It’s so kind.
It’s so crazy.
It’s not something I’d ever expect, so when I pull away, I feel an overwhelming sense of emotion start to tighten my throat.
Don’t cry.
Please don’t cry.
Not over a candy bar. I’ve already humiliated myself enough.
Keep it together.
But when I look up at him, and our eyes lock, I know there’s no way I can stop it from happening.
My eyes well, and immediately, he takes my hand in his.
“Don’t cry. It’s really just a stupid gesture. Nothing to get emotional about.”
“Too . . . late,” I say as I wave my hand in front of my face. “God, this is humiliating. I honestly can’t control it.”
He lifts his other hand to my face and gently wipes away the tears that have fallen down my cheeks.
“I’m sorry. I know this must be uncomfortable for you.”
“It’s fine,” he says.
Trying to make things not so awkward anymore, I hold up the candy bar and say, “Want to try it?”
“Right now?”
“We’re both awake. Why not?”
He cutely shrugs. “Sure. But don’t feel like you need to share it with me.”
“I’m not going to sit here in my bed, feeling more bloated than ever, and eat a candy bar in front of you without letting you have any.” I tear open the packaging and give it a sniff. The smell makes me wince. “Maybe it tastes better than it smells.”
“Does it smell bad?” I hold it out to him, and he sniffs. “Jesus, that doesn’t smell appetizing. How is that possible?”
“I don’t know, but only one way to find out.” I break off a piece for both of us. I hand him his chunk, and I hold up mine. “Here’s to the playoffs.” We clink our chunks together, and then both put them in our mouths.
I chew.
He chews.
And then we both stare at each other in horror.
I sprint to the toilet, where I immediately throw up while I hear him behind me. He spits into the trash can and then bends down next to me, where he holds my hair back for me.
“Christ, I didn’t know it was going to be that bad. I’m so sorry.”
I’m going to tell you right now, throwing up into a toilet is probably the least attractive thing you could do, let alone in front of hockey’s Prince Charming. Yet I can’t stop myself as I heave wave after wave until nothing is left inside me. And he sits there, listening to every last part of it. He continues to hold my hair with one hand while gently rubbing my back with the other one.
“Are you okay?” I nod and rest my head on my arm that’s draped over the toilet seat. Don’t worry, with my nausea lately, I’ve been swiping it with a Lysol wipe after every time I use it for this exact reason.
“Yes,” I say before slowly lifting up and wiping under my eyes. “I’d, uh, like to say, the candy wasn’t throw-up worthy, and the scene that just unfolded was more of a pregnancy reaction rather than a normal human reaction. Just need to make it clear, I’m not this dramatic about food.”
“So you don’t throw up when something doesn’t taste good to you?”
“Nope, not a normal occurrence.”
He slowly nods. “Good to know.” Then he turns fully to me and asks, “Are you seriously okay? The last thing I wanted to do was make you throw up.”
“I know, and the gift was super thoughtful. I think we blame this one on the Snickers, not on you.”
“I can take that.” He stands and then lends out his hand to help me up. I take it slow, just making sure I’m okay, and when I don’t feel my stomach roil, I walk over to the sink where I load my toothbrush with toothpaste.
He does the same.
And together, we brush our teeth.
And it feels . . . familiar. Like we’ve done this at least a dozen times when, in fact, we have not. We’ve never brushed our teeth together. We’ve always taken turns in the bathroom.
I glance at him in the mirror and find him studying me. Through a mouthful of toothpaste, I ask, “What?”
He smirks over his toothbrush. “Just can’t believe the first thing I do when I come home from a long road trip is make you throw up. What kind of friend am I?”
I spit out my toothpaste into the sink. “Clearly, not a good one.” I rinse my mouth, and so does he. We set our toothbrushes in the holder, and then I turn to him.
I don’t know what takes over me, call it the hormones or the fact that someone is here, and it feels comforting, but I step up to him and once again, loop my arms around his waist. This time, he returns the hug with both arms, and we stand there, in the bathroom, hugging each other. For quite a few seconds before I pull away.