Page 40 of The Last Kiss
“So quick blood test, ECG, then we will put you on a running machine to check your oxygen use during physical activity. Swiftly followed by an MRI.”
“MRI,” my mouth falls open. “Today?” Then I focus on what else she’s said. “Running machine?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “Don’t worry, you don’t actually have to run, just walk.”
I glance down at my shoes and she follows my gaze. “We really should tell people to wear trainers.”
My heels are black today, a statement piece.
“I can take them off.” I frown at the fifteen denier tights I’ve got on. They have to so much as be in the same vicinity as a rough surface and they run with an instant ladder. I’m spending more on tights the last month than I am dinner. “This is going to take a while, isn’t it?”
“Sure is. I hope you brought snacks.”
“My sister needs to collect my niece from nursery at two thirty.”
The nurse tilts her head from side to side. “It could be done that quick, but honestly I doubt it.”
“Why is everything done today?”
Her smile stretches, commiserating and sympathetic. “If you’re a straightforward case, you should know today whether you go on the list or not.”
“Really? Today?”
“We do try to. It’s nice for people to leave with a positive outcome.” Her gaze drops to my notes again and that little flicker sets her lips straight at the edges. “Right, come on then. Let’s get going and get you on the scales.”
“Do we have to start with the scales?”
She chuckles and shakes her head. “That’s what everyone says.”
Back out in the waiting room, I flop down next to Liv. “We are going to be here hours. You need to go and get Paige.”
She scowls at her phone in one of her hands while the other rocks Lenny’s buggy back and forth over the shiny floor. “I’m trying to get hold of Darren.”
“I don’t want you asking him for help, just because of me.” I fold my arms, the bit of sticky tape in the crease of my elbow pulling on the fine hairs. “I’ve got to have an MRI yet.” I swallow hard. “Apparently they do everything in one day and then tell you if you’re eligible or not.”
“He’s her dad. He’s supposed to help with things. I’m not leaving you.”
“Do you know how long an MRI takes? Forever.”
“I know. I was with you last time you had one.” She shoots me a shut the fuck up glance, but I’m not going to be put off.
“I’m a big girl.”
“I’m your sister.”
“Exactly. And you’ll still be my sister later when I get to your house and you pour me a nice glass of wine.”
Liv shakes her head. “Nope.”
“Yes.”
“Nope.”
“Miss Brown.” We both look up at the towering Roman God standing before us in a doctor’s coat, stethoscope hanging around his neck.
We both inhale a collective breath. I’m thinking more Men’s Health Magazine cover model than heart transplant surgeon, but either works for me.
Yep. Either.
