Page 28 of All It Takes

“Nope,” I replied. “She’ll be here in a half hour, which gives us time to eat. Her dog’s name is Lassie. She’s a mutt and the best dog in the world.”

Alice grinned just as we heard Honey’s distinctive three-legged gait trotting down the hallway. Honey entered the room, pausing to get pets from both of us before she curled up on her dog bed in the corner.

Just then, my cell phone vibrated, and I spun it around on the table. I quickly glanced at the screen to see an automated text from the doctor’s office in Anchorage. It was my test results, but I didn’t want to look at them now.

Alice was chewing, but her eyes were on me as soon as my gaze lifted. “What?” I asked.

“You look a little worried.”

“I’m not worried,” I lied, ignoring the reflexive twist of anxiety that rose whenever I had anything to do with doctors lately. A medical scare would do that to you, even if it turned out okay.

Her brows arched toward her hairline, her lips pursing as she finished chewing. She took another quick bite of pasta salad, offering, “This is yummy.”

“It’s one of my staples,” I said, relieved that she was letting the topic drop.

It was penne pasta with a dash of olive oil, red pepper flakes, feta cheese, sliced black olives, and red peppers with shredded chicken added to it for protein.

“I need the recipe,” she replied.

“I’ll write it down. I promise it’s easy.”

She nodded. “For someone whose job it is to ask all kinds of people personal questions, you sure keep a lot to yourself.”

“I should’ve known you weren’t letting that topic drop,” I muttered, stabbing a piece of pasta with my fork and chewing it quickly.

“You look worried, and I care about you. What the hell is up with that text message?”

“Just test results from my doctor.”

“Oh, the doctor you went to see in Anchorage that you also didn’t mention?”

“Are you snooping?” I was genuinely affronted.

She rolled her eyes. “No, but you must’ve given the office number as backup, and they left a message reminding you of your appointment last week. I asked if you knew you had a doctor’s appointment, remember?”

I lightly smacked my forehead with the heel of my hand. “That’s right. Fine. I had to go see a neurology specialist in Anchorage.”

“Neurologist? What aren’t you telling me?” Alice rested her fork against the edge of the container. She took a gulp of coffee, her eyes pinned to mine.

“Fine,” I grumbled. “I’ll just tell you so you know I’m fine. They had me schedule a follow-up a year after my surgery for the nerve sheath tumor last year. I was supposed to follow up with a neurologist here to make sure I didn’t have any lingering symptoms and the growth hasn’t returned. I’m good to go. I had an excellent surgeon in Seattle, and they didn’t even damage any of the nerves taking it out.”

“I’ve heard nerve sheath tumors can be seriously painful,” Alice said. She took a bite of her pasta, chewing rapidly as if she were angry with it.

“What the hell did the pasta do to you?” I teased.

She finished chewing and pointed her fork at me. “Nothing. I was just a little stressed out to learn this. I’m glad you’re still fine, and I appreciate you telling me. Why all the secrecy?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to freak anybody out until I knew for sure I was still fine.”

“Do your dad and Chase know what happened?” I hesitated just long enough that Alice narrowed her eyes. “You didn’t tell them?”

“No.” I grimaced. “Now, it’s this thing that’s not a thing. I don’t want to make it a big deal when everything is fine.”

“You’re fucked up,” my friend announced.

“Everybody’s fucked up.”

She gestured to my phone. “So you’re all good?”

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