Lauren stood. “Of course.”
“Just to warn you, it’s crowded in there.”
“No problem.” Lauren scanned the appointment board for the room assignment, grabbed her papers, and went to number eleven. She knocked twice and entered.
Dr. Patel was right. It was crowded. Lauren counted five people, four women and one man, who must be the patient. The exam rooms weren’t large, containing an exam table, a sink, three chairs, and a stool on wheels. Two women were on their feet in the corner, and the other two sat along with—
The guy from the coffee shop.
The impossibly sexy, brown-haired, tall one who had seen her ogling a photo of Emma’s breasts and then had coffee spilled all over his shirt. He still wore said shirt, with his navy hoodie zipped up over the stain.
Lauren blinked.
“Hi.”
The sound of his deep, rich voice jolted Lauren out of her trance. She cleared her throat, thankful that she’d said these words dozens of times before. “Um, hi, I’m Lauren. The pharmacy resident who works with Dr. Patel. I’m here to tell you more about the chemotherapy you’ll be receiving. You must be Andrew?” She held out her hand, like she always did. Her fingers trembled slightly, which they always did not.
He gripped her hand in his large warm one. “That’s me.” Thankfully, he didn’t bring up their early morning encounter. He released her and patted the arm of the woman sitting next to him. “This is my mom, Susan.” He gestured to the younger women gathered nearby. “My sister Jeni. And my other sisters, Rhonda and Valerie. They insisted it was necessary they all be here. All four of them.” His tone was irritated, but the soft expression on his face as he eyed the women showed a fondness for each of them.
“That’s great.” Lauren sat on the stool and centered herself between the half circle of people looking at her. “It’s important to have a strong support system.”
Andrew’s mom sniffled. “And support him we will,” she said in a shaky voice.
“Mom.”
“Don’t ‘mom’ me, Andrew Nathan Bishop. I’ll be here every step of the way whether you like it or not.”
“I can guarantee you I will not.”
“Son, may I remind you that—”
The sister sitting down, Jeni, leaned forward and said loudly, “You should probably get started. Once they get going, they can carry on for hours.” She grinned wryly and pushed thick-framed tortoise-shell glasses up her nose. Appearing the youngest of the sisters, she had a smattering of freckles across her cheeks and bore a strong resemblance to her brother.
Andrew and his mother went silent and directed identical glares in the girl’s direction.
“Jeni’s right,” one of the standing women said. This one sported a short bob of blond hair and her T-shirt announced she was a proud member of the George Washington PTA. “Let the lady talk.”
Lauren wasn’t sure how to react. She gauged her level of enthusiasm based on the demeanor of the family…some liked to joke and even laugh during their visit, while others were somber and kept it strictly down to business. The people in this room exuded the full spectrum. Andrew and Jeni seemed the least concerned and the most relaxed, and Andrew’s mother and the sister wearing the PTA shirt looked on the verge of a breakdown.
This might be a challenge.
Just stick to the routine.
“Let me start by saying I’ll give you a lot of information today, and it can be overwhelming. I like to go over things in person, but everything is in these papers I’m giving you.” Lauren noted a pad of paper and a pen on Jeni’s lap. “You’re welcome to take notes, but don’t worry if you just want to listen and ask questions. It’s all here for you to look through after you get home and have time to process everything.”
Lauren looked at every member of the family as she spoke, and they watched her in rapt attention. Each time her eyes met Andrew’s, she felt her face heat. It embarrassed her, but she kept going, trying her best to ignore his perfectly sculpted bone structure and long legs stretched out in front of him, his left foot a mere three inches from the tip of her peep-toe heel.
She was a professional.
She didn’t even know him.
He was a patient.
She began by telling him the logistics of receiving chemotherapy, including where the infusion center was and why he needed to have a port placed in his chest for intravenous access. “Dr. Patel has prescribed a chemotherapy regimen called ABVD, which is just an acronym for each chemotherapy agent. You’ll hear all of us—myself, Dr. Patel, the infusion nurses—refer to it by this shorthand name. ABVD has four chemotherapy drugs—”
“Four?” His mom stuttered. She started to cry, and Lauren handed her the box of tissues sitting next to the sink.
“Mom, calm down,” Jeni said, rubbing the older woman’s hand with her own.