Page 42 of Exes and O's

Uncle.

I’m rendered mute, frozen, my mouth hanging open as I digest the newest twist. Angie is his niece. Through my shock, my stomach flips, gutted that Angie is a patient in the heart center. Why would Trevor choose to reveal his niece to me like this? In such a heavy-handed manner? It strikes me as uncharacteristic.

Angie casts a skeptical glance at me. “She your flavor of the month?” she asks bluntly.

I let out an embarrassingly loud hoot. You know you’re a playboy when your kid niece takes a jab at your lifestyle. This girl speaks her truth, and I’m here for it. “I’m not his flavor of anything.”

“She’s my roommate,” Trevor explains, giving her a gentle pat on the head. “And don’t listen to everything your mom says about me.”

I give an awkward jazz-hand wave. “I’m Tara. It’s really nice to meet you, Angie.”

“My real name is Angela, but everyone calls me Angie.” She extends her small hand in a surprisingly strong and purposeful shake.

“I’m Tara. Everyone calls me Tara.” I realize my joke fell flat on its face when she side-eyes me to Trevor before turning around.

Trevor laughs at my expense as we follow her into her room. It’s meant for two patients, although the bed nearest the door is vacant. Angie has a prime spot next to the window, though it has a rather unfortunate view of the parking lot.

Angie hops onto the bed with ease, pulling the hot-pink comforter back to reveal floral sheets tucked with military precision, like Trevor’s bed at the apartment. Trevor gestures for me to take the chair by the window, while he parks himself on the edge of her bed.

He asks about her day, how she’s feeling, whether her mom came by yet, and if they’ll be doing anything special for New Year’s Day tomorrow. He doesn’t ask about her dad, who I’m assuming is his younger and only sibling, Logan. He’s mentioned Logan just once, during a conversation about childhood TV shows, describing how he and his brother used to watchAre You Afraid of the Dark?religiously on Nickelodeon. I make a mental note to confirm the family dynamics later.

The drab wall across from the foot of Angie’s bed is proudly covered with what appears to be her own artwork. Most of the paintings depict cozy houses, blue skies with bright-yellow suns, and big-petaled flowers.

Trevor extends his arms over his head in a labored stretch before standing. “I’m gonna go grab a coffee. Want something from the cafeteria, kid?”

“I’ll take the usual,” she responds with the confidence of a forty-year-old.

Before heading out, he glances at me over his shoulder. “Can I grab anything for you? More cookies?”

“If I eat another cookie, I might hurl,” I admit, offering a weak smile.

I’m a jumble of nerves under the weight of Angie’s Mafia-boss stare when Trevor peaces out, footsteps growing faint. It’s like I’m back in middle school at the height of puberty. There’s no logical reason to be anxious. Angie is a child. And I’m at work, in my own element, technically.

“You’re a nurse?” Angie inquires, breaking the silence.

I nod, gesturing to my scrubs. “I am.”

She gives me a comically skeptical squint. “Why haven’t I seen you around? I know all the nurses.” For a moment, her confidence shakes me, and I almost question my own identity.

“I don’t work on this floor. I work with very sick newborns, actually, in the NICU a couple of floors down.”

I anticipate a sass-filled response, but she gives me a silent nod, like she understands.

“What kind of stuff do you like to do, Angie?” I immediately cringe at my own question. What can she really do while in the hospital? “I mean, when you’re not...” Oh God. I’m not prepared for this. No wonder I work with babies. They don’t talk. I inwardly curse Trevor for springing this on me.

A coy smile tugs at her lips. “When I’m not in the hospital?”

I meet her smile and relax my posture ever so slightly. “Can I ask what you have?”

She reaches for the Disney coloring book atop the side table. “DORV.” I’m only vaguely aware of the acronym. I know the D stands for Double and the V is Ventricle. But I can’t recall the middle letters. At the risk of sounding like a fool and losing all credibility in front of Angie, I make a note to Google it.

She continues. “I got a new heart when I was a baby. But now Dr. Lam says I need a new one,” she explains matter-of-factly.

“You’re very brave” is all I can think to say without being patronizing. She’s too mature for the bullshit.

She watches me for a beat before settling on a fresh page in the coloring book. It’s Snow White’s enchanted forest. “I watch a lot of princess movies.”

I perk up. “Who’s your favorite princess?”

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