“Ann Boroch?” I repeated as I stared numbly at the title of the book in my hands, Healing Multiple Sclerosis.
“Do you think it’s a hard ‘k‘ sound? Or a swoosh type finish? OR is it like chai tea?” I asked Anya, annoyed at everyone who has ever had a hard last name to pronounce.
“What does it matter?” Annie asked.
“It matters to me,” I said with an edge to my voice. “Why can’t anything be simple with this beast?”
I turned the blue soft-hard-back over, looking for a hint of some sort of solution without having to read the 300+ pages.
“Here, you read it first, you’re a fast reader,” I said shoving the copy into Annie’s hands.
“Do you want me too? Why don’t we read it together? We can hold a mini-book club meeting once we’re finished. Or even check in as we read. Come on girl. You gotta read this stuff. I’ll do it with you,” she said softly.
“Fine. I just hope I don’t have to jump on the green juice wagon or whatever it is that’s popular with you kids these days – if I do it, you’re doing it too.” I said stiffly grabbing a second copy.