“Yes,” he says too fast.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I lower my voice.
“I’m going to correspond with you later, Antonio. Extensively.”
He groans.
“It’s a good thing we’re going to a hospital. I’m pushing you out of a
moving vehicle if you don’t stop tormenting me.”
A pause.
“But you’re totally going to correspond with me—and you’re showing me your fountain pen.”
When we arrive at the hospital, Antonio goes to the canteen to grab a coffee with Sophia.
We agree to meet there when I’m finished.
I buy two coffees from the small kiosk at the front and follow the signs to the neurosurgery administration.
Penelope doesn’t look up when I knock.
“Busy?” I ask, closing the door behind me.
“You know I am,” she says, her eyes flicking to assess me with surgical coldness before she turns back toward her computer screen.
“I brought coffee.”
I set it on her desk. She looks at it like I’ve offered her a dead rodent.
She types for a few seconds before replying.
“I don’t have time for coffee.” Then, almost as an afterthought: “Or chitchat.”
“I’m not here to chat.”
She sighs, openly irritated.
“Then why are you here? Do you need me to hold your hand when you apologize to our parents?”
I take a breath.
“I have no intention of apologizing or going back there.”
Penelope looks almost intrigued.
“You really hate us that much?”
I sigh.
“I don’t hate anyone. Anyway, I’m not here to talk about our parents. How are things with Daniel?”
Her fingers pause over the keyboard.
“Why?” Her voice turns mocking. “Planning to ask him out?”
“Jesus, Penny.”
