Chapter 6
Paolo had to privately huff in amusement; Cora looked pretty pathetic.
She was slumped back against the headboard of her bed in a grimy old t-shirt and a pair of boxers he’d never seen before, and had both her hands forcibly tucked against her belly like it was split open and her hands were holding in all her intestines. Her face was scrunched into this expression of total annoyance and helplessness — but as Paolo came in, plastic bag rustling, Cora tore her eyes from the TV hopefully.
“Tell me you got me some chocolate.”
Paolo pulled out a gigantic Hershey’s bar from the bag with a capable smile.
“Oh my God, I love you,” moaned Cora. “Give it!”
“You’re so pathetic,” teased Paolo, tossing the chocolate bar over to Cora and earning himself a death look.
“You shut your mouth. You’ve got no clue how lucky you are. This is hell. I’m all… bloated.”
“I’ve heard it all before,” Paolo said as he shut the door behind him. Cora grumpily tore into her chocolate, mouth close to pouting. Paolo added, “I got you some other stuff while I was at it.”
“Oyah?” asked Cora, around the chocolate she was shoving into her mouth; she looked genuinely curious, and Paolo rounded over to the edge of the bed so he could sit across from Cora.
“Gina always got stuff like this when she was – y’know,” he said, carefully avoiding flat-out stating Cora was having her period. He dug into the Walgreens bag and pulled out a copy of Us Weekly. He hadn’t actually done the shopping – that was what Marisol was for after all – but he had given her a list of things he thought Cora might appreciate. That had to count for something.
Cora took it, chewing noisily – Paolo could see smears of chocolate on her canines as her lip curled. “Brad and Angelina are getting divorced? What the hell. Didn’t they just get another kid — Paolo. Jeez, like I care about Brangelina.”
“Uh-huh,” Paolo said dryly, watching Cora thrust the magazine aside and knowing full well he’d find Cora intently devouring the intimate and untrue details of Brad and Angelina’s marital problems. “Well, so your independent woman persona wouldn’t suffer any more than it has already, I also got you a copy of Bust.”
This magazine was met with a warmer reception: “Now that’s more like it. Sweet. What else did you get me?”
“What makes you think I got you anything else?”
“Don’t play stupid with me – I see it in the bag, Paolo,” growled Cora, instantly swinging back to a grumpiness that made Oscar the Grouch look like sunshine and daisies. Paolo grinned, and Cora whined, “Don’t jerk me around right now.”
“God, you’re seriously a hormonal wreck,” said Paolo, sounding insensitive even to his own ears. He couldn’t help it, though – he was actually surprised; he didn’t think Gina was ever so bad.
Granted, his memories of her PMSing were dim now… he could remember her pink sweat pants, the way she’d cry at Friends, and the way she didn’t want to be touched one day and the next she would cuddle up to him and sigh in his ear. And then, right at the end and the first few days afterwards, she’d be all horny. But Cora’s hormones had hit her out of nowhere, and they seemed a lot more apt to flare wildly at him. That was kinda like Cora normally, actually, but for the last few days she’d been undoubtedly more and more irritable.
“Tell me about it,” said Cora heavily, staring at the TV and taking another cramming bite of her chocolate bar. Paolo followed her gaze, and it took him a minute to realize what Cora was watching.
“You a big Michael Strahan fan?” he asked, unable to keep the amused smile off his face.
“…He has a gap,” tried Cora, eyes darting. “in his teeth. It’s like who doesn’t appreciate that. … Shut up. I can feel you doin’ your stupid doubtful look. I’m not watchin’ CNN or Step by fuckin’ Step, okay, and Sex and the City isn’t on till eleven.”
Paolo let out a little snicker, shaking his head, and reached into the plastic bag to fish out the other thing he’d gotten Cora: a box of Midol. He put it down on the bedside table with a purposeful cardboard thunk.
“Better than aspirin. Helps for PMS, fatigue, cramps, and bloating,” he reported authoritatively, as Cora eyed the box. “Take two now. The faster you get ’em in your system, the sooner you’ll feel better.”
“God, fuckin’ cramps,” moaned Cora, reluctantly reaching for the box, like it was going to harm her instead of help her. “I’ll never make PMS jokes again. I swear it. Feels like my stomach’s rippin’ itself up all… slow and sadistic.”
“Basically, it is.”
“Dude, shut up,” Cora groused. “You think you’re such a fuckin’ know-it-all. Talk to me after you get your first period. An’ bring me some water, would ya.”
Sighing, Paolo rose and went to the kitchen to fill up one of the little glasses with cool water. When he returned, Cora had three pills in one palm and was rubbing at her lower stomach compulsively, with slow and rhythmic grinds of the heel of her hand. Paolo wordlessly handed her the glass of water and watched her toss back the meds. It was familiar-feeling and just completely bizarre at the same time.
“Need anything else?” he asked, still feeling fairly patient even though Cora was liable to bite his head off every other minute.
“How ’bout menopause,” Cora said, dead-eyed as she stared at Kelly and Michael having some poorly-acted fun in the sun.
Paolo’s mouth pulled up at one corner. “Sorry,” he said softly.
Cora fell into silence, and Paolo shed his jacket and tossed it vaguely in the direction of the foot of the bed. He wondered if Cora was watching live with Kelly and Michael because she was actually perving on the Michael Strahan and his infectious smile or if she was fulfilling the same strange hormonal desire that always used to make Gina want to watch Nicholas Cage movies with a pint of ice cream and the blanket her granny had crocheted her on her lap. Either way, she seemed to actually be watching it over the paper and foil of her Hershey bar, and although it was beyond terrible, Paolo couldn’t bring himself to rib Cora into changing the channel.