The Girlfriend (The Boss 2)

“The king now, is it?” I pretended to consider the title. “I think you’re lucky you’re on pain meds. I’ll let that remark slide.”

For a long moment, he said nothing, and I wondered if he’d fallen asleep, when he said, sounding more awake than I had expected, “I wasn’t sure exactly what I could ask of you. We’ve only been together for three months, and though I do feel very close to you, I didn’t know how we would deal with all of this.”

I rubbed my palms on my thighs. “I didn’t mean to start this whole conversation when you’re just a few minutes out of surgery. It was on my mind and I let it run away with me.”

“I’m not upset. It’s as good a time as any.” He visibly struggled to snap out of the effects of the drugs. “I can call my attorney when we get home—”

“It doesn’t have to be anything serious. I don’t want to make any decisions vis-á-vis the proverbial plug,” I clarified. “I just want to be able to help you with making appointments and talking to the doctors. You know. When you’re loopy like this. You had complications in there, and the surgeon kind of danced around it.”

“Oh, yes, there were complications.” He gingerly touched his shoulder. “It took them a while to find the vein. By the time they did, I wasn’t entirely numb anymore.”

I recoiled, horrified. “Oh my god, Neil! You poor baby!”

“But I survived. At least I had the sedative to entertain me.” He looked around the room, squinting. “I can’t see anything.”

I reached into my purse and pulled out his glasses. “You probably need these.”

He took them from my hand and kissed the backs of my fingers. “You’re very good at this, you know.”

I sat up straight in my chair, my hands pressed primly in my lap. I smiled and lifted my chin. “And I’ll only get better.”

Although I wasn’t sure better was the word for it. I would get more used to it, because I had to.

“I do want to make you my medical advocate or next-of-kin, whichever they call it these days,” he said after a pause. “Right now, mine is Emma. Rudy is my backup. They’re both spending more time in New York than here. You live with me, it only makes sense that you should be in charge of such things.”

“These are the words of a man who’s had far too many drugs in his system at one time,” I said dryly.

“I’m completely serious.” He reached over and took my hand, squeezing my fingers in his. “This will take months. You heard Dr. Grant, my total recovery after the transplant could take up to a year. I can’t ask Emma to stay at my side every day for a year.”

“You would murder each other,” I conceded.

“With our bare hands.” He closed his eyes. “I’ll call Alan when we get home.”

“No, you just had surgery,” I reminded him. “You can call Alan in a few days. When we get home, you’re going to rest.”

“I’ll have plenty of time to rest when I’m doing the bloody chemotherapy,” he complained, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “You’re probably right, though, I do need the practice.”

“That is the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.” I stood up. “I’m going to go find a nurse and see when they’re going to release you.”

“Sophie,” he called, and when I turned, he was smiling at me. “You really are very good at this.”

“Thanks.” I considered a moment. “But let’s not make this whole ‘getting cancer’ thing a habit.”

Neil’s chemotherapy would go in a three-week cycle. The first week, he would get all the nasty drugs that would kill his cancer cells, and a bunch of regular cells on the side. He had the first dose at the hospital, so they could monitor his condition.

“This is ridiculous,” Neil complained as he changed out of his clothes and into a hospital gown. “We only live a few minutes away. I don’t see why I need to stay overnight.”

“Better safe than sorry,” I reminded him patiently as I folded his sweater. “You’ll be back home tomorrow.”

I’d thought that he would have to be taken to some special chemo lab to have the super important drug administered. Perhaps there was a touch of the dramatic in that expectation; I was totally comfortable imagining Neil on a gurney, being raced into some far off procedure room by nurses and doctors all shouting at each other about how serious this entire thing was.

At least then it would match the level of anxiety I felt.

When the nurse came in, I almost vomited in fear. Which was a strange reaction, considering how non-threatening she looked. She was probably nearing retirement, and had graying blonde hair pulled into a frizzy twist. She was round all over, and short, like a little chemo Hobbit.