Page 136 of The Kiss of Deception

As soon as we enter the wing, my vision blurs, seeing doctors and nurses leave the room with hurried steps. Miles’s hand around mine is the only tether that keeps me from disintegrating. He doesn’t mind that it’s sweaty when he squeezes it, over and over, to pace my steps when they stumble.

He takes the lead and asks the nurse.

“He’s awake,” she starts, but she doesn’t sound happy. “He’s not very coherent, asking about bees.”

I laugh through tears. Once they found the freedom in falling, they refuse to stop. So, I laugh as I cry and I cry as I laugh.

“Can I see him?”

I’m not sure her answer matters—or that I’d comply if she had said no—and I don’t find out because she nods, hands me a mask, and I’m gone.

“Damn, old man.” It’s Miles who speaks first as I fight to find my voice. “You look like you just raised from the dead.”

Grandpa grunts. His pale face looks paler, translucent under the blinding lights over his head—but in his veins, his blood still runs red. All the wrinkles that hold so many stories, so much history, look deeper, like they’re engraved into stone.

“Little bee.” His hand lifts the littlest bit, reaching for mine. I almost leap to grab it. “Why are you crying? Has someone died?”

“These are happy tears, Grandpa.” I sniff loudly. “I’m happy.”

“So you’re here to tell me you’re making me a great-grandfather?”

“What?” I struggle to find the correlation. “No!”

“Ah.” He coughs, the sound genuinely disappointed. His accent sounds rougher after hours of intubation for the surgery. “Get out of here and come back when you have news for me. I’d like to meet my great-grandchild before I kick the bucket, so you’d better hurry.”

“Grandpa!” I admonish, unsure which part to address first.

But Miles doesn’t share my views.

“Don’t worry. I'm working on it, old man.” He winks conspiratorially. “Having a lot of fun practicing, too.”

“Are you trying to speed up my death, son?” The cannula slides down as Grandpa twists his nose. “Because it's working. I don't ever want to hear about that again.”

I stare at them. My fairy tale and my own fairy godmother of sorts. If only Grandpa knew the part he played in our story…

All the things I’ve done in his name… I would do anything for him today, as I did then. But now I know that doing anything for him would mean no lies. Because any sadness the truth can incite doesn’t mean I’m lacking as a grandchild. It means he only ever wants the best for me—even if our definitions of future don’t match. Even now, as he wakes from certain death, his priority is to dry my tears and make me smile.

“Didn't you want a great-grandbaby?” Miles drawls, all smug and happy to see the old man back with his mischief.

“We will pretend you ordered it from the stork. Alright?”

My hanging jaw is bouncing from one to the other as they speak about my future baby like the future mother isn’t in the room.

“There's no baby!” I shriek, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Not anytime soon.

“Yet,” they sing like a well-rehearsed choir.

A little human that is all Miles and me. The idea doesn’t scare me as much as I thought it would. It doesn’t scare me at all—quite the contrary. And I would like that, too, I think.

Someday.

“Thank God it's not really up to you, is it?”

The dimples wink at me, saying Miles will have the time of his life convincing me.

I will have the time of mine letting him think he has to.

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