Page 25 of Cava with My Colleague

“Good morning. Thank you all for attending today’s presentation on advances in hair loss prevention for oncology patients.”

Carlos begins translating immediately, his voice steady and professional beside me. I don’t look at him. I keep my eyes on the middle section, on my friends.

I click to the next slide. “Our clinical trials began in 2019 with a cohort of 247 participants across five European research centers.”

The presentation unfolds exactly as I’ve practiced. Every word memorized. Every transition smooth. Every data point delivered with precision.

It’s technical. It’s data-heavy. It’s methodical.

It’s boring.

I know it’s boring. I can see it in the way some of the pharmaceutical reps glance at their phones and in the way a few people in the back shift in their seats. Even Luc, bless him, is struggling to stay awake.

But I don’t freeze. I don’t panic. I don’t skip sections or lose my place or run off stage.

I look at Sara when I discuss methodology and at Emma when I explain results. Then I look at Tessa when I outline future research directions.

Not at Carlos. Never at Carlos.

He translates beside me, his German smooth and professional. Once, I think I feel his gaze on me, but I don’t turn. I keep my focus forward, on the slides, on my friends, on getting through this without falling apart.

Forty-five minutes later, I reach the final slide.

“In conclusion, our research demonstrates significant efficacy in preventing chemotherapy-induced hair loss for oncology patients, with a favorable safety profile and high patient satisfaction rates. Thank you for your attention.”

The applause is polite. Not enthusiastic, but not uncomfortable either. A few people are already standing, ready to head to the coffee bar at the back of the room.

I did it. I got through the entire presentation without freezing.

It’s not pride I feel. But it’s relief. That has to count for something.

Afterward, I mingle with the attendees near the display tables at the back. This part I’m actually good at. One-on-one conversations don’t terrify me the way stages do.

A woman in her fifties approaches. “Thank you for the presentation,” she says in accented English. “I was in one of the clinical trials. Of course, who’s to say if I would have lost my hair . . . but I didn’t.”

My throat tightens. “I’m so glad.”

“It’s the little things, you know?” She touches her hair. It’s auburn, shoulder length, a little thin but healthy.

“That’s why we do this work,” I say, and I mean it. This moment—this connection—this is what matters. Not the boring presentation or Carlos’s critique or any of it.

This.

We talk for a few more minutes before she has to leave. I watch her go, blinking back unexpected tears.

“Jade!” Sara’s voice. I turn to see all four of them approaching, Luc looking slightly more awake now that coffee is involved.

“You look fantastic,” Tessa says immediately. “Very powerful up there.”

“The attendance was fantastic,” Emma adds.

“I was very impressed with the numbers,” Luc offers.

They’re all looking at me with carefully constructed expressions of encouragement, and I realize immediately what they’re doing.

“Come on, y’all. Truth serum.”

There’s a beat of silence. My friends exchange glances.