This was going to be so great!
The end of the hall was a little clogged with people watching, those too shy to push forward. I was not nervous in the least to make my way to the center of the fun.
I found a pocket of space and looked around. Two Grammy Award–winning singers were standing on chairs, singing their guts out. Oh my God! This was perfect! But where was Chance?
I pushed forward again and spotted him sitting on the edge of a shiny black grand piano, more well-known musicians on either side of him. So perfect!
I lifted my cell phone to take a shot. Got it!
I glanced down at the image. Loved it! I didn’t want to upload it without thinking carefully about what to say for the best keywords and hashtags. I’d wait for a quiet moment.
Now for my selfie.
I almost fainted when I realized who was next to me. And on the other side. This party had brought out the most amazing pop-star divas. Best selfie op ever.
My hand had started sweating, and my shoulder was throbbing with the effort of holding Phoenix in position. If I could just get the right angle!
I punched the button to switch to the forward camera on my phone. My pink hair filled the frame. I held my arm out as far as it would go, trying to get the baby, myself, and some of the famous people in the shot.
A man jostled me from behind, but I kept my composure, trying to hit the shutter button.
That’s when I heard the terrible wail.
I looked down. Phoenix had unlatched, milk all over her face. It dribbled down my exposed boob. I tried to situate her without dropping the phone, but when I moved her again to try to get her back in place, she let out a heart-rending scream.
And that’s right when the song ended.
Chapter 11: Tina
Well, this was this boring.
The hospital holiday party had pretty much nothing going for it other than Darion in a suit. Which was, I would admit, a nice perk.
The actual holidays were long over. This event was always held in January. The increase in hospital workload in late December and at the New Year, plus attempts at vacations and time off, all meant the hospital staff had zero energy to put together something fun.
Not that this was exactly fun.
Darion and I sat at a table with some of the other oncologists. The hospital cafeteria had been repurposed for the party. Despite the lights and decorations, it still looked like a cafeteria, in the way a gymnasium is rarely truly transformed for prom.
Three times, one of the wives had redirected the conversation away from clinical trials and new treatment protocols. These guys seriously had no idea how to kick back. Darion was just as bad as the others, but I was used to it. I was equally obsessive about art.
I idly fingered the centerpiece, a hand-painted accordion fan nestled in a spray of evergreens and silver balls. This one had been done by a little girl named Eliana. She had used her fingerprints to make a snowman family, white on a red fan.
All the fans had been made in my classes. A small card at the base of each centerpiece told a little bit about the kid. First name. Age. A bit of diagnosis. I wanted to go to each card and write more. Not just Eliana, age 9, Acute Myeloid Leukemia.
But Eliana, with the most infectious laugh, who loves to draw ponies and use too much glitter, and wants nothing more than to go back to third grade and sit next to Jeremiah, who, according to her, is a tote dreamboat.
Darion reached for my hand and kissed my knuckles. I smiled over at him. He was ever amazing while I brooded over life, art, and of course, Albert. My artist friend hadn’t been able to talk in over a week now. It was only a matter of time. I couldn’t seem to find the strength to face it yet. I pretended he would be fine again, another drug would lift him back into spirits and the ability to work.
Denial was comfortable.
Darion kissed my hand again and this time raised his eyebrows. I sat up straight. Of course. This was a signal that he wanted to get out of here. I turned to the back of my chair for the shawl I had worn over my dress.
But his plan to flee was thwarted by the hospital director walking up to the podium and looking over the tables with an eagle eye, as if daring anyone to leave. Darion sighed and settled back in his chair.
I leaned in. “Missed your op,” I said.
He shrugged. “Boring motivational talks are part of the gig.”