Chapter 8
Riley
“Icannot believe him. Do you see what I’m talking about? Surely you see what I am talking about,” I huff as I put the majority of my body weight into rolling out cookie dough.
Noah and I are at Brianna’s house and despite it not even being Thanksgiving yet, we are trying out a bunch of new Christmas cookie recipes she found.
That way, we can narrow it down to five or ten and pass them out around the neighborhood the week of Christmas.
Her ambition, not mine. I myself am a fan of Pilsberry.
“I mean he was charming,” she says, rolling sugar cookie dough into balls.
“Charming!? He’s full of himself! I mean a lot of doctors are cocky but this guy thinks he is seriously hot stuff.” I smack the dough with the rolling pin wondering if she went a little overboard on the chilling part of the instructions.
“I mean he is kind of attractive, don’t you think?” she smiles, casually rolling the balls of dough in cinnamon and sugar.
“Of course not! Are you kidding? Not at all.”
She snorts. “Why? What’s wrong with him?”
“I’m glad you asked,” I point the rolling pin at her. “He’s too tall.”
“What?” she cackles. “Said no women ever. There’s no such thing!”
“He’s at least a foot taller than me, Bri. Flat footed. He’s practically Grecian. I mean, how would I even kiss a man like that?”
“Very passionately if I had to guess,” she sniggers.
“Not only that but he’s older. Fifteen years or so if I had to guess.”
“You’re right,” she nods. “You’d have to be into silver foxes for it to even cross your mind that he might be a little bit attractive.”
“Exactly. And I’m not. Glad we settled that,” say with a tight smile.
Her grin, however, is less forced.
“Mommy,” Bailey runs into the kitchen with Noah who follows at a slightly slower pace and my heart clenches. It’s a hard thing for a mama having a kid that can’t keep up with others. “Can we have some paper and pencils?”
“Of course you can! They’re in the drawer in the chest. What are you going to do with it?”
“We want to write our letters to Santa,” Bailey answers.
“Really?” I ask. “Already?”
“Yes!” Noah answers with his perfectly lopsided smile.
“But it’s so early,” I say. “What if you change your mind about what you want?”
“I’m not going to change my mind,” Noah says with absolution.
“Me neither,” Bailey says. “I’ve wanted the Harry Potter Lego set forever. It’s like a million pieces and I’m going to build it all by myself.”
“All of Hogwarts all by yourself?” Bailey asks.
“Yes!”
We smile at their holiday enthusiasm and I have to admit, seeing their joy, hanging out and making cookies really does help with my lack of Christmas cheer.
“Hey, so there’s something I wanted to show you,” I say after we toss the cookies in the oven.
Brianna pours each of us a glass of wine and we sit on the couch as the boys scribble out their lists at the coffee table in front of us.
I pull out my phone and show Brianna a social media page for moms and their kids who have CF and similar illnesses.
“So as you know, Noah gets a little bit of attention on here,” I smile, swiping through posts and videos.
“As he should. He’s a sweetheart and he’s adorable.”
“Well…every year, one of the kids on this page makes enough waves that they get a call from the Make-A-Wish foundation. And this year…”
“Oh my god, they picked Noah? They picked Noah!” she squeals.
“They picked Noah,” I nod, tears brimming my eyes.
“So what do you think, kiddo?” Brianna says. “What’s your wish? I hear you can go just about anywhere with that ticket.”
“You should go to Disney World!” Bailey says. I try to imagine him there, having fun on all the rides and meeting Mickey. It makes me both overjoyed and nervous at the same time. On one hand, what an amazing thing. On the other hand, I worry about him staying healthy.
“You can also go see things,” Brianna adds as if she can read my thoughts. “I hear the NASCAR Hall of Fame is pretty cool. Or Seaworld.”
“What are you going to pick?” Bailey asks.
Noah taps his pencil on his lips and then he smiles a little before carefully writing the rest of his Santa letter. After folding it up and tucking it into the envelope, he seals it and hands it to me.
“There,” he says.
“Your letter to Santa?” I ask.
“My letter to Santa AND my Make-A-Wish. I put my wish in my letter to Santa.”
“Okay buddy, but the foundation won’t know where you want to go if you send it to the North Pole,” I say.
“Nope. But Santa will. And my wish is not a where. It’s a what. I’m asking Santa for my wish because then I know I’ll get it for sure.”
My heart dips. Brianna’s mouth goes from popped, to biting her lips with a smile.
Then it hits me. I know exactly what he wants.
Lungs.
My heart falls through my stomach at that and the oven timer goes off.
“Boys, why don’t you help me with these cookies?” Brianna asks. She squeezes my shoulder before she walks away leaving me on the couch with a wish I don’t know if I can grant and my phone buzzing next to me.
I blink back the tears and look down at it.
It’s Cameron. And he wants to see me urgently.
Brianna offers to watch Noah while I rush to the hospital.
My heart is all over the place, broken over the Santa letter and worrying about why Cameron would call for an emergency meeting.
There are a million questions running through my head.
Worst case scenarios. Maybe they looked at the CAT scan again and found something else.
Maybe there was an issue with my insurance and I owe them for the ER visit after all.
I practically sprint into Cameron’s office, blinking back every hint of emotion from my eyes as I go. I find him sitting at his desk in scrubs and a white coat when I burst through the door.
“Well, that was fast,” he says, taking off a pair of square, black rimmed glasses as I sit down in the chair in front of him. “You smell good.”
“Don’t start,” I point at him.
“Like cinnamon and…cookies?”
“Cameron,” I snap. “Your text was urgent. So what is it? Is something wrong with Noah?”
“No. Everything is okay as far as he’s concerned.”
I let out a sigh, mostly because I am out of breath.
“Alright. Let me guess then. You wanted to tell me I am SOL? That you can’t help me with the bills or the surgery and I’ll never be able to get him the transplant you insist he needs?
Because if that’s what this is about, your timing is really shitty, Doctor.
Well, let me tell you something. I have supported him myself for five years and I will find a way to keep doing it.
I always find a way. And I’ll do it without grants and handouts because I do not take charity. ”
“Actually I wasn’t going to say any of that,” he says.
“Oh really?” I ask, deflating a little.
“Nope.”
“Well…if it’s not about Noah…then why did you ask me to come here?”
“So I could ask if you’d marry me.”