“Three days,” I reply.
“Push him up the list. I need one more scan to make sure it hasn’t grown any larger.”
I nod and order the test, but I can’t help the impending doom of going into surgery.
* * *
My feet hurt as I stand and watch Dr. Mayfield perform the surgery. She lets me assist minimally, but I do more observation than anything. We’re going in on hour eight, and it’s looking better than I imagined. Most of the tumor is removed, and she only has a little more to go.
I should be able to focus on what’s in front of me. Blood and guts aren’t the issue; I have no problem with it. It’s just the impersonal function of surgery that sometimes bothers me. The callousness of some surgeons when someone’s damaged body is lying on a table and hoping that we can fix the problem.
As I stand there and watch how remarkable Dr. Mayfield is, all I can think about is Mitchell’s mother and how relieved she’ll be that her son is okay. I know my line of thinking isn’t one of a surgeon. How do I change who I fundamentally am so I can handle this career?
Dr. Mayfield lets me help close, and all I feel is relief, but I still want to break down, and I don’t know why.
* * *
Two bottles of wine and two large pizzas are probably overkill, considering it’s me, my pregnant best friend, and her toddler. But I have faith that these two bottles will be enough to get me through this conversation.
I don’t knock because I have a key to their house, much to Mikael’s chagrin. “Hey!” I shout as I walk in the door and lock it behind me. Which is no easy task with two bottles of wine and two pizzas, but I manage.
“We’re in the nest,” Charlotte says, and I walk downstairs into their basement. Katie is jumping on the bed and doing continuous tumbles on the double king that’s built into the floor. Eli installed a pull-down projector screen, and some cartoon with Australian dogs is on the screen.
Charlotte is lying on her side, a massive pillow between her legs. Her hair is in about fifty ponytails, and there’s a smattering of makeup all over her face.
“Well, don’t you look beautiful.”
“Right?” Charlotte replies. “Do you know how hard it is to keep her occupied when it hurts to move?”
I feel Charlotte’s forehead, and she wiggles in her seat, still not used to the way I care for her. I’m at least happy she lets her own Alphas do it. “How are you feeling otherwise?”
“Fine,” she groans.
“Where’s Anders?”
Charlotte smiles and shakes her head. “He found a rec league to play in.”
I can’t help but laugh. “That doesn’t seem fair.”
She shrugs. “He’s like a god on that team. They’re obsessed with him.”
Katie waves her hands in the air. “Auntie P, watch!” She does a series of uncoordinated tumbles, but I clap and smile for her.
“You’re getting good, Katie. Want some pizza?” She claps her hands and scoots off the bed. It’s obvious that Charlotte has been bringing her down here a lot. Her pregnancies bring out a different kind of nesting for her.
I grab some paper plates and a cup for my wine from the mini kitchenette they have in here and sit down on the floor. Katie eats her pizza from the side and is preoccupied with the cartoon on TV. I nearly down an entire glass before Charlotte looks at me with an arched brow.
“So?”
I clear my throat. “So?”
“Piper, are you going to make me drag whatever it is you wanted to talk about out of you, or are you just going to tell me?”
I look over to Katie and then Charlotte, thinking of the best way to speak in code in front of my niece.
“Number eight… um, he…” I look back at Katie, and I watch as a slow smile takes over Charlotte’s face.
“Oh, please, tell me what he did.”
