Page 75 of The Doctor's Truth

He thinks about it. “What about Kenzi?”

“Yeah, of course. I’m inviting her, too. But I’m asking you first.”

Donovan stares at me for a long time, then he turns away. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Cool.” I keep my voice cool, but my heart is hammering and my nerves are all bundled up in my throat. I’m freezing my balls off, but instead of complaining, I shove my hands into my armpits.

Donovan glances at me, then knocks his hand against my shoulder and stands. “I’m starving. Let’s go get something to eat.”

37

Jason

I call it “taking the day off.”

Ignore the fact that you got escorted out of your place of work twenty-four hours ago.

Ignore the fact that your dad texted you to tell you that you’re not allowed back in the hospital until you, and I quote, “grow up.”

I’m taking the day off.

I put on a wet suit and go for a long swim on the bayside. I cook. I meditate. I catch up on emails and try to ignore the nagging feeling of dread.

And, about halfway through the day, I decide to pay Kenzi a visit.

She’s hard to catch on the phone. Takes her forever to respond to texts, and forget about calling, she won’t pick up. So I decide to play it old-school. I show up on her front door and knock.

Lucky me, she opens the door. And, fuck. She looks cute. She’s messy-cute, which just so happens to be my favorite kind of cute. She’s wearing an oversized green patterned Christmas sweater and a pair of sweatpants. Her dark hair is pulled back in this messy pigtail, small tuffs poking out at odd angles.

When she sees me, her jaw falls. “I thought you were UPS.”

“Disappointed?” I ask.

“No…obviously not. Uh, come in.”

She opens the door and lets me inside. I shake off my jacket, which has flakes of snow on it, and hang it over the back of one of her kitchen chairs. “Where is everyone?”

“Pearl took Otto for his dialysis,” Kenzi says. “And I’m…doing laundry…”

The way she says it, her voice sounds a million miles away. I can see why cleaning up is a task. There’s a dauntingly large pile of clothes on the couch.

“You need a hand?”

She bites her bottom lip. “Yeah. Sure.”

I scoop up a pile of folded shirts and help her carry it into her bedroom. The house is a bit of a disaster zone, but that’s what kids do. They shake everything around. Still, Kenzi seems distracted, and she rapidly tries to pick up a little, kicking toys into corners and cleaning off the counter space. When we get into her room, immediately, she swipes a pile of dirty clothes off the floor and shoves them into the bathroom.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “the house isn’t always like this.”

“I like it how it is,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes and closes the bathroom door. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“I’m taking the day off.” If you say it enough times, it must be true. Slowly, I set her folded clothes down on top of her dresser. “Actually, there was something I wanted to run by you…”

“I’m all ears.”

“So my parents are having this family dinner thing on Friday. I want you to come.”

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