Page 44 of Healing Hearts
“Trent!” I say, tears forming in my eyes. “Itismore like an eight. God, you bought me cookies?” I hold out my hand, and he approaches the bed, opening the box.
After I take one, he plucks one out and perches on the edge of the bed, chewing with what feels like thoughtfulness.
“Redouble the efforts this month?” he suggests.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“The internet has a lot of advice,” he says, as though that explains what he means.
“And?”
“Sixteen hours might be too narrow of a window.”
“What does the internet suggest?” Though I’m sure I already know.
“Try to prime the area before ovulation.” He squints at me when he says it like he thinks I’ll hate the idea.
“Have sex the day before I think I’ll ovulate.”
“And then hit it hard.”
“Oh my god. Your phrasing.”
“You’re the one who thinks we need to keep it all clinical.”
“There’s clinical and then there’s shop talk—prime the area, hit it hard.”
“Baby, I’m going to grease those wheels so hard, you’ll never recover.”
He delivers the line with such false bravado that I can’t help but laugh. He flashes the cookie box at me again, and I take another one.
“Okay,” I say. “We have a deal. The day before I suspect it’ll happen, and the day of.”
“Yes!” He pumps his fist. “My shop talk worked.”
I laugh again and sit up more in bed, pulling the covers around me. “I’m taking Amir to have his genetics tested next week. I still don’t know if I’ll be able to look at the results, but I think you were right before. It’s hanging over me like it’s true—like he has it. I might as well know for sure. And when I talked to the genetics counselor, they said even if he has the genetic mutations, it’s not a guarantee that he’ll get ALS. It’s not one hundred percent, but more likely.”
Which isn’t soothing—it just feels like another thing that’ll hang over my head. If he has the mutations, whether he gets full-blown ALS at some point will be a not-so-fun surprise. Letting myself think about that too long sends me on an emotional spiral, so I’m keeping all those thoughts buttoned up.
“What can I do?” Trent asks, plucking out another cookie.
“The counselor said the results are mailed from the genetics lab.”
“Same with mine when I got it done,” he says. “You want me with you when you open it?”
“Will you? If it’s bad, I just…” I shake my head. “I think I’ll be a mess.”
“I’ll hold your pieces if you fall apart,” he says, his gaze earnest when it connects with mine. “Whatever you need, I’m there.”
I absorb his words for a beat before I say, “I’m really glad that you’re the guy. That you’ll be the guy.”
“It’s an honor,” Trent says, and he slides the box of cookies on my nightstand before heading for the door. “I’ll see you after work.”
The next day, I’ve recovered from my pity party, and I’m meeting a potential new client at their house to assess their property. It’s on the outskirts of Little Falls, and it has huge acreage. Lorna and Robert are old money in the area, but they’ve decided to move to Florida to retire and be closer to their kids.
When I get there, Lorna gives me a tour of the house and all the outbuildings they have. I take photos and careful notes of everything.
Then we sit in their kitchen, and I pull up a few comparable listings on my tablet from memory. I go over what their place has or doesn’t have in comparison to the other sales, and then I let them know that I’ll have a firm number for them in a couple of days.
