“Very,” the trainer confirmed. “Have a seat, Graham.”
He wanted to grumble at the innuendo and secret language they were sharing, but refrained. He perched on the edge of the armchair, looking around. “Where’s the kid?”
“Friend’s house. And here’s the mom.” Marianne stood and took the basket of oranges from Kara’s hands and set it on the table. “I thought the cheese and crackers were snack enough.”
Kara sat down in front of the table, across from the couch, and settled a plastic tote box full of slender boxes beside them. “They’re not a snack. Everyone grab an orange.”
Graham did, brushing his knuckles against Kara’s as they reached for the same one. She jerked back, and the orange fell to the coffee table. Marianne cleared her throat. Reagan stared intently at a wall to the side.
“Sorry,” Kara said, handing him the orange without touching. “Okay, so here’s one version of a pen. These were his last version. This is the trainer, so you can test it first and see what it’s like. No needle, no risk.” She demonstrated pulling the cap off, then went through miming thrusting it into her thigh and holding it for ten seconds after a clicking sound. “Count, out loud, because too much is going on at once and you have to make sure you keep it there the right amount. Then immediately call 911, even if he looks like he’s doing better. Anytime, anywhere you have to use the EpiPen, you should call 911, even if he seems like he’s improving already.”
“That seems violent,” Reagan said as she took the trainer from Kara. “Why does it have to be so hard against your thigh? Why not more gently against the arm?”
“The thigh is the best place, because it spreads the medicine the fastest and is the easiest spot for self-injection. But you have to hold it there because there’s a recoil. The thigh isn’t flabby.”
“Well, some are,” Reagan said, patting her own curvy legs.
“Stop,” Marianne said, taking the trainer pen and trying it out before handing it to Graham. He did the same, inspecting it closely after giving it a try.
The thought of having to use the pen on Zach’s small body made his hand shake a little as he handed it back to Kara. She gave him an odd look, but then passed out another pen exactly like the first. Except it was a bit more colorful.
“Real pen time. Don’t mess with it, it’s got a needle. Hold the orange against the table or the couch, and you can feel what it’s like injecting it.”
Graham did so, marveling at medicine and how far it had come.
“And we have now officially used about four hundred dollars’ worth of medication on fruit,” Kara joked. Graham felt his eyes bug out at the number, but she waved it away. “They’re useless to us now, so there’s nothing better to do with them.”
“Why did you have four?”
“Two for school, two for home. He had two that he carried with him at all times, too, in his backpack or in my purse, but we practiced with those this morning together.”
He hated that Zach had to know all of this information. Hated that this was a vital part of his childhood . . . knowing how to save his own life.
“This is his new one. It talks.” She grinned and passed around the trainer. When Marianne pulled off the cap, it began to speak the instructions.
“Niiiiice,” she murmured, then passed it to Reagan, who passed it to him.
“More expensive, unfortunately, but worth every penny. In an emergency, you don’t have to worry about relying on a shaky hand reading tiny instructions.”
He looked up at Kara, wanting so much to offer help. She was a single mom, and though she hadn’t told him the story, he could guess Zach’s father wasn’t exactly contributing financially to their lives. Or really contributing in any way, period.
Another knock sounded on the door, and Kara jumped. Marianne stood, saying, “I’ve got it.” She let in Greg and Brad, who came in and immediately took residence on the couch with their ladies.
“Oh, oranges.” Greg reached for one, and Reagan slapped the back of his hand.
“Trust me, you don’t want that one.”
Kara and Marianne laughed when Greg wrinkled his nose in confusion and rubbed his hand.
“Now that we’ve got our rides here to take our wine-soaked butts home, we’re going to take off.” Reagan stood, holding a hand out to Greg. When he raised both brows, she shook the hand, insisting.
“We just got here. Don’t we at least get some cheese and crackers?” Brad asked. Marianne reached over, grabbed a cracker and shoved it in his mouth.
“And that’s all, folks. See y’all at practice tomorrow morning, bright and early!” Marianne kissed the top of Kara’s head as they passed. “Don’t get up, we’ll let ourselves out.”
“But you—” The door snapped shut before she could even get out her sentence. “Wow. They’re in a hurry,” she said with a nervous laugh.