My mom’s voice drifts up the stairs, the words indistinct. Holly responds to whatever she said, and I hear my dad chuckle. Whether she is trying or not, my parents are falling in love with Holly. She started off in their good graces just by having that viable kidney. Now, they’re swooning over the fact that she visits during my treatments. Not to mention, they gravitate to her straight, honest way of talking. Lawyers tend to be around double-talkers during work hours. Holly must be a cool glass of water on a hot, dry day. Or at least, a couple of ibuprofen when you feel a headache coming on.

I’m alone for another five minutes or so, during which I have to keep from peeking at the next page. She stopped reading right as Westley and Buttercup were running into a place called the Fire Swamp. I itch to know what happens, having never seen the movie, which shocked Holly when I first admitted it.

“Hey, no peeking!” She’s back, cradling a now-steaming pot of tea, scowling at me.

I love that she’s comfortable with moving around this house, making her own tea. Now, I just need to get her as embedded in where I actually live.

“It slipped, I swear.” I hold up my hands in surrender.

She sticks her tongue out at me as she settles into her chair.

Like always, I want to lean over and kiss her sassy mouth when she does that.

This waiting is making my skin itch. We’re spending all this time together, but does she trust me yet? I’m ready to step things up. Problem is, I don’t know how.

HOLLY

“Why are you laughing at me?” My voice is slightly muffled because of the surgical mask I’m wearing.

Ben’s eyes crinkle above his own.

He’s seen me in one of these things plenty of times. But, for some reason, on this Thursday morning, the sight of me has him chuckling. I swear, he even snorted.

“Tell you in a sec. You’d better turn around though.”

Even though I want to keep interrogating him, I see his hand reach for the needles and know I’m beat. For the moment at least.

While he’s hooking up, I slip my phone out of my pocket, turning on the camera and flipping the view so that I’m met with a reflection of my face. I’m worried I’m going to find bird poop in my hair or that the pen I was chewing on earlier leaked ink on my chin.

Nope. Instead, the surgical mask I’m wearing has a realistically detailed bucktoothed grin drawn on it. I look like a crazy cartoon character.

“You’re such a jerk!” There’s no real heat in my words because I’m laughing, too.

His hilarity spills out unabated now that he knows I know.

“What? You don’t like your makeover?” Another deep chuckle. “You can turn around now. Let me see that pretty smile.”