Page 101 of Good Boy

“Here, I brought you something.” I open the shopping bag and pull out both the jerseys. “One is for you, and I heard you had a brother.”

She squeals. “No way! Will you sign them?”

“Of course.”

I’m signing the shirts with my Sharpie when Leila finally turns her attention to Jess. “Did you do this?” she demands.

I have a dirty mind, so right away, I’m thinking about it literally. Oh, she did this, all right. I give Jess an inappropriate grin, which she returns with a glare that suggests I should take it down a notch.

To the girl, she says, “Blake is my boyfriend.”

Leila’s head thumps back against the pillow. “Holy crap. And before, you wanted to talk about knitting? You were seriously holding out on me.”

“I love knitting almost as much as I love him,” Jess says with an eye roll. “And knitting is less egotistical.”

I don’t even argue with the egotistical part, because Jess just said she loves me. Did that really just happen?

“Where is your knitting?” Jess asks. “I wanted to see how the hat turned out.”

With the practiced ease of someone who’s been here way too long, Leila reaches over to open the hospital bedside drawer. She pulls out a somewhat lumpy hat in a burgundy color with yellow stripes. “Do you think it needs a pom-pom? What do you think of the bind-off?”

Jess takes the hat and admires it. “The ribbing turned out perfect. And your bind-off is great. Not too tight.”

“I was worried about that.”

“It’s perfect. He’s going to love it. Do you have extra yarn so we could try a pom-pom?”

“Sure.”

They get out the yarn, and Jess shows Leila how to wrap it around spread-out fingers. Or something. My gaze wanders around the room to the collection of get well cards on the windowsill. There are a million of them.

Jess and Leila make a gold-colored pom-pom, one of them holding the tuft of wrapped threads, the other tying a knot around them tightly. Their two heads are bent together in concentration.

“Okay. Let’s see what you think…” Jess holds the hat up, her hand securing the pom-pom on top.

“Hmm,” Leila says, squinting critically. “Maybe it’s more macho without?”

Jess pulls the ornament away again. “I kind of see what you mean. What do you think, Blake? Can a real man wear a pom-pom on his hat?”

“A real man can wear anything,” I say. “Especially if it’s handmade by someone who loves him. So where’s my hat?” I seek out Jess’s eyes, and when she smiles, her cheeks pink up.

She quickly turns her attention back to Leila’s knitting. “It’s perfect. He’s going to love it.”

The girl fingers the stitches on the brim, her throat visibly bobbing. “I’m having surgery tomorrow.”

“I know,” Jess says softly.

“Again.”

“That sucks,” my girlfriend empathizes.

“If something happens to me, would you make sure my brother gets the hat? I’m just worried that my parents would be too…” She clears her throat.

“Of course,” Jess says firmly. “You’re going to be fine, but I understand why you wouldn’t want to take any chances with, like, fourteen hours of knitting.”

“I know, right?” Leila laughs, but her eyes are shiny. “Just that ribbing took half my life.”

My heart sinks when I do the math on how many years half her life might turn out to be.

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