Page 63 of Exes and O's

“That’s not true.” I move from my chair to the end of the hospital bed. It creaks under my additional weight. “When I was growing up, there was only one Disney princess who looked like me. And Mulan was great, don’t get me wrong. But just because I didn’t have blond hair like the other princesses didn’t mean I couldn’t be who I wanted to be.”

She stares at me for a moment, like she’s not sure whether to believe me. “Do you think that’s true?”

“Of course. Think about Rapunzel. She’s funny, right? Brave?”

Angie nods, holding her completed card an arm’s length away to examine it. “She’s nice to animals too. She has a pet chameleon.”

“Exactly. Pretend all the princesses looked the same. They’d still have their own unique personalities. Whoever’s personality you like the most is the princess you get to be, no matter what you look like on the outside. Rapunzel is still the same princess even when she loses her magic hair.”

Before she can respond, her eyes light up at the presence of a woman in a powder-blue bomber coat in the doorway. “Hi, Mom.”

Upon first look, there doesn’t appear to be much of a resemblance between Angie and her mom. Angie has soft, roundfeatures contrasting her mother’s angular, sharp lines. But the moment she opens her mouth, it’s evident the resemblance is in the mannerisms. The leftward curve of her lips. The slight indent that isn’t quite a dimple but wants to be.

Her mom gives me a curious smile. “I’m Payton, Angie’s mom. Are you one of the new nurses?” Her voice is low and a bit gritty, almost worn.

I stand and extend my hand in a friendly shake. “Oh, um, no, actually. I am a nurse, but not on this floor. I’m Trevor’s friend... and roommate.”

She lights up. “Oh! Taryn, right?” Before I can tell her my name is Tara, not Taryn, she pulls me into her bony embrace. “He told me you were helping with her party. And about the money you were raising on your social media. Seriously, I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea how much we appreciate this. Really.”

“I love planning parties. I have a lot of ideas,” I say, smiling at Angie.

Payton looks solemn for a moment, waving me into the hallway. I follow her out. “Honestly, sometimes I feel like a shit mom. I mean, what kind of mom can’t even plan her own kid’s birthday party?” she whispers.

“A mom who has her priorities straight,” I offer. I know from Trevor that she’s working two jobs to pay for Angie’s treatment. She probably doesn’t even have time to sleep, let alone plan a birthday party.

She blows her overgrown bangs from her face. “Trevor told me you were going the extra mile. We really appreciate it, especially with her dad out of the picture.” She says it so nonchalantly, like it’s just a straight fact. Nothing to be weird about.

“Where is her dad?” I ask.

Her heavy eyes narrow, like she’s confused. “Trevor didn’t tell you about Logan?”

“No. He’s not exactly an open book.”

She nods in knowing agreement. “Logan left two years ago. Hasn’t even come back since Angie got sick again. He’s working out in Louisiana on the oil rigs.”

I frown. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs. “He wasn’t all that involved when he was in Boston anyways. It’s not much different. Though Trevor was raging mad when he left. Went all the way down South to try to get him to come back. They got in a pretty bad fight over it.”

My heart aches. No wonder Trevor gets all tense when I ask about Logan.

Payton senses the drop in my mood and gives me a reassuring smile. “It’s all good, though. We’re just thankful Trevor’s been there for us. Ever since the beginning. With all the medical appointments... God, he’s even helped us financially. He’s a good guy,” she says, like she’s trying to convince me for some reason.

As much as I would love to deny that fact for my own self-preservation, she’s entirely right. Sure, Trevor isn’t your standard cinnamon-roll nice guy. He’s grumpy. Blunt. Rough around the edges. I’ve held on to those facts, trying to convince myself those qualities automatically count him out. That he’s somehownotgood, for me at least.

But continuing to deny it is becoming an impossibility, especially after everything he’s done for me the past few months. All the dating advice. The company. Ensuring I’ve eaten on any given day. The most endearing part about it all is that he isn’t one ofthose smug people who waltzes around being a do-gooder to make themselves feel better (*cough* Seth *cough*). He doesn’t do things for glory or status. He’s never once bragged about his job or how many lives he’s saved.

He’s pure, authentic, and good.

How maddeningly inconvenient.

•••

“WHAT THE HELLis that supposed to be?” Scott points his tube of school glue in the vague direction of Trevor’s oddly shaped cardboard structure.

“It’s a horse, dick-wad.” From his cross-legged position on the floor, Trevor casts an envious scowl at Scott’s surprisingly well-executed outline of Cinderella. The three of us are at Crystal and Scott’s, constructing life-size cardboard cutouts for Angie’s Disney party. Crystal is on party store duty, picking up plates, cups, balloons, and goody bag items.

Ever since my lunch with Angie four days ago, where I confirmed the vision and direction for her party in less than two weeks, I’ve been in full Disney planning mode. I even booked the lounge in the hospital to host the festivities. The lounge’s décor is a vague attempt at cheer with its canary-yellow walls, but a couple Disney-themed plates and hats won’t change the fact that she’s celebrating her birthday in a hospital. Life-size cutouts of her favorite Disney princesses may beextra, but I’m determined to give her an escape from reality, if only for an afternoon.

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