Page 192 of Halo

And there it is.

I sigh. “Yes, Mom.”

“I thought it usually took longer.”

“It started coming out, so I shaved it.”

“Oh.”

Her eyes move over my scarf again.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Mom.”

“I was only going to ask whether you’ve been eating.”

“Yes.”

“Enough protein?”

“I’m trying.”

“You need protein while you’re—”

“I know.” I close my eyes. “Please don’t turn chemotherapy into another thing I’m somehow doing incorrectly.”

Her face falls.

“I didn’t mean it that way.”

“I know you didn’t.”

That’s the exhausting part. I actually believe her.

Mom folds her hands in her lap. “I don’t know how to talk to you anymore without saying the wrong thing.”

“Then just talk to me.”

“I’m worried about you.”

“I know.”

“I wanted to see for myself that you were okay.”

A ripple of laughter from across the infusion room draws both our attention, and I don’t even have to look to know who caused it.

Nick is coming toward us with enough juice boxes tucked against his chest to supply a kindergarten classroom. Somewhere along the way, he has apparently befriended half the women in the room. One older woman catches his wrist as he passes and says something that makes him laugh, while another calls after him that she wants apple juice, not grape.

Mom watches the whole thing.

“He’s taking care of you, isn’t he?”

The question is so quiet that I almost miss it.

“Yes.”