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But what if I do and then find she’s just in the bathroom? How crazy will I look if I stop my treatment right after I started just because I want to know where she is?
So, instead, I clench my teeth and turn the TV to some random channel. At least, this way, I won’t look like I’ve been sitting in silence, waiting for her to come back. If she comes back.
A few loud thumps echo up the hallway. Then, moments later, Holly stumbles through the doorway, hauling one of the large padded chairs from my parents’ dining room table. Apparently, she carried the thing up the flight of stairs because, being the horrible host that I am, I forgot there was nowhere else to sit in this room.
Except for my lap, which I would’ve been happy to offer up.
“Shit, Holly. I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I can’t believe I forgot another chair.”
She flinches, and I wonder if I hurt her feelings. But then she gives me a sweet smile, and I’m back to admiring her mouth.
“You kidding me? This worked out perfectly. Now, I don’t have to lift weights today.” Holly arranges the chair, so she can see both me and the TV before settling into it. “Oh, good. You’re not a show-er.”
I glance at my fly and then back at her with a raised eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“Oh gosh, not like that! I mean—and please don’t take this the wrong way—I’m glad you covered your arm.” She gestures to the cloth I have draped over my forearm where I’m hooked up.
Embarrassment makes my neck itch as I nod stiffly in understanding and avoid her eyes. I wish Holly weren’t seeing me here, in this chair, dependent on a machine.
She grips my free arm. “Ben! I told you not to take it the wrong way! It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s all me.”
When I glance up, she’s pressing a palm against her chest, eyes begging me to understand. But I don’t.
“It’s just that, ever since I was a kid, I’ve had this irrational fear of needles. Seriously, they freak me out. So, the less I see of them, the better.” She gives a gentle shudder.
“But you said you went to your brother’s treatments all the time.”
“Yeah. I’d cover my eyes till they were done sticking him. Marcus would always warn me.”
I watch as she chews on her bottom lip, eyes unfocused.
“But there were some people who just had their arms out in the open for everyone to see. And that’s totally fine. They shouldn’t have to cover up if they don’t want to. But I just couldn’t look around while I was there.”
“How’s that going to work with the testing? They have to draw your blood all the time. And then there’s the surgery.”
She gives me a small shrug before she answers, “Yeah, I know. I’ll just deal with it when the time comes.”
I’m an even bigger leech than I thought. Not only am I asking Holly to give me her organ, but I’m also making her repeatedly live through her fear. My stomach twists, and she must catch some of the self-disgust on my face because she gives my shoulder a pat before leaning back in her chair.
“Don’t worry about it. That’s future Holly’s problem.” Before I can push her on it, she changes the subject. “So, home makeover shows are how you distract yourself, huh?”
Not wanting to upset her, I let my worries go for the moment and follow the direction of her eyes. Apparently, the random channel I picked was HGTV, and there’s a couple on the screen, having a meltdown about wallpaper.
“You know it. Love the subplot.”
“Subplot?” She grins at me, obviously seeing right through my serious tone.
“Oh, yeah. See, most viewers think this is about two happy people finding their dream home together.”
“And it’s not?”
“Oh, no. That’s just what the producers tell them to get them on the show. I know the truth. What’s really going on.” I’m using my intense conspiracy voice, and Holly plays right along.
“Well, now, you have to tell me.”
I lean in close, mock whispering, “It’s marriage Hunger Games. They’re lucky if they make it out alive. And without a divorce.”
She snorts out a laugh, eyes crinkled, fist against her mouth, like she’s trying to stifle the noise. I want to see what she looks like when it breaks free.
