling, he reaches inside the sack and pulls out a tiny cellophane baggie. Four different colored gummy bears pressedagainst the plastic stare back at me with their eyeless faces. I’m confused about this present for a second until I see the label on it.CBD.
“So, I know opioids are a big no for you, and you don’t want anti-inflammatories. But since you said your doctor told you that it would be okay for you to try CBD, I thought…” He frowns, looking at me warily. “Shit. I don’t want to enable you. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought them. When Jamie came to stay, he left these,” he says, starting to do his anxious rambling thing, “probably on purpose, since he’s always saying I need to loosen up. I did some research on them at work and asked the sports medicine doctor about using them for pain management if someone had….” I can tell he’s trying to avoid the word‘addiction,’and I take pity on him.
“It’s fine. I honestly don’t have the urge anymore. I’ve learned my lesson. I just go to Mahoney’s now and then when I’ve gone without sleep after a long flare-up, but I haven’t been there since that night I saw you and Jamie.”
“You haven’t?” he asks, sounding proud.
“Somebody showed me a better way to manage my pain.”
He smiles, looking humbled, and then glances at the baggie in his hand. “Um…I am sorry, though. I just wanted to offer you another option to try since you said you were having extra pain today, and I don’t think the rain is going to let up anytime soon. I…hate the idea of you hurting so much.”
Being a recovering addict makes you put up barriers and just saynoto everything for so long that sometimes you don’t stop to question if saying no always makes sense. I read a book about Johnny Cash once where he was quoted as saying,‘One was too many, and a thousand was never enough.’That mantra has kept me away from hard painkillers for over a decade, but if I could manage to control my liquid medicating for as long as I had, maybe a gummy bear won’t kick my ass. They were doctor-approved by a physician who knows my history, so, worst-case scenario, I can tell him he was wrong. Also, it would be nice not to grimace my way through the evening while Remy is here after his first day back from his trip.
Reaching out, I snatch the baggie from his fingers and open it up. The confusion on his face is laughable, as though he’s worried he just gave me a ticking bomb.
“How about half of one?” I suggest, starting toward my living room. Not standing while possibly falling down a rabbit hole sounds like a wise plan, even though I don’t think these things are supposed to be like smoking marijuana. “But only if you stay with me and take the other half,” I amend when I hear Remy following behind me.
“But…I don’t have any pain.”
Smirking, I’m glad he can’t see my face. He’s not the first person to offer me gummies. Alice and her husband told me about how they do them once a year when the boys go see his parents during the summer. The stories they’ve told me had me cracking up. I’m pretty sure I’m the enabler here, because I turn around and dig one of my knuckles in between two of Remy’s ribs at his side. He yelps, jumping back in surprise.
“Hm,” I hum. “That sounded like it hurt.”
???
Two hours later
Moving my heating pad to the couch so I could be closer to Remy was a smart idea. The addition of his body heat being so close by adds another level of serenity to the effects of the gummy bear. Sagging, he ended up with his head on my shoulder at some point. I can feel every vibration from him munching on hissnack, connecting us at the moment as we stare mindlessly at my television.
“Would it be wrong if we DoorDash more Rice Krispies Treats?” he asks around a mouthful, still holding the box in his lap that we had delivered earlier. There’s a pile of wrappers on the couch between our thighs like a giant heap of blue confetti. My gaze flicks to his chipmunked cheeks as he chews, eyelids half-drooped. “Asking for Gale?” he adds lazily.
Gale is sound asleep on the other side of him with her head on his leg. Whatever he just said, I’m sure it made sense, so I grab my phone off the end table, but decide I’m too tired to deal with it.
“No, but you do it. I can’t type right now.” I hold my phone out to him, and he finally grabs it after missing my hand a few times. Reaching into the box, I find one remaining treat.
Damn. We ploughed through these things.
On my TV, I watch a man who’s been possessed by his psychotic abuelo’s dead spirit. I can’t tear my eyes away.
“How have I never watched this?”
“It’s fucking bananas,” Remy mumbles around a mouthful, pointing at the TV. “And then as soon as there are bananas, there are even more bananas.”
I really want to know what happens next, but while that little bear didn’t knock out all my pain, it sure as hell mellowed me out enough that it made it easier not to think about it. I let out a yawn and fight to keep my eyes open.
