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CHAPTER SIX
Mom was folding my laundry while watching this TV show called The View when I got home. I told her that the tulips and the Dutch artist and everything were all because Augustus was using his Wish to take me to Amsterdam. “That’s too much,” she said, shaking her head. “We can’t accept that from a virtual stranger.”
“He’s not a stranger. He’s easily my second best friend.”
“Behind Kaitlyn?”
“Behind you,” I said. It was true, but I’d mostly said it because I wanted to go to Amsterdam.
“I’ll ask Dr. Maria,” she said after a moment.
* * *
Dr. Maria said I couldn’t go to Amsterdam without an adult intimately familiar with my case, which more or less meant either Mom or Dr. Maria herself. (My dad understood my cancer the way I did: in the vague and incomplete way people understand electrical circuits and ocean tides. But my mom knew more about differentiated thyroid carcinoma in adolescents than most oncologists.)
“So you’ll come,” I said. “The Genies will pay for it. The Genies are loaded.”
“But your father,” she said. “He would miss us. It wouldn’t be fair to him, and he can’t get time off work.”
“Are you kidding? You don’t think Dad would enjoy a few days of watching TV shows that are not about aspiring models and ordering pizza every night, using paper towels as plates so he doesn’t have to do the dishes?”
Mom laughed. Finally, she started to get excited, typing tasks into her phone: She’d have to call Gus’s parents and talk to the Genies about my medical needs and do they have a hotel yet and what are the best guidebooks and we should do our research if we only have three days, and so on. I kind of had a headache, so I downed a couple Advil and decided to take a nap.
