The annual fundraising gala for Boulder Children’s Hospital is my greatest career accomplishment, but it’s a personal mission too. My work for BCH began in undergrad. Sure there were some college credits at stake, but more than anything, it was an effort to give back to the selfless people who saw Mom and me through the darkest season of our lives. Not even Mom’s cancer could one-up the loss we both endured eleven years ago. The doctors, the staff, the work they do at BCH—it’s the most meaningful privilege of my life to spearhead this event for them every year.
Not allowing myself to dwell too long on the memory of our best friends, I ask, “Do you wanna ride over together?”
“No. I’ve got my own date, thank you very much.”
I choke on my coffee. “You—”Cough.“You what?”
“Oh, don’t look so shocked. Yes, I have a date. Is that so hard to believe?”
My head bobbles in forty-seven directions, eyes wide. “No. It’s just…well…who is it?”
“Richard Adelson.”
Scalding liquid siphons up my nose and I hack into my fist. My lungs are somehow on fire and under water at the same time. “Doctor Adelson?” I croak, palm braced against my chest.
Mom pins me with a proud smirk while I pull myself together.
“Doctor. Adelson.” I repeat the words because my brain hasn’t computed them yet.
“This old engine still has some rubber on her tires.”
I slap a hand over my eyes. “Ew, Mom.”
She laughs, ending on an amused sigh. When I peek at her through the slit of my fingers, she pumps her brows. I’m gone. We cackle, some odd combo of her shamelessness and my secondhand embarrassment swirling between us.
By the time we calm down, I’m swatting tears from my cheeks.
The waitress returns with our meals. French toast and bacon for me, Denver omelette and an English muffin for Mom.
We nod our thanks and the server disappears again, but my mind continues to reel. “How long?”
She throws me a look. “Well, I haven’t measured but if I had to guess?—”
My fork drops to the table and I sink into the vinyl booth, both hands back on my face. “Please,God, make it stop!”
Mom chuckles through a bite of her eggs. “Careful, Hannah, people might think I raised a prude.”
I ignore the jab and jolt upright. “Does he know?”
“That I’m dying of cancer?” I glare at her for a beat. She lowers her eyes and collects more eggs onto her fork, adding softly, “Yes, he knows.”
After a few moments of heavy silence, Mom says, “What about you? You bringing a date?”
I snort. “The event is a part of my job. You know I’m gonna be working.”
She rolls her eyes.
I pitch my voice to match her mom-tone. “Lydia Marie James, don’t roll your eyes at me.”
She rips a piece of her muffin and hurls it at my face. “Kristen is bringing a date.”
“Kristen is bringingher husband.”
“Smartass. What about blind date guy?”
“I rescheduled that for next week.” My answer is noncommittal as I return to my French toast.
“Well aware, dear. You spent said evening uninvited on my couch, remember?”