“Paper bits in orange juice is just wrong,” I agree, still holding the phone up.
“Right? Anyone who is against plastic straws is basically a devil worshipper! I mean, the plastic bendy straws are so much fun. And are these metal ones really better for the environment? Like sure, they’re not going to harm the turtles, but they could harm something else.” She punctuates that statement with a long slurp. “What if you dropped it in the ocean, and a big fish ate it and then they couldn’t poop it out? Then he’d have a metal straw sitting in his belly until his stomach acid dissolved it. Do you think that would cause heartburn? I bet it would. So see, metal straws aren’t better for the big fish at all!”
Avery chases the straw around in her glass and takes another aggressive gulp before continuing her weed-brownie-fueled rant. “And turtles are cute and all, but they’re super stinky. And some of them bite, which isn’t cute at all. Sometimes I really miss the fun, non-environmentally friendly versions of the less fun things we have to use now, especially plastic bendy straws. I wonder if you can get them on the black market. I bet you can. Can someone pass me my phone?”
Jerome is laughing so hard, he’s not even making sounds anymore.
“Would you like me to look it up for you so you can keep drinking your juice?” I ask.
“Oh yes, that’d be awesome. This is the best orange juice I’ve ever had. But do you know what would make it better?” She cocks a knowing brow.
“A plastic bendy straw?”
“Exactly! What if I accidentally try to chew on the end of this thing and chip my freaking tooth? What if a turtle tried to chew on it and chipped his tooth? Turtles aren’t the only important species out there. People matter too!”
Avery finally seems to realize that the guys are dying of laughter.
“What’s so funny? Why are you guys laughing? This is super serious. I need bendy straws in my life, and the turtles are making it impossible!”
Avery rants about the lack of bendy straws in her life and the unfortunate odor of turtles, and then she goes so far as to question whether climate change even exists. Which I’m aware isn’t at all how she really feels.
Unfortunately, I’m not allowed to put my phone down until she’s done. It isn’t until I finally look at the screen that I realize that instead of stopping the video, I’ve been recording the entire time. Avery takes my phone out of my hand and mumbles about sending it to herself. I have my doubts that she’ll even be able to manage that feat considering the way she jabs at the screen.
After a minute she gives up and tells me I need to make sure I send it to her. Then she announces that she has to pee. “Can you get me my crutch, Nurse Declan?”
“It’s probably easier if I wheel you there, don’t you think?” I honestly don’t think she’ll be able to balance at all in her current state.
“Hmm, maybe you’re right. I feel like my butt has magnets in it and wants to stay on this couch.” She tries to lean forward, but flops back against the cushions. “If I had a peen like the rest of you, then I could just whip it out and aim for a bucket. Peens are weird but convenient, vags not so much.”
Avery is a rag doll, so getting her off the couch is a struggle. Her face ends up mashed against my neck.
“You smell yummy,” she mutters. “Way better than a turtle.”
“Well, that’s reassuring since turtles are apparently super stinky.”
“They’re adorable but gross. You’re not gross, though. You’re the opposite of gross. I don’t know why I never really noticed how not gross you are before you became my nurse.”
“Maybe you could tell me about that later, when everyone goes home,” I whisper in her ear as I help shift her into her wheelchair.
“Okay, that sounds like fun.”
I’m not sure I trust in her ability to manage the bathroom without assistance, so I stand outside the door and wait until she calls me back in.
She doesn’t even bother to pull her shorts back up, so I take them off for her and drop them on the floor, leaving her in a long nightshirt and one of my oversized hoodies. “I think I might need to go to bed. My head is still so heavy, but light, like a lead balloon,” she tells me as I help move her back to her chair.
“Okay, want to say good night to the guys, then?”
“Yeah, that’d be good.” She nods once, head loose and floppy.
I wheel her back out to the living room where she mumbles a garbled, less than perfectly coherent good night. “Next time I won’t eat all the special brownies.” The words are slurred.