Page 72 of Scoring Grey

He smirks. “Relax. I’m just fucking with you. I wouldn’t dare miss a chance to be Eloise’s date.” He shoots me a wink, and I roll my eyes.

“About that—” Cal starts.

“I thought you said we had somewhere to be by noon.” I hop off the counter. I already know the direction his thoughts were going. While I’ve been attending his games in person. I’ve been doing so discreetly. Cal’s unbothered by Mr. Bronson’s request for a story now that the Kings clinched their playoff seat. If he still wants one, it’s on principle, but I know what Cal wants, even if he doesn’t admit it. He wants our story. He wants to share our story with the world. I want the same thing, too. What he doesn’t know is I have a plan of my own.

He checks his watch. “We do.”

“I hope you’re okay with being blamed if the team takes an L tomorrow because he had to take his girl on a date instead of practice,” Dash teases, taking the last slice of pizza before tossing the box.

“I would have cut out early today regardless of Eloise being here. This date was planned months ago.” Cal turns to me. “Ready?” Cal asks, holding out his elbow so I can wrap my arm through it.

“Yes,” I say, and we head toward the door.

“Sure it was,” Dash adds skeptically. “And I planned on eating breakfast at my place,” he says as he follows us out. “Are we meeting up for dinner?”

“No.” Cal holds the door open for both Dash and me. “It’s not a date if you tag along.”

“Oh no, it still qualifies. I’m just the third wheel if I show up.” Dash flashes Cal one of his megawatt smiles. Vying for my time has become somewhat of a game around here. When Cal is away, I spend time with Dash. Since his new job has been sending him out to find local untapped must-see locations, I’ve been tagging along, but the overlap or transition between spending time with Dash and hanging out with Cal has looked a lot like this. “Fine, your loss. Roe and Moon are better company anyway. Less kissing, more drinking,” he mocks as he walks backward to my place.

“When’s he leaving again?” Cal teases as we walk toward the elevator.

“Stoooppp.” I playfully swat his stomach. Cal is an only child, and while he might put up a front that Dash annoys him, I know a small part of him hasn’t hated having him around now that he knows there’s absolutely no romantic connection between us. “So where are you taking me again?”

“Nice try.” The elevator opens, and he pulls me out. “You’ll see.”

“You brought me to a hospital for our date?” I ask when Cal pulls into the visitor parking outside St. Margaret Hospital. “If we’re here for a paternity test, you’re about six years too late. Adler’s a spitting image of you, minus the eyes.”

He smiles softly, his lips not pulling high enough to match the playful sarcasm in my tone. I reach for his hand.

“Cal, what’s going on? Don’t tell me you’re dying. You said this was a date you wouldn’t miss even if I wasn’t here. What’s going on? You’re scaring me,” I say, unable to hide the fear in my voice.

“No.” He pulls my hand to his mouth and kisses the back. “It’s nothing like that, I promise.” He checks his watch and then looks up at the entrance. “There she is. Come on.” He climbs out before I can, but when I follow ahead, I see one of the ladies from the lunch we attended at the Bronsons’.

He reaches back for me to hold his hand as we walk through the parking lot. “Does this have to do with the charity gala?”

“Yes,” he says right before he greets the woman. “Sherry, how have you been?”

“I’ve been good. I’m glad to see the two of you are here together. Your mother would be happy.” I’m about to ask if she knew Cal’s mother when she says, “We have ten rooms to visit today. As much as I hate to say, I’m grateful we’re here to shine a little light.”

“Sherry, Mr. Balfour. We pulled some Grace bags from the supply closet and put them on a cart. We have eight NICU moms here today and, sadly, two rooms on the L&D floor with losses,” a nurse greets as we arrive on the fifth floor.

“Thank you, Clair,” Sherry says. “Will take it from here.” When Cal mentioned this charity, I immediately Googled it before I started working on the painting he asked me to donate for the auction. I wanted to make sure whatever piece I created was appropriate. That’s when I discovered that the Hope Foundation works to protect women through pregnancy, childbirth, and postpartum. My heart instantly cracked a little as I understood why Cal chose this charity to work with since his mother didn’t survive postpartum care, passing away less than twenty-four hours after giving birth. “It’s nice to have you here, Eloise, but if you need to stop at any time, please let us know. These stories can be heart-wrenching.”

“What exactly are in these bags?” I ask as Cal pushes the cart down the hall.

She gives Cal a quick glance as if to say,You haven’t told her.Before quickly leaving it and saying, “Grace bags were created with mothers in mind. A lot of focus is on the health of the baby when a stay in the NICU is needed. However, there’s someone else struggling right along with them whose care is somewhat overlooked. As I’m sure you know, mothers are only given a certain amount of days post-delivery to stay in the hospital, and their release doesn’t always correspond with their baby’s release. Yet they stay anyway. Often sleeping in a rocking chair in the corner of a room or endlessly pacing the hallways, praying over their child’s health. Each bag contains essentials such as toothpaste, brush, deodorant, ibuprofen, and hand sanitizer. Most moms bring these initially for birthing. However, once they are released, the bag goes home, and their thoughts aren’t on taking care of themselves but the baby. There’s also a roll of quarters for the vending machines, a gift card to the cafeteria, snacks, reusable water bottles, and a few extra touches that Cal pays out of pocket to ensure are in every bag.”

We stop outside the first door, and my attention is on Cal. He’s quiet, and I can tell by the solemn expression on his face that being here isn’t easy for him. I know he doesn’t have any memory of his mother, but seeing what these other mothers go through is indeed a small glimpse into what his mother endured.

“What are extra touches?” I ask Sherry.

“Cal thought it was important that the bags include disposable cameras that can be left with the babies so that nurses could take pictures when parents aren’t there as well as a notebook and a pen for mothers to document their experiences through these journeys.”

“Mental health is important, and having a safe space to express and process their thoughts and feelings is part of that,” he adds as he hands me a bag. My mind floats to his journal, the entries he’s shown me, and the things I now know about his relationship with his father. I can’t help but feel sorry for the boy who never got to meet his mom, but I know if she were here, she’d be so proud of the man he’s become. I am.

We spent three hours at the hospital to visit ten mothers. They were so grateful for the bags but more so for the ear to bend. The hours spent waiting are the longest, and having someone to share their stories with, someone who saw them and their struggles, brought a tiny bit of light to some of their darkest hours, and I was grateful I got to be a part of it.

“Thank you for bringing me today.” I shove my hands into my coat pockets as we exit the hospital. “Today was unexpected but moving. As much as saying I enjoyed it given the subject matter feels insensitive, the experience was grounding and inspiring.”

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