“Then take some more and you’ll probably feel okay enough to eat.” I pick up the Advil bottle and shake it. The pills rattle, but I notice something. “Hey, these are expired.”
“Only by six weeks,” she says defensively.
I don’t understand how anybody can shrug off taking something that’s gone past its due date. “They’ve probably turned into poison by now.”
She gives me a look. “I Googled. It’s fine.”
“No, it isn’t. No wonder you’re still sick. I’ll be back.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but I stuff the bottle into my pocket—just in case she’s stubborn enough to take one to spite me—and head back to the store to grab some over-the-counter stuff for her.
Once I step inside the store, I realize I have no idea what I’m doing. The only thing I buy is aspirin for the rare occasion when I get a mild headache.
–Me: What’s the best OTC medicine for when you feel bad? Like a headache and your throat hurts.
–Emmett: Are you sick?
He adds a shocked emoji.
–Noah: Brain tumor? That might explain your unnatural IQ.
I roll my eyes. Leave it to Noah to jump to not only the wrong conclusion, but themostwrong conclusion.
–Griffin: Cough drops. Advil or Tylenol?
–Sebastian: My grandmother swears by cholera septic.
I pull back.What the fuck?I’m not buying Aspen anything named “cholera septic,” no matter how good it is. Her opinion of me has improved somewhat since the tango fiasco, and I don’t want it dropping back down toasshole.
–Sebastian: Dammit, Chloraseptic! Stupid autocorrect. It’s a throat spray.
–Me: I was wondering about your grandmother.
Now armed with knowledge, I stare down at the OTC med aisle. Jesus. It’s full of stuff. Cough drops, Advil and Tylenol in all sorts of variations. Gels. Tablets. AM. PM.Dual Action…which sounds kind of dirty.
Since I’m not sure, I just grab one of each variety of Advil and Tylenol, including Dual Action just in case regular old single action doesn’t do it for her. Plus that Chloraseptic spray, and three bags each of the different varieties of cough drops.
Armed with supplies, I head back to Aspen’s place. The door to Howell Hall is once again locked. I debate texting her, but don’t want her leaving her bed and having to come all the way down the stairs to let me in. Thankfully, a student is on his way out, and I go in, trying to look like I belong in the dorm. Unlike that chick earlier, this guy doesn’t seem to notice or care about me.
When I go to Aspen’s room and triumphantly lift the bulging bags to show her what I brought, she blinks dully.
“What am I supposed to do with all that?” she croaks.
“Take some, and then take more.” I feel like an unlicensed doctor. “Get better.”
She takes the bags in slow motion and dumps them on her bed. Spread out, the haul takes up at least a third of the mattress. “Eight bottles of Advil? And Tylenol? And how many bags of cough drops did you…? Oh my God, there’s, like,twenty.” She collapses back onto her pillow.
Maybe I did go a little overboard. But how was I supposed to know what she needs? “Just think of them as gifts,” I say, feeling a bit ridiculous. I’ve never given girls OTC drugs. When the occasion demands, I go with roses because they’re easy. But then everything with Aspen’s been irregular.
“Thanks.”
A small smile comes over her wan face, and it breaks something inside me. Even though she’s been sick and hasn’t showered in days, she’s so pretty when she smiles, her green eyes crinkling with warmth. My heart and belly feel funny, like with heartburn, except it doesn’t hurt.
“Why don’t you start with that throat spray, and I’ll heat the soup up for you?” I need some time to figure out why I’m reacting like this. It’s like the air in Howell Hall is tainted with hallucinogenic drugs or something.
She nods.
The second I leave her room with a can, I realize I have no clue how to operate the stove. Actually, I’ve never been to any kitchen except to grab something from the fridge or use the microwave. I know you can’t microwave metal.
