Page 141 of The Love Operation

All the blood that isn’t in vials at the lab drains from my head.

“Cord? You there?”

“I’m here. I just . . .” I pinch myself, half expecting this to be another memory glitch—some worst-case simulation I’ve fallen into just to see how I’d react.

I don’t do well.

This is a one-more-thing moment. And someone didn’t get the memo: I can’t take one more thing.

“I know,” she says gently. “I’m sorry. I’ve been shutting it down as best I can. Telling anyone who’ll listen that it’s not true. But you know how people are—once they get a bone, they can’t stop gnawing on it.”

“Thanks for telling me,” I say, but the words feel far away. I’ve gone completely numb.

“Of course. I hated saying it, but you needed to know.”

“I appreciate it. Enjoy your day off tomorrow. My bloodwork should be back soon, so barring any surprises, we’ll be back at it without much downtime.” The words feel like they’ve come from someone else’s mouth.

“Thanks. Sounds good. You too.” Then, softer, “You sure you’re okay?”

“You know me,” I say, trying for breezy, for the Cord everyone expects. “This is just one more thing I’ll have to face. I don’t love it, but it’s not going to stop me.”

For the first time in my career, I wonder if that’s true. Because right now, I kinda wanna lie down.

Chapter 36

Memories Are Funny Things

Not being in the OR today makes me feel unmoored, like I’ve stepped out of my own skin. My clothes feel foreign: jeans too tight, my T-shirt too thin. Out of scrubs and stripped of my title, I’m practically a stranger in my own life.

The good news—if anything can be called good right now—is that I think the sensory side effects have stopped. I told Delenn, and her relief—expressed even in her anger—caused another pang of regret to bounce inside me. She suspects it’s because I’m finally getting sleep. It makes sense. I hope they stay gone.

I can’t sit still in my house, but I didn’t plan to. If I’m being forced to take a day off, I’m going to make it matter. I grab my keys and head to my parents’ house—the one place I might still find something solid, despite their recent ill-timed decisions.

I guess that’s the one upside to their retirement: They’re around on a random Wednesday morning.

The distance is eating at me, especially after I canceled on dinner, something I wish I could retroactively undo. I miss them. All of them. But I miss talking to my mother especially. Seeing Benedict again and learning about his family, and then everything else that’s happened lately, has lessened my dismay about their retirement. Change comes whether I like it or not, but I might have to change along with this one. I just need to figure out how.

When Mom opens the door, I don’t say a word. I step forward and fall into her arms. Her embrace pulls tears to my eyes. I need this. I need her. I was only hurting myself by staying away.

She holds me without question, and I breathe her in—rose and linen—as her arms support me like scaffolding. We stay that way, just inside the doorway, her hands smoothing over my back as if she’s ironing out the creases. And even before I say anything, I feel her accepting some of the weight I’ve been collecting these last few weeks.

This is a sanctuary.

When we finally pull apart, she leads me to the back patio. The air outside is thick with perfume—blooming jasmine, honeysuckle, something faintly peppery from the herbs along the fence. Morning glories twist up trellises, and the garden is dotted with ceramic saints and mischievous gnomes, like a secret kingdom. A pitcher of tea sweats on the wrought-iron table, glasses already filled with ice.

Birdsong echoes in the quiet. A bee hums as he whirs by my face. There’s a breeze, warm and steady, like the earth is breathing with me, for me.

It’s peaceful here. Still. The kind of space that doesn’t demand anything from you. It simply lets you be, without judgment or expectation.

“I’ve made a mess,” I say after the tea’s been poured and I’ve sunk into the yellow-cushioned chair I always choose out here. “And I don’t even know which part was the first domino.”

She doesn’t rush to fill the silence. She watches me—really watches me—like she’s reading all the subtext before I’ve said a word. It unlocks something in my chest, gives me hope that maybe we can figure this out. Together.

“Okay, baby. Let’s hear it. Don’t hold back.”

I didn’t realize I was waiting for permission, but as soon as I hear the words, I start talking—beginning with Isaac.

She already knows how much I want a relationship like she and Dad have, like Maggie and her husband and Everett and his wife. She nods and smiles when I tell her about our interactions, how they went from intense attraction to real connection. She reaches for my hand, visibly pleased when I tell her he gets me, that he understands my drive because he’s driven too. I tell her what a great team I think we could be, even though his family isn’t like ours.