He nods, observing me from over his cup as he takes a drink. “You’re a bright girl, Everly, I can see that. A bright girl that knows that my son and you belong in different worlds.”
My stomach lurches. Here we go. I wondered how long it would take him. “What makes you say that?”
Mr St. Clair smiles, as if he is humouring me. “Tell me, do you trust my son?”
I frown, where was he going with this?
“I do,” I say firmly.
He nods. “Even though my son has never been one to have a relationship. Do you not worry that he will tire of you?”
I clench my fists, curtailing the anger I feel bubbling. “No, actually I don’t.”
He chuckles to himself, leaning both hands on the marble top island. “You know my son may make out he is independent and makes his own decisions, but he will fall into line with my plans one way or another.”
“Well, I look forward to seeing you eat your words, because I know Grayson and I know he loves me. He is not interested in this girl you are trying to shove his way.”
“Really?” He says, eyebrows raised. “He certainly looked like he was enjoying her company last night when they were downing shots together.”
My heart dips, but I somehow keep my face straight. I must not show him any doubt. “If you’ll excuse me, your son and I are spending the day together.”
He smiles tightly. I can see the frustration he is trying to disguise. “Enjoy your afternoon.”
I move past him with the bowls stacked in my hands and he reaches out a hand and wraps his fingers around my arm. “I always get what I want, Everly, just remember that.”
An icy shiver rushes down my spine. “Let go of me, please,” I say in a firm voice, one that is much fiercer than how I feel inside. He smiles a slow cunning smile and releases his grip on my arm and I hurry off to the cinema room. As soon as they enter, I place the bowls down and close the door and lean against it for a minute to steady my breathing. Why do I feel like Grayson’s dad was planning something?
Tuesday morning Izzy has her appointment at the hospital. She is still flatly refusing to tell Dom, saying she doesn’t want to worry him unnecessarily. The appointment is in the next town and she made it first thing in the morning before college.
At eight in the morning we are sitting in the waiting room waiting for her name to be called, and she anxiously twists a tissue round and round in her hands. I place my hand over hers to stop her fidgeting and she gives me an apologetic smile.
“I fidget when I’m nervous,” she explains.
“I know, but it’s going to be okay,” I reassure her. Inside, I feel sick. Hospitals remind me of all the times I went with my mum to her appointments, I spent a great deal of the last two years of my life at a hospital and none of those memories were good ones.
A friendly looking nurse steps into the waiting room and calls Izzy’s name, and with a deep breath she stands and I follow behind her.
The nurse guides us into a room where a young male doctor sits waiting for us. He smiles warmly and gestures for us to sit down. He asks Izzy some questions about her medical history and then explains he would like to examine her. She moves behind the curtain and removes the top half of her clothing whilst the doctor and nurse make small talk with me.
He examines both her breasts and confirms he can feel a lump. He recommends Izzy has an ultrasound so they can take a closer look at it and tells her to get dressed and the nurse will escort us down to the waiting area for the scan.
When we reach the second waiting room, it is already full of women, all sitting waiting to have scans, and I can’t help but wonder how many of them will receive bad news today. How many will be told they have the dreaded cancer? We sit and quietly watch the daytime television show that is on in the waiting room and after about a twenty-minute wait, Izzy’s name is called out. The nurse advises me I will have to wait out here for her and with a tight and anxious smile Izzy disappears with the nurse. I mess with my phone while I wait for her scrolling through Facebook. I stop my scrolling when I come across a post from Paige. It is a photo of her and Imogen. They are both smiling and holding shot glasses in their hands. I can see from the dress Imogen is wearing that this is a photo from Saturday night. I find myself studying her perfect face, looking for flaws and finding none.
“Ev.” I lift my face to find Izzy standing before me, clutching her bag with a relieved smile on her face. “We can go,” she tells me, and I stand and quickly follow her towards the exit.
“Well?”
She smiles. “It was a cyst. They drained it. I’m fine.”
I pull her into my arms and hug her tightly. “Thank fuck. I’m so relieved.”
“You and me both,” she admits. She pulls back to look at me. “Thank you for coming with me and supporting me through this.”
“Anytime,” I say. “We need to celebrate. Lets go get cakes before we head back to college.”
“Girl, I love the way you think,” she replies with a chuckle as we head out to the car park.
I am so glad she is okay. Deep down there is a part of me that was dreading the outcome. A part of me that wasn’t sure if it could cope with watching someone else I care about go through
