Back when we went through nursing school she seemed super-smart, super-hilarious, and best of all, kind. So, so kind. But now, when I need her the most, I find that she’s not kind at all. My stomach is churning like a Cat 5 hurricane and my so-called friend is timing my ginger ale sips. I hate her. “Two minutes,” she chirps as she frowns at my cuticles. Not only is she tackling my nausea and non-stop vomiting, but she’s tackling my embarrassing lack of nail grooming. Her words, not mine. I close my eyes and pray for death as she rubs some horrible-smelling salve into my nailbed. I must have had the audacity to drift off to sleep because Sydney sounds irritated when she nudges my shoulder. I blink and see her coming at me with a teaspoon of ginger ale. “One of us isn’t appreciating that this is my first day off in thirteen days. I could be down at that cute little market shopping the craft stalls the fundraisers set up.
