We woke up early the next morning. Brandon couldn't have breakfast before surgery, but we were both too anxious to even feel any hunger. Cake arrived as we were coming down to the first floor, looking rested and ten years younger than the night before. On the way to the hospital, I took advantage of being alone in the backseat of the car to send a few texts. To Amy, to let her know I'd gotten to LA fine and everything was peachy. To Isaac, to let him know I was already in town, going with Brandon to the hospital, and I'd text him how the surgery had gone as soon as I found out. And finally to Harry, to ask him to remind Hugo to send all his light and all his angels to come lend a hand.
"Who are you texting to?" asked the control freak from the passenger's seat.
"The press, obviously. Your NY Barbie and her gossiping friends will be waiting for us at the hospital."
He turned in his seat, frowning at me from behind his sunglasses and under his baseball hat.
