"Well, I'm happy someone's there for you."
"Thanks, Audrey."
"How's the clinic coming?"
"It's coming. Supply order went in yesterday. Autoclave's on a truck Friday."
She stopped chewing.
"That is the most boring update I have ever gotten from a woman with a license. Astrid. Give me the whole list. Speak slowly."
I laughed and took a sip of coffee, watching her watch me over the rim.
"Lease is signed. DEA's through. Howie's giving me the keys today. The contractor came back with a quote that's reasonable. Inspector's coming in two weeks. Sof sent me a tech who's looking to move closer to home, and I'm calling her tonight."
Audrey didn't blink through any of it.
"When do you open?"
"If the inspector clears it on the first walk, three weeks."
She set her fork down.
"Astrid."
"Don't."
"I'm gonna."
"Audrey."
"A month ago, you weren't sure you wanted to unpack. Now you've got a lease and an autoclave."
"Audrey, I'm warning you."
"I'm not crying."
"You're not allowed to cry. You promised."
"I made no such promise."
I picked my coffee back up to hide my face.
"What can I do? What do you need?" she said.
"You don't have to do anything."
"That's not what I asked you. I asked what you needed."
"Audrey."
"I'll pass cards around the hospital. The OB floor alone has fifteen women with rescues. I'll bring the cinnamon bread on opening day. I'll wear a sash if I have to. Don't test me."
I laughed and felt the laugh keep going until my eyes started doing what I'd told her not to do.
"Just come."
"What?"
