2. Prescription For Love

“Good.” She pulled out her phone and made note of the date so she could adjust the on-call schedule to be sure she was free. One of the great benefits of no longer being an underling was she could actually make a few plans that might come to fruition without needing to sell her soul to other residents to arrange coverage.

“What are you doing today?” Blake asked, in an odd reversal of their usual conversation.

Abby had the entire day free, another oddity. She actually had a day off. She had thought to go in to the hospital a little later in the day to take care of some paperwork, but now that she considered it, the idea seemed like a pathetic way to fill the unexpected hours. “I don’t know. Is there anything you want to do?” She glanced over her shoulder. Blake looked faintly chagrined. “What? Not interested in spending your free time with your mother?”

Blake grinned. “I kind of told Margie I’d meet her at Presley’s. We were going to look at the chicks. After that, you know, we were probably just gonna meet up with some of Margie’s gang and hang out.”

“I interpret that to mean you’re not interested in spending the day with your mother.” “Well, I guess—”

Abby laughed. “It’s fine. You need a ride?”

“Yeah, about that. Maybe I could drive—with you in the car, you know.”

“Maybe we’ll be waiting until you get your permit.”

He made a face. “Margie says all the kids around here know how to drive a long time before they ever get their permits, and I’ve never even been behind the wheel.” “I don’t think tractors quite count as knowing how to drive.”

“How about an ATV?”

“We don’t have one of those.”

“Margie does.”

Abby sighed. “Why do I feel like I’m being expertly maneuvered?”

He grinned again, that incredibly infectious grin that had always claimed her heart and, she suspected, would break a few in the future. She shook her head. “No deal.”

“Aw—”

“So,” Abby asked, conscious of not wanting to push her way into Blake’s personal space, “have you met these other kids yet?”

“No.”

His lack of embellishment told her he was nervous. She was too. Would this new crowd accept him, view him as just a new guy, or see him as someone who wouldn’t fit? “They’re Margie’s friends?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” What else could she say?

“Mom,” Blake blurted, “I want to have surgery.”

Abby’s stomach twisted. She’d been waiting, wondering when, if. God, he wasn’t even sixteen. Everything she’d been able to learn had said the most important criterion for moving ahead was the certainty of the teens themselves. Blake was sure, she believed with her heart and her mind. “What kind?”

“The top.” Blake met her gaze squarely. “Before school starts and I meet a lot of new people.”

“Okay, wait, let me catch up.” Abby stood and leaned against the porch rail, working through a million questions to find the right one. “How much is this about the way you feel physically versus wanting to be accepted in your new school?” “Does it matter?”

“I’m not sure, maybe. What do you think?”

He frowned. “Remember when I said I wanted to start the hormones, because I wanted to look and feel male?” “Yes.”

“This is like that—I want my body to match the way I feel about myself, and I’ll feel better if I look like I feel.”

Abby blew out a breath. “It sounds circular, but then it is, isn’t it. Mind and body are fluid.” Blake grinned, looking relieved and amused. “Mom, you’re thinking too hard.” “I love you.”

“I know. So—can I talk to Flann?”

“Flann?” Abby’s mind blanked for a second. “You want Flann to do the surgery?”

“Margie said she’s the best.”

“Undoubtedly, but

” Abby pictured Flann during a trauma alert, saw her quick deft hands and certain actions. The surgery itself wasn’t all that dangerous or complicated, and Blake was lucky. He hadn’t had much breast development before the hormones suppressed it. Blake obviously trusted

Flann, and so did she. “All right. We’ll start there. Information first, deal?”

“Deal.” Blake looked over his shoulder. The house was small enough to see from the back porch all the way through to the front if the doors were open, which they were to capitalize on any kind of breeze. “Hey! Flann’s here. She brought a bike!”

Blake disappeared and Abby panicked. Flann. She looked down at herself. Oh God. Cut-off sweatpants that seconded as pajama bottoms, a T-shirt that had to be older than Blake—faded and literally see-through in places—and of course, no underwear. She had at least brushed her hair and taken care of other necessary hygienics. Maybe she could just stay out of the way. But then if she hid, she wouldn’t see Flann, and she very much wanted to. If she was honest, she’d been wanting to see her since she’d sent her out of the bedroom.