I blink at him, trying to make sense of what he’s asking. “Uh… I don’t think so. Why?”
“You might need it,” the obnoxiously hot doctor who spoke before says. His eyes meet mine, and I swear the room is quieter, stiller. For a breath, all the noise is gone. All I hear is my heartbeat.
His gaze shifts to my mom. “It’s not an easy trial. She’ll get worse before she gets better.”
I search Dr. Newberry’s face. Already, Mom is barely managing to eat or make decisions for herself, and they’re telling me this trial will make her worse? I don’t know if I can handle that. “Are there other options?”
“Not good ones.” Dr. Kim doesn’t mince words. Only part of me is grateful.
Dr. Newberry offers me his hand. “We’ll come back tomorrow. For now, she’s exactly where she needs to be.”
No, she’s not. She should be at home. Reading her silly romance novels and making brownies. She should be cracking inappropriate jokes with Aunt Joan and staying up late waiting for me to get back from a date—not that I go on a lot of them. But that’s where she should be. Not here.
I numbly shake the doctor’s hand and stare at the badge clipped to his white coat. I don’t want to see his pitying smile.
Each resident files past without a word until Dr. Obnoxiously Hot. He hesitates in the doorway. “I’ll send up a social worker. They can help with end-of-life paperwork.”
End of life.
Mom’s not dying. She’s going to do this trial, and she’s going to get better. “You don’t need to. We don’t need... that.”
His colleagues are already halfway down the hall, but Dr. Obnoxiously Hot shifts his weight and hovers.
“You’ve got…” He touches the side of his forehead, and I remember the hot chocolate I spilled earlier.
Great. I wipe it with my sleeve, my face burning with embarrassment.
“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t look so hot either if your mom was—” I cut myself off with a snap of my jaw. I never say whatever pops into my head like that. At least not with anyone other than Mom. Shit, I’m a mess.
“I like a little mess.” His lips quirk up on one side, and I realize I said that last part out loud. “Sometimes messes can be fun,” he adds.
Is he flirting? I’ve never been good at knowing when someone’s flirting. But no, he can’t be. He’s not. I’m sure he has a model for a girlfriend or someone equally attractive. He’s probably just trying to cheer me up. Having a good rapport is something they teach you in med school, right?
He reaches out, and for a second I think he’s goingto touch me. Shit. Shit. Shit. Maybe he is flirting? Not knowing what to do, I freeze and hold my breath.
His hand hovers a few inches from my face, pulls back, and drops to his side. “We’re going to do everything we can to help your mom. You’re in good hands here.”
I avoid looking at him and rub my fingers along my temple, hoping I’ve gotten all the chocolate. “Thanks.”
He’s already gone. So, I do what I always do after anyone comes into the room. I slather myself in enough hand sanitizer to drown a small rodent and scrub my fingers like I’m trying to scrub away the whole encounter.
Chapter Three
Two things get me through the long nights in the hospital: books and hot chocolate. It’s not even good hot chocolate, just the cheap powder stuff you dump into hot water, but it tastes amazing at 3am. Especially if you use two or three packets to make a single cup.
Mom’s been in the hospital for four days now, and I’m already getting antsy. Time moves differently here. Some hours crawl. Others race like an anxious gazelle. Days blend, and it’s hard to keep track of the last time I ate, showered, talked to another human being that doesn’t hold the fate of my mom’s life in their hands. I count the days in cups of hot chocolate drunk alone at all hours of the night.
And it’s time for another one.
Quietly pushing open the door, I slip into the bright hall. It takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, so I stand there blinking at the nurse’s station.It’s an open circle with a low counter so the nurses can see into all the rooms at once.
Rose is there, sorting through some papers. She hasn’t been Mom’s nurse since our first day here, but I’ve seen her on the floor most nights. She’s always wearing scrubs with some outlandish pattern on them. Tonight, they have little yellow ducks, which makes me think of the picture Kiara sent of Dr. Pataal’s bowtie. I should probably email him about missing this week’s workshop.
“Need something, doll?” Rose’s smile is warm and bright, despite the late hour.
I don’t feel like smiling, but I force a slight lift into my lips and lamely point down the hall. “I’m just gonna...”
“How many have you had? You drinkin’ the coffee or the hot chocolate?” She leans against the counter, crossing her arms over her chest. “You know neither’s very good for you. All that caffeine and sugar.”
