Neesa spun her chair toward Rylee. “Hey, good you’re back.” She pushed her laptop to the side. “That took a while. I figure that’s a good sign?”
Rylee sauntered in and flopped into one of the guest armchairs. “I should track my period, take up yoga, and put an app on my phone so I can learn to breathe deeply.”
Neesa laced her hands and stretched them across her forehead, tipping her head back. “Shit. Again?”
“Yup.”
She brought herself upright and focused on Rylee’s bouquet. “Beautiful flowers. Did you buy them to cheer yourself up? I love the colors.”
“Amazing, aren’t they?” Rylee turned them for Neesa to see. “I thought you might have a spare vase in your credenza that I could borrow.”
“This is the only one.” Neesa stood to pick up a vase on the edge of her desk, then, holding it over the trash can, picked out the wilting flower bouquet and dropped it into the garbage. “I got the flowers with the nice sentiment written on the card, then the guy ghosts me.” She walked over to Rylee and held the vase out with two hands. “I don’t need to sit here staring at the flowers, wondering if he’s dead in a ditch or just dead to me.”
“Morbid.” Rylee glanced at the water in the cut glass crystal vase. Since it looked like it was freshly changed, she plunked her own flowers in.
Neesa turned and put the vase on the edge of her desk, then made her way back to her chair.
“So this is what I can tell you about the flower story,” Rylee started.
“It’s a story?”
“Yup, a whole story, might as well get comfortable,” Rylee said, slipping her feet out of her shoes. “I was on the top floor of the stupid medical building, and since I was snorting mad like an angry bull, I figured I should take the stairs rather than be near people.”
“Wise.”
“The sound of me slamming my feet against the steps echoed so loudly, I bet the people in the halls thought there was some kind of emergency evacuation drill going on.”
“Understandable.” Neesa laced her hands in her lap as she leaned forward.
“It makes me question my mental health, Neesa. Maybe Iamjust anxious.”
“You’re the least anxious person I know. Go on. Flowers?”
“I’m pounding down the stairs, thinking that my dad and my great uncle, in separate states mind you, went to the doctor and on the first office visit, the very first one, both were sent on for further testing, both got their diagnoses in short order, and then were put on medication to help stop disease progression, which everyone knows, when it comes to MS, the sooner the medical intervention the better.”
“Exactly,” Neesa nodded.
“And so I wait for a doctor who will diagnose me. And while I wait, I research. I’m looking for experimental drug trials to help my dad and uncle, and possibly—probably—me. Onecomes up, I offer to help Dad, and Uncle Wilf throw their names in the hat. Nope, neither is interested in being a guinea pig. I,” Rylee pressed her hands to her chest, “would make an excellent guinea pig.”
Neesa nodded. “Agreed. Phenomenal guinea pig.”
“Right! And then I find a doctor friend of mine from Afghanistan is doing a research study on an IV drip medication that they believe stops the progression of MS in its tracks.”
“Here in the U.S.?” Neesa asked.
“London. He’s British. Anyway, I reached out to him and sent him my labs and so forth, and he said that he would get me into that study as soon as I have a diagnosis. Hepromisedme. And he owes me. I didn’t save his life or anything, but I did introduce him to his wife, and he’s still very much in love with her. They have a baby on the way.”
“Aww.” Neesa smiled.
“I know. Wonderful. I’m so happy for them. But here I am with no diagnosis but a lovely offer of anxiety pills and an admonishment that I really should sign up for a yoga class. Neither of which is getting me any closer to the bliss of sitting in a London hospital with a needle shoved in my vein.”
“Which does sound amazing,” Neesa said. “Flowers?”
“Yes, well, by the time I got to the lobby, I had burned off maybe half my fury.”
Neesa nodded.
“I plowed out the front door, thinking cold air was going to serve me well. And by that point, I’d decided to go see the name on the sticky note rather than call and leave a message.”
