I stifle a laugh, take a picture of the little blue teddy bear on my keychain, and send it to her.
Indigo’s more of a cuddler.
I turn the phone face down on the couch, but it immediately buzzes with another text. This one isn’t from Kiara. It’s Jerky Jeremy (I refuse to call him dad, unless it’s as a mocking nickname).
Ex-dad:
I heard they admitted your mom to the hospital. Everything okay?
He doesn’t give me time to answer before another text comes in.
Ex-dad:
How are you holding up?
I ignore the texts, like I usually do. If Mom wants to talk to him, that’s fine, but it doesn’t mean I have to.
Kiara:
Where are you?
Shit. The picture of Indigo shows the thick wooden door of the hospital room in the background. Kiara is great—probably my closest friend—but our friendship exists in the bubble of grad school drama. She doesn’t know about Mom’s cancer, and I don’t plan on changing that.
doctor’s appointment
It’s not really a lie. There are doctors here.
Kiara:
Want to meet at The Book Bar for lunch when you’re done? I’ll show you a picture of Professor Paatel’s bow tie, and we can talk about how horrible Sullivan’s last reading was—seriously, I was holding back laughter so hard I cried. Actual tears! After class, he told me how much it meant to him that his piece moved me. LOL.
I don’t respond. I can’t risk anything distracting me from being ready for morning rounds. The doctorswill talk about Mom’s cancer in words I don’t understand and make recommendations with a confidence I don’t share. Keeping my own research in my head is important if I’m going to make the right decisions. I’m willing to do anything if it’ll give me more time with Mom. I’ll go to a different hospital, a different state, a different country, if necessary.
The doctors aren’t going to recommend going somewhere else—they probably can’t legally suggest that—but, if I ask direct questions about the trials, they’ll have to answer.
My phone buzzes again, and my muscles tense. I can’t handle all the messages right now.
Kiara:
You never responded—coffee?? Must have coooooffeeee. Seriously, I’m a zombie, and I haven’t seen you all week. Meet me there in an hour.
I should tell her what’s going on. Or at least something vague—like there’s a family emergency. I start a message about my mom, but quickly erase it. Kiara doesn’t need to be burdened with my problems.
Can’t
There’s a sharp knock on the door, and my pulse skyrockets. This is it. Time to find out what the doctors have planned.
Chapter Two
The door swings open, and Dr. Kim, Mom’s oncologist, prances in followed by an entourage of beautiful people in lab coats.
A graying man I’ve never seen before shoves his hand in my direction. He’s got a smile like a spotlight. “I’m Dr. Newberry. James Newberry.”
I didn’t see him use the hand sanitizer, but he probably used it in the hall. He must have. I hope. Forcing myself to shake his hand, I glance at my mom to see if she noticed how he introduced himself like he’s James Bond. He looks exactly like a middle-aged spy pretending to be a doctor.
Mom’s eyes are still closed despite the way Dr. Kim aggressively flipped on the lights when they walked in. The only sign she’s not sound asleep is the way she pulls her pillow over her bald head.
She lost her thick blonde hair months ago from the chemo that wasn’t enough to heal her. It wasbeautiful. Long and wavy. I’d hide under it as a child when I was overwhelmed, curled up in her lap like a kitten. I was safe under there. My hair is long, mostly because I can’t be bothered to get a haircut, but it’s dark and straight. Jeremy’s hair is graying now, but it’s also blond, only a little darker than Mom’s. Another one of his super funny jokes from my childhood.‘Looks like our package got switched with someone else’s,’he’d say to Mom as he ruffled my hair.‘Where do you belong, Nutter?’
