“He’s abandoning me.”
“He’s transferring your care,” I said.
“Same thing.”
It wasn’t.
Long after Andrew left her care, when Amanda’s treatment had been stable under another doctor for some time, they ran into each other outside the hospital.
Coffee became dinner.
Dinner became dates.
The first time Amanda told me she loved him, I asked the obvious question.
“Are you sure this isn’t because of what happened?”
She knew exactly what I meant.
“Mom, he doesn’t get romantic credit for doing his job.”
“Good.”
“He gets romantic credit for bringing me fries when the restaurant forgot them.”
“That’s a low bar.”
“They were excellent fries, Mom.”
A year later, they married.
At the reception, Amanda danced through one song.
Then another.
Then a third.
I sat beside Robin, watching her spin beneath Andrew’s arm.
“Three,” Robin whispered.
“I can count.”
“No sitting.”
