Page 182 of A Little Complicated

My family. They surround the bed. Their smiles are a sharp contrast to the white walls and fluorescent lights. I try to sit up but wince. The wind feels like it’s knocked from my lungs and my chest? My chest feels almost numb, but there’s an ache there too. It’s deeper.

The surgery.

Right.

My thoughts feel sluggish, but slowly, everything that happened over the last—shit, I have no idea how long I’ve been out—rises to the surface. Archer. My surgery. Everything. I lay my head back on the pillow and close my eyes, the pain from earlier catching up to me, making it hard to breathe.

“Hey,” my mom murmurs.

I wiggle my nose again. “My nose itches.”

With a quiet laugh, she fiddles with the oxygen tube and shrugs. “Any better?”

It isn’t, but I nod anyway.

“Good,” she replies. “I’m glad to see you awake.”

“Where’s Opie?” I rasp. My throat feels like I’ve gargled razor blades, and my expression sours.

“I’m right here,” a soft voice whispers. She’s sitting on my left, nibbling the edge of her nail. Her eyes are swollen and red as she watches me carefully.

“I’ll get the doctor,” my dad tells me. He stands from one of the chairs, smooths his T-shirt, and heads into the hallway. When we were kids, Archer and I gave him shit for his obsession with suits. He’s never in a T-shirt unless he’s sleeping. It’s the same one from before the surgery. After he received the phone call about Archer, he rushed straight here. Apparently, he hasn’t left since. My mom doesn’t follow him. She squeezes my hand tighter like she’s afraid I’ll slip through her fingers at any second.

So that’s why it felt like I couldn’t move my arm.

“I assume it went all right since I’m alive,” I mutter around the razor blades coating my throat.

“The doctor said everything went perfectly. You won’t be able to play hockey or anything, but…” Her bottom lip trembles. “We’re so happy you’re okay, baby.”

“Thanks, Mom.” I rub my thumb against the back of her hand. “Do you mind if…if I talk with Opie for a minute?”

She forces a smile, kissing my knuckles. “Of course, Mav. I’ll be right outside the door. Lia, holler if you need anything, all right?”

Lia nods.

Once we’re relatively alone, she lets out a shaky breath. “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Me too. How’s my family doing?”

“Exhausted,” she says with a smile. “But I think they’re clinging to the good things right now, you know?” Her bottom lip trembles like my mom’s, and Ophelia sucks it into her mouth, biting hard on the plump flesh.

“And how are you?” I prod.

Careful not to jostle me, she fusses with a few of the tubes connected to my body and sits on the edge of the hospital bed. Her touch is gentle as she brushes her fingers through the hair on my forehead, pushing it away from my face. “Also clinging to the good things.” She gives me a watery smile. “How are you holding up?”

It’s a good question. So much has happened I don’t even know where to start.

“I, uh…” I clear my throat. “I think I’m still in the processing phase.”

“I think all of us are,” she agrees.

“I feel guilty.”

Her expression falls, and she sniffs quietly. “I said the same thing to your mom when you were in surgery.”

“Great minds think alike.”

She smiles softly, but it doesn’t erase the turmoil in her glassy eyes. “He wouldn’t want you to feel guilty, Mav.”

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