Brooke comes home not long after, keys announcing her before the door does.
Dinner is simple, a sriracha salmon bowl with avocado, one of Valeria’s favorite meals. They both make their plates as they talk about their day, before migrating to the couch.
Choosing what to watch takes a few minutes. They scroll, veto, reconsider, before settling on a home improvement show—something that doesn’t demand all their attention so they can talk but still feel invested in what’s happening.
Halfway through the episode, Brooke falls asleep, and Valeria stops watching. Instead, she’s focused on the rise and fall of Brooke’s chest, listening to the cadence of her breathing.
Valeria’s phone pings.
Camila 5:23 p.m.:
Any tips on getting Miso to take the medication? I’ve tried getting her to swallow it, putting some of it on her food, but nothing is working, and now she won’t let me hold her if the syringe is in my hand.
Valeria 5:24 p.m.:
lol. Yeah, I should’ve warned you. I think she took it easily at the clinic because she didn’t know it was sorta gross.
Valeria 5:24 p.m.:
You might need to work it into her mouth gently and empty it quickly.
Camila 5:24 p.m.:
I’ll let you know how it goes!
“What is so important on your phone that you can’t pay attention to the show?” Brooke asks, startling Valeria.
“Sorry, Camila’s cat?—”
“Of course,” Brooke says, cutting Valeria off. “I don’t know why I asked.”
“Brooke, you fell asleep. Why are you picking a fight right now?”
“I’m not picking a fight. You’re glued to your phone tonight.”
“Ijustpicked it up.”
“Whatever.” Brooke rolls her eyes at Valeria, before they settle back on the TV.
Valeria sets her phone down.
A few minutes later, the phone pings again. Brooke’s gaze snaps to it, then slides to Valeria, a stern, challenging glare that all but dares her to reach for it. Valeria doesn’t. She lets the phone sit there, unanswered. When it pings a second time, worry flashes across her chest. After a beat, she gives in and picks it up.
“Of-fucking-course.”
“Brooke, don’t,” Valeria snaps.
When Valeria opens their text thread, it’s a picture of the oral syringe on the floor, and the brownish-yellow medicine splashed all over the counter.
Camila 8:33 p.m.:
I think I’ll need a refill. She wouldn’t take it.
Valeria 8:33 p.m.:
Do you have some MiraLAX at home?
Camila 8:33 p.m.:
