“Fine,” Alexis said automatically. “It’s a simple drive from Nashville.”
Jasmine crossed her legs and smiled. “If you have any questions at any point, don’t hesitate to ask them. There are no stupid questions, and it’s my job to make sure you have everything you need to make this process as smooth as possible for you.”
She had an easy way about her. Friendly without being fake. But there was also a rote efficiency to her, as if she’d held this meeting a thousand times before. Probably, she had.
Jasmine picked up a black binder from the coffee table. “The way I prefer to do this, if it’s okay with you, is to cover some of the logistical things first. Get some paperwork out of the way, get the signatures we need, and go from there. Is that acceptable?”
“Of course.”
The woman flipped open the binder, set it back on the coffee table, and turned it so Alexis could read it. “Most of this is yours to keep, but originals of some of the documents you sign will stay with me.”
Alexis leaned forward as Jasmine flipped through the pages. Pre-surgery checklist. Post-surgery checklist. What to bring and not to bring. What to expect on the day of surgery.
“This seems a little premature,” Alexis interrupted. “I haven’t even taken the blood test yet.”
Jasmine nodded. “Normally, yes, we would wait on these things. But as you know—”
“He doesn’t have a lot of time.”
Jasmine’s smile this time was sympathetic. “I know this must be difficult.”
Alexis didn’t have a response to that, so she looked at the binder again. “What else is there?”
Jasmine flipped a few more pages. “This last section deals with the financials of the surgery. In most cases, the recipient’s insurance will cover all costs associated with the transplant itself—the testing, the pre-surgery prep, and post-surgery care. However, any future health issues associated with the surgery would be covered by your own insurance. You indicated that you do have insurance, correct?”
Barely. Like most small-business owners, Alexis bought her own insurance through the federal marketplace, but the coverage wasn’t great.
Jasmine misunderstood Alexis’s nonanswer. “There are many programs available to provide financial assistance to donors. But that isn’t something we can guarantee or have any authority over, so I do need a signature from you indicating that you understand your financial obligations associated with the transplant.”
Alexis signed where Jasmine indicated.
The woman flipped the binder shut and slid it closer to Alexis. “We recommend that you keep that handy and have it with you during all prep work. There are pockets where you can add information as you get it. But I’m always available for questions or clarifications.”
Alexis smiled, or something like it, and opened her water.
Jasmine scooted back in her chair. “You should also know that part of my job is to assess that you are doing this of your own free will without any financial or emotional coercion.”
Alexis paused and lowered the bottle from her mouth. “What does that mean?”
Jasmine’s face softened into the kind of expression that always spelled discomfort on the horizon. “You’ve had a lot going on in your life.”
“You googled me?”
Jasmine did that calm smile again. “Tell me how you handle stress.”
“Caffeine, therapy, and a relentless pursuit of justice.”
Jasmine laughed. “Any therapy after the incident?”
“Of course. I also host a yoga class for survivors.”
Jasmine nodded and made a note in her file. “I understand you weren’t aware that Mr. Vanderpool was your father until recently.”
Alexis set the bottle down on the table. “What does that have to do with the surgery?”
Jasmine adopted a calm, neutral expression. “It’s my job to assess your emotional well-being. Finding a father you never knew would be a heavy emotional load.”
“It was a shock,” she finally said.
Jasmine waited for Alexis to continue, prodding with nothing more than encouraging silence.
And for some reason, Alexis acquiesced. “I mean, I knew I must have had a father somewhere at some point.”
“But you never thought about finding him?”
Alexis shrugged. “It never seemed important. I had my mother, and we were a perfect family just the two of us.”
“And now that he has found you, can you tell me how you’d feel if the surgery didn’t work?”
Alexis started. “Didn’t work? In what way?”
“His body could reject your kidney.”
“But isn’t that what all the tests are about? To make sure his body won’t reject it?”
“Of course. But there are never any guarantees.”
“But there are, aren’t there? If he doesn’t get a kidney, he will die. Right?”
The woman tilted her head. “He will need a kidney to live. Yes. But another donor might be found. He’s on the transplant list.”
“But the chances are better for survival, aren’t they? If he gets a kidney from a relative instead of a stranger.”
“Statistically, yes. Recipients have a longer life span post-surgery when they have a living donor who is a relative.”
“Then it should be me.”
Jasmine leaned forward. “Alexis, do you want to do this?”
“Yes.” Her answer surprised even herself with its certainty, its forcefulness.
“Why?” Jasmine asked.
“What do you mean why? Because he could die if I don’t.”
“Wanting to protect someone from dying is different from wanting someone to live.”
Alexis sat back against the couch. “That’s a horrible thing to say.”
“Alexis, what you say to me stays with me. Mr. Vanderpool will never know what is said here today, so you can be honest.”
Annoyance prickled along her spine. “I am being honest. Are you trying to talk me out of this?”
“Absolutely not. I’m just trying to understand your reasons for being here.”
So was Alexis. “I don’t know what you want me to say to that.”
“There are a lot of good, legitimate reasons to do this. But obligation should never be one of them.”
“It’s not obligation.” Her voice sounded defensive to her own ears.
Jasmine crossed her legs again. “Then tell me what it is.”
Alexis opened and closed her mouth. The answer was there, but she was afraid of it, just like when Candi asked her why she’d allowed her DNA results to be shared with relatives. She wanted to test it on her tongue, let it marinate until all her senses had time to experience it, accept it, before she said it out loud. So she hid her trembling hands under her thighs and gave half the truth. “I know what it’s like to lose a parent. I can’t let Candi go through that.”
Jasmine uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, hands clasped on her knees. “So it’s empathy?”
“Yes.”
“Do you wish to have a relationship with Mr. Vanderpool after this?”
Once again, Alexis hedged her answer. “I’ve never even met him.”
“And yet you’re willing to give him a kidney?”
“People give kidneys to strangers all the time, don’t they?”
Jasmine did that silent-studying thing again before nodding and leaning back in her chair. “Let’s get that blood test taken care of.”
* * *
* * *
An hour later, Alexis sat in her car with a small bandage over the crook of her elbow. The cookies they gave her sat untouched on the seat. Her phone was in her hand. All she had to do was dial the number.
Candi answered immediately with a breathless hopefulness to her voice. “Alexis?�
��
“Okay,” Alexis said. “I’ll meet the family.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Noah arrived ten minutes early for his initiation, and Mack—annoyed—told him to stay put in his office.
“Are you serious?”
Mack pointed. “Book club is very serious.”
He walked out and shut the door behind him for good measure. Noah dropped into the chair in front of Mack’s desk, dropped Coming Home onto the clean, sparse desktop, and stared at the book. He’d tried to do more reading last night but couldn’t. Mostly because his mind was firmly focused on Alexis and her trip to Huntsville today. But also because he didn’t care what Mack and the guys tried to tell him. No story about a man who was too selfish to know he’d left behind a pregnant girlfriend was going to help him figure things out with Alexis.
Noah had just taken up pacing and swearing when the door finally opened. The Russian filled the doorframe like a bouncer. “Follow me.”
Noah hesitated, but he grabbed the book and obeyed. The Russian walked with the heavy-footed sobriety of a prison guard. And as soon as they entered the club, Noah understood why. The lights were dim but for a spotlight shining on a table in the middle of the dance floor where Mack, Gavin, Del, Colton, and Malcolm waited with equally somber expressions. A single seat was unoccupied.
Noah pulled the seat out, but Mack kicked it out of reach. “You haven’t been invited to sit yet.”
“You must first take the oath,” Del said.
Noah laughed. “Are you serious?”
Mack’s expression turned dark.
“Right. Sorry. Book club is very serious.”
“Raise your right hand,” Mack said.
Noah did as he was told.
“Repeat after me,” Mack said. “I, Noah Logan, solemnly swear to uphold the principles of a Bromance Book Club man.”
Noah mangled it but got most of it out.
Mack continued. “I vow to do the hard work on myself to overcome a lifetime of toxic masculinity.”
Noah repeated it.
“And to use the lessons of the manuals to become a better man.”
“Amen,” the boys said.
“May I sit now?”
Mack nodded formally. Noah sat down just as Malcolm leaned forward. “We will now commence with the interrogation.”
Noah’s eyes darted among the men. “Interrogation?”
“We must decide if you’re worthy,” Colton said.
“This is ridiculous,” he groaned.
“Rules are rules, ass face,” Mack said.
The Russian giggled. “Ass face.”
Noah spread his hands wide. “Fine, ask your questions.”
“Why are you here?” Malcolm asked.
“Because Mack’s been on my ass about it.”
Colton slapped the table. “No. Wrong answer. Try again.”
“Because I—” Noah stopped. He wasn’t ready to say this out loud. He’d said it to himself a hundred times, but saying it to the guys was a whole other level of honesty.
“Say it, Noah. Admitting it is the first step,” Gavin said.
Noah rolled his eyes, puffed out his cheeks, and spoke on the exhale. “I’m here because I’m pretty sure I’m in love with my best friend.”
The guys nodded solemnly.
Del took over the questioning. “What scares you most about being here?”
“That you’re going to hypnotize me and tell me to strip naked or something.”
“Not good enough,” Colton barked. “Try again.”
“I’m scared about fucking it up.”
“Fucking what up?” Del asked.
“My relationship with her.”
“And why does that scare you?”
Noah made a What the fuck? expression. “Why do you think? Because I don’t want to lose her.”
The guys exchanged a look that either meant acceptable or get a load of this bullshit.
Malcolm took over the cross-examination. “When was the last time you had a real relationship?”
Noah shifted uncomfortably. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“You wanted our help. You have to work with us.”
Noah adopted a petulant pose, arms crossed as he leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know. Five years ago, I guess.”
“You guess?” Malcolm lifted an eyebrow.
“She was a woman I knew from MIT. We dated for a year.”
Mack jumped in. “And no one since then?”
Noah lifted his shoulder in a defensive shrug. If he’d known he was going to be quizzed about his entire love life—or lack thereof—he would’ve reconsidered this entire thing. “What is the point of this?”
“The point is to break the fucking cycle,” Mack said. “Women aren’t rehab centers for emotionally stunted man-babies who think the key to a serious relationship is to just wait for the right woman to come along. You have to be ready to be uncomfortable, to stretch yourself, to be vulnerable.”
Noah snorted. “You should write greeting cards. That was good.”
Malcolm sighed. “You’re resorting to sarcasm because you’re uncomfortable with a man expressing himself so openly. We get it. One of the most insidious ways that toxic masculinity destroys men is that it strips us of the ability to express our emotions and to connect, not just with women, but with other men. Because real men don’t do that, right?”
Noah felt his head nod.
Malcolm continued. “How many times have you been told in your life to be a man?”
Unbidden, Noah’s memory banks unleashed a torrent of unwelcome flashbacks, almost all involving Marsh.
Don’t let your mother see you cry like that. You’re the man of the house now.
You need to grow up and be a man.
Men don’t act like this.
“Have you ever been told that real men don’t cry?” Malcolm asked quietly.
Noah nodded again. Discomfort inched across Noah’s skin like a bug crawling up his arm. He wanted to swat it away, to slap it and destroy it. The last thing he wanted was to talk about it.
“We all have,” Malcolm said. “But there’s a big fucking difference between what society teaches us what a real man does and what a good man does. And good men are willing to do the hard, emotional labor on themselves to be strong partners to the people we love.”
“But we can’t do that alone,” Del said. “We need our friends to help us.”
“And that is the point of all of this,” Mack finished.
Gavin patted his shoulder. “We’re here for you, man. Really here for you. All you have to do is talk. Tell us something personal.”
“You know this is weird, right? All of it.”
“Is it, though? Or are you just terrified of learning a new code for manhood?”
Was he? Was it really possible that the hipster radical he considered himself to be was actually just another emotionally stunted man-baby?
“Start with something easy,” Mack said. “It takes practice learning to really talk to other men, so start with something that won’t require a ton of work. Something you maybe have been embarrassed to tell us before. Something—”
“I like the Moana soundtrack,” Noah blurted.
Gavin blinked. “As in the Disney movie?”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I knew you were going to make fun of me!”
“I’m not making fun. I’m just clarifying,” Gavin said.
“I like the fucking Moana soundtrack, okay? That song, the one about how far I’ll go. I love that shit. I blast it in my house. It makes me feel good.”
Malcolm spread his arms wide. “Sing it for us.”
Heat blazed a path up his neck. “I’m not fucking singing for you.”
“Fine,”
Mack said, standing up. “Then I will.”
A nightmare broke out along with a sheen of sweat on Noah’s brow. Because Mack began to sing.
Then Del joined in.
Then Malcolm.
Soon every man in the room except for Noah was singing, arms wide.
When they were done, a sniffle drew their attention to the Russian. He had tears running down his face. “That was beautiful.”
“See?” Mack said. “Even the Russian gets it. He’s not afraid to express his emotions.”
The Russian held his arms wide. “I need hug.”
“I got it,” Mack said, walking over and squeezing the Russian’s massive girth.
“I kind of hate you right now,” Noah said.
“Because we’re right?” Del asked.
“Because I’m feeling really obligated to hug the Russian.”
“No, you hate us because this is hard work,” Mack said, sitting down again.
Noah ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Just tell me what to do.”
The group spoke in annoyed unison. “Read the book.”
“Okay, but how the hell is this book supposed to help me? It’s about a guy who abandoned his daughter, which is not someone I want to learn any fucking lessons from right now.”
Malcolm got that teacher about to drop some wisdom look about him. “How do you think this book ends, Noah?”
“It’s a romance. I would assume they end up together and live happily ever after.”
Malcolm nodded. “Exactly. All romances end that way. Even though readers know the minute they pick up romances how they’re going to end, they still read them loyally. Why do you suppose that is?”
“The sex?”
Colton slapped the table again. “No. Wrong answer.”
“It’s the journey,” Malcolm said. “It’s how they get to that happily ever after that matters and makes these books so special and instructive.”
“The journey,” Noah repeated.
“There is no more universal story than of two people working through their shit to overcome huge obstacles and find their way to happiness,” Malcolm said. “But every journey is different, every obstacle unique. And it’s in that unique journey that we find lessons for our own lives.”
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