I hung up and quickly conducted a postmortem of the call in my head: Had I just outed Kit to his dad? Had I gotten the message across that Kit did not want them coming into the city? Oh, and could Kit’s dad have been any more laid back and chill? I determined that I’d done the best I could have given the improbable circumstances, and ran outside to hail a cab to Mount Sinai. With any luck, Kit would be out of surgery when I got there and ready to receive me. On the ride uptown, my concern for Kit started to mount. What if, God forbid, they didn’t remove his appendix in time? Or there was a
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