Page 111

“Nothing.”

“That was not nothing.”

“I’m deciding whether I find this annoying or attractive.”

“And?”

She gets into the car. “Still collecting data.”

I close the door before I laugh.

The drive starts quiet. Maggie sits beside me with her coat still buttoned, hands folded over her bag, eyes on the road ahead. The city moves in broken light across her face. I keep both hands on the wheel and my attention where it belongs.

For about five minutes.

Then she says, “You took my side tonight.”

“I corrected them.”

“You took my side.”

“They were being patronizing.”

“They were being doctors.”

“Same thing, sometimes.”

She turns her head. “Wow. Self-awareness from the profession. Rare.”

“I didn’t say I was exempt.”

“No,” she says. “You are very much not exempt.”

I glance at her. She’s not smiling now.

Fair.

“I should not have moved your appointment without making sure you knew,” I say.

“You already said that.”

“I’m saying it again.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s still true.”

She looks out the windshield. “I don’t like being handled.”

“I know.”

“No, you don’t. Not fully.” She shifts in the seat, one hand moving to her stomach and then away again. “Everyone keeps deciding what’s best. Alester, Petra, the clinic, you. Sometimes it’s actually useful. But it still feels like I’m the last person invited into decisions about my own body.”

There is nothing useful in defending myself.

“You’re right,” I say.

She turns to me, suspicious. “That was too easy.”