“It’s gonna be fine. He’s the best, and I’m sure you’ll regain full use of your hand again. You’ll be as good as new...no, better than new.”
Kayden smirked as he jumped off the exam table.
“I’m fine, and your arguing with the doctor didn’t help things.”
He grabbed his coat, and she helped him put it on as well.
“I just want the best for you,” she stated, looking up at her tall son.
A bit of sadness touched the corner of her eyes, and he could sense her need to elaborate.
“What time is Heathcliff coming in?” he asked.
“Heathcliff ?” she repeated, caught off guard.
He was worse than a spy, she thought, as they made their way out of the examination room.
“I know you, Mom. You’ve never been able to have hard conversations without backup.”
She smiled at the truth of the statement and at how transparent her reaction was. They would have to return in three days for the procedure, and Maureen wondered if, after tonight, she’d even be there to see him through it. As they walked out of the lobby, the car service they used was waiting outside, the driver holding the door open for them. They climbed into the immaculate interior with its lush leather seats as he closed the door and made his way back to the front of the car.
“He should be arriving around seven this evening,” she finally replied.
“This must be pretty bad then,” Kayden replied, staring out the window as the driver pulled into the horrible New York traffic.
She didn’t respond to his insinuation. She kept her eyes planted outside as they passed all the boutiques and shops on their way back to the meatpacking district. Tonight, lives would be changed, and she was the one, for the first time in years, uncertain of her future.
LANA SMILEDAND huggedher mother tight as they stood in the doorway of the townhouse. She watched Veronica walk to her car and pull out of the driveway. After their emotional heart-to-heart, Veronica and her spent the rest of the afternoon marking boxes, eating the delicious curried chicken meal she brought over, and packing away more non-essential items. The whole time, Lana thought about how much she would miss her parents once she finally left and hoped she could convince them to join her in Georgia one day.
Finally able to relax a bit, Lana took the opportunity to shower before Carmen finally arrived. She walked into the small bathroom and peeled off the sports bra and sweatpants she had been wearing, now sticky and uncomfortable. She reached into the shower, turned the hot water on full blast, and welcomed the stinging heat that started to soothe her sore muscles. When the quick shower was done, she looked forward to relaxing on the couch and watching “Sex and the City” reruns, the only DVD box set she hadn’t packed away yet.
As she pressed play on her remote control, curled up on the couch with her favorite snuggie, a knock on the front door interrupted her—Carmen. She dragged herself up, shuffled tothe door, and opened it to find Carmen and a sheepish grin on her face, holding up a massive bottle of wine.
“Hey!” Carmen exclaimed.
“Hey, back,” Lana smiled, her eyes never leaving the bottle.
She reached for it as Carmen walked in and sat down on the couch. Lana locked the door behind them, and Carmen strummed her fingers on the coffee table nervously watching her friend.
“What’s with you?” Lana asked as she passed into the kitchen, leaving Carmen alone in the living room.
She waited for a response while she searched the boxes on the counter for the wine bottle opener. Carmen still hadn’t responded to her, and when she walked back into the living room, she sat up straight, as if she were caught doing something naughty.
“Ok, what in the hell is going on with you?” Lana demanded.
“Are you gonna do it?” she replied.
“Do what?” Lana asked.
Lana quickly realized she was referring to the program, but wanted to give Carmen a chance to admit whether she helped her mother devise the secret plot first.
“Umm, N.W.B.,” Carmen replied.
Lana sighed, it was as she expected. Carmen was in cahoots with the wholerunaway programthat her mother had put into play. She rolled her eyes, and they happened to settle on the small wine bottle opener tucked in the corner beside her microwave. She went back into the small kitchen, grabbed it, and began twisting it into the cork at the top of the bottle, feeling her frustration build.
“No. I’m not going,” she called out, “But I already knew about my mom’s plan with N.W.B. I just wanted you to admit you were scheming with her.”
The bottle finally popped open.
