3
FINLEY
I sat in a hard plastic chair with a shitty cup of coffee and tried not to let my nerves get the better of me. My hands still hurt from the white-knuckled grip I had driving us to the hospital in Syracuse. My leg jangled with restless energy. I was used to being on my feet, not stuck in a waiting room.
“It’ll be fine,” Laura said, her calm voice not nearly soothing enough to stall my anxiety.
“I know, but it’ll be a long road to full recovery.”
“And we’ll be here for her.”
I looked over at her and smiled. She was right. Karissa was on an operating table alone, but after her surgery, Laura and I were going to be by her side every step of the way. Everyone else, too. We all loved Ms. Georgia, Karissa’s mom, and we were supportive of Karissa’s preventative double mastectomy.
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