Dad: “And how’s your health now?” Augustus: “NEC for fourteen months.”
Mom: “That’s wonderful. The treatment options these days—it really is remarkable.”
Augustus: “I know. I’m lucky.” Dad: “You have to understand that Hazel is still sick, Augustus,
and will be for the rest of her life. She’ll want to keep up with you, but her lungs—”
At which point I emerged, silencing him. “So where are you going?” asked Mom.
Augustus stood up and leaned over to her, whispering the answer, and then held a finger to his lips.
“Shh,” he told her. “It’s a secret.” Mom smiled. “You’ve got your phone?” she asked me.
I held it up as evidence, tilted my oxygen cart onto its front wheels, and started walking.
Augustus hustled over, offering me his arm, which I took. My fingers wrapped around his biceps.
Unfortunately, he insisted upon driving, so the surprise could be a surprise.
As we shuddered toward our destination, I said, “You nearly charmed the pants off my mom.”
“Yeah, and your dad is a Smits fan, which helps. You think they liked me?”
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