“We can leave if you want to.”
“No.” He swallowed again, forcing down the lump in his throat. “I’m fine.”
He settled his gaze on her eyes, allowing himself to find calm in their green depths.
She smiled and tugged at his elbow. “Okay, then. Let’s go color.”
They joined four other children at a large circular table covered in paper, markers, colored pencils, and crayons. Lauren took charge of the conversation, introducing Andrew and herself and asking all of their names. He thought he was good with kids—he’d never had a problem with Alva or Charlie—but something about this setting and the appearance of these children threw him off-balance. Lauren was right, though—if he focused on their smiles, it was easier to see them as any other kid. Which is probably what they wanted. He knew he didn’t want to be defined by his disease.
The children were talkative, and once he settled in and relaxed, Andrew found himself laughing and taking part in the silly conversations going on around him. Eventually he sat back and surveyed the room. He noticed a girl sitting near the window and paused.
She appeared to be the oldest in the room, maybe twelve or thirteen.
She wasn’t smiling.
“I’ll be right back,” he said to Lauren. He rose and walked to where the girl sat, stopping a few feet away.
“Hi, I’m Andrew.” He held out his hand.
She looked at his hand for a second before reaching out to shake it.
She said nothing.
“May I sit?”
She shrugged and resumed looking out the window.
Andrew pulled up a chair and took in the view. “Wow. You can see a lot from up here.”
No response.
He leaned past her and pressed his index finger against the glass. “See that small pink building with the bright sign? That place makes the best ice cream. And the older-looking brown one with the guitar painted on the side? I’ve been to like, fifty concerts there. They book the best bands…but it’s standing room only, which is annoying. My feet start to hurt, but it’s worth it.” The girl’s face hadn’t changed even a millimeter, so he decided to make something up. Thinking about the woman sitting behind him, he came up with an idea. “Oh man, and the weird-shaped gray one over there? I had a job interview there once, and you know what I did? I’m in my suit, all professional and put-together with my briefcase and a latte, and I walked straight into the glass door. Spilled coffee all over myself and I looked like a complete idiot when I walked into the reception area. Didn’t get the job, either.”
The tiniest smile in the history of smiles formed on her face, and he counted it a success. “What’s your name?” he asked.
“Jasmine.”
“You don’t talk much, Jasmine.”
“You talk too much, Andrew.”
Andrew quirked an eyebrow. “How old are you?”
“Fourteen.”
“Really? I’d have guessed twelve.”
That was the wrong thing to say. She scowled at him.
He tried again. “Fourteen is a good age. I learned to drive on my dad’s farm when I was fourteen. Grew an entire foot. Got really into skateboarding. Ever do that?”
“No.”
“Yeah, I guess it’s kind of dangerous,” Andrew said. He’d hit the pavement more times than he could count.
“I already have cancer,” she said flatly.
“Me too.”