Judy shakes her head. “The little girl who used to randomly scrawl numbers in her math book is going to change the world.”
“It’s just a tiny piece of the overall puzzle,” I demur. Some of us are unearthing these little gems and some, like Thomas, are putting them together in ways that matter a lot more.
“You were always too modest,” Judy replies. “But there’s no way your research would have moved at this lightning pace if it was a small piece. Someone there sees its value. I hope...I hope it continues.”
She’s trying so hard not to mention Thomas, but I know what she wants to say: I hope it won’t be awkward. I hope it won’t be an issue.And it won’t be, because Thomas is going to change his mind, but yeah...the situation might be incredibly awkward otherwise.
Kelsey smoothly turns the conversation to the wedding, and Judy grabs my hand. “Have you been to New Orleans before, Easton?”
“No. I’ve heard good things.”
“It’s amazing,” she gushes. “It reminds me in some ways of where I grew up, on the Panhandle. I lived on the gulf my whole life until we moved here, and being in New Orleans makes me realize how much I’ve missed it. We went for the first time just after Mardi Gras and...” She turns. “Kelsey, did you tell her about the chairs?”
“You areobsessedwith those fucking chairs,” Kelsey says with a laugh, before she turns to me. “People will take a reclining chair and motorize it for Mardi Gras. So, you know, four cars pass and then there’s some dude with a beer in the drink holder, driving a reclining chair down the street.”
Judy shrugs, not embarrassed at all. “It’s symbolic. They have so muchjoie de vivre. So much hometown pride. It has a small-town feel, but it’s got all the conveniences of a big city. It’s the perfect place for a wedding and Bridget has done the most amazing job.”
Bridget, I’ve learned from Kelsey, is Hawk’s mother, and she and Judy have become thick as thieves in the process of planning this wedding. I wanted to sort of hate Judy for abandoning me, but I can’t. She’s so effusive and she seems to truly care about me and my answers and my future. Maybe I’ll go back to hating her later, but I can’t now.
“Speaking of Bridget,” says Kelsey, “did she talk to you about Grandma? I know you thought she’d prefer to stay in the guest cottages with Betty, but since she’s been in the hospital so much this summer, I wondered if we shouldn’t keep her in the house.”
“I don’t know,” says Judy, worrying her lip. “I’m honestly not sure she should even come. It’s a long time to be in a car, and what if something goes wrong on the way?”
“Mom,” Elijah says. “She’s in her late eighties...how many more family weddings could there possibly be in her future?”
“None at all, if your love life is the determining factor,” Judy says, arching a brow. “But yes, fine. I just wish...” Her head tilts as she thinks. “I just wish you had someone with medical knowledge in the car.”
And then she looks at me.
The one person here who, theoretically, has some medical knowledge.
My eyes widen. Because that is abigask. Approximately a million hours in a car with Elijah, down to Florida’s farthest point, instead of my tidy direct flight to New Orleans?
“Judy,” I interject, “I never did my residency. I can’t legally provide care, and I’d know about as much as Elijah in an emergency, which is nothing.”
It’s not entirely true. I could sit in the back of the car and calmly explain to himwhyhis grandmother was dying in the passenger seat—it appears she’s having a heart attack. We have five minutes before significant brain damage sets in—but that doesn’t seem especially helpful.
“I know it’s a long drive and I hate to even suggest it, but you’d knowenough,” she persists. “I mean, if something goes wrong, Elijah?—”
“No way,” Elijah says. He appears as horrified by the idea as I am, which is less than flattering. “Easton and I would kill each other on a road trip.”
“False,” I reply. “I’d stab a bolus of poison directly into your carotid artery as soon as I got in the passenger seat. You wouldn’t have a minute to fight back.”
“Sounds like you’re assuming I stopped the car.”
I don’t want to laugh but,ugh, I feel my mouth twitching anyway.
“Fine,” says Judy, her hands fluttering. “Forget I said anything.”
“I’d have to have taken it seriously in the first place in order to forget it,” Elijah says. “That was your worst idea ever, Judy.”
“Elijah, stop being verbally abusive to your mother,” I scold.
“You’re not the boss of me, Harvard,” he says, arching a brow.
Handsome, square-jawed, thirty-five-year-old Elijah sayingyou’re not the boss of melike a toddler unseats the last of my restraint. A laugh bursts from my throat and his answering smirk is victorious.
“I swear, the two of you turn into children when you’re in the same room,” Judy says.
