Page 43 of Exes and O's

“Rapunzel.”

“She’s my favorite too. I loveTangled. Do you have any others?”

“I like Moana too. And Anna. But not Elsa.”

I laugh. “Why not Elsa?”

“She’s kind of boring. She likes being alone. I don’t like being alone.” Isn’t that the truth? Her honesty churns my stomach. With Trevor’s demanding shift schedule, I wonder how often he’s able to visit her.

I hang my head, picturing her sitting in her room all by herself. “I don’t like being alone, either.”

Trevor returns with a package of blue raspberry Jell-O in hand, along with a coffee and a vending machine–size bag of Cheetos, which he drops in my lap.

I thank him profusely. My diet is officially a smear on humanity.

A nurse I recognize from around the hospital over the yearsfollows close behind Trevor. She smiles at me and doesn’t bother to question my random presence. “Time for your meds,” she chirps to Angie.

While the nurse fusses with Angie, Trevor and I give them space, stepping into the hallway. From the way he keeps his head ducked, his hands in his pockets, I think he senses I’m a little shook.

“Why didn’t you tell me Angie was your niece? Your niece who’s a patient at the hospital where I work?” I fury-whisper. “I thought she was some woman you were hopelessly in love with.”

“A woman I’m in love with? Really, Chen?” he repeats, sarcasm abundant. It’s as if I thought Angie was his extraterrestrial friend who required immediate assistance returning to her home planet. I treat him to a frosty look until his expression softens. “I’m sorry. You just took me by surprise when you asked me about Angie. It wasn’t meant to be a big secret. Besides, your theories were too amusing to come right out with the truth.”

I gape at him. “This is how you decide to reveal her identity? And you sayIhave a flair for the dramatics. Of all people, I would have understood,” I say, lowering my voice as a tiny pale child passes by with a nurse.

“I know, I know. It’s just, Angie doesn’t like when people treat her differently. I thought if you knew going into it, you’d have a warped perception of her. She’s really strong for a kid of her age and in her circumstances.”

I frown, bracing myself. “She said she had DORV?”

“Yeah. Double-outlet right ventricle. In a regular heart, the pulmonary artery connects to the right ventricle, whereas the aorta connects to the left. In Angie’s heart, both the pulmonary arteryand the aorta connect to the right ventricle, causing it to circulate oxygen-poor blood,” he explains. “When Angie was born, she had her first heart surgery. But it was so complex, she needed a transplant. She’s never been healthy like most kids, but last year, she started getting really sick and the doctors realized her body was rejecting the heart. It’s rare for that to happen after so long. So she’s on the transplant waiting list again.”

“That’s awful. I can’t even imagine.” I grimace. “But I’m still confused. Why would you want me to meet her?”

He shifts his weight, his gaze to the floor. “I was kind of hoping... you’d help me with something.”

“With what?” I ask.

“Her tenth birthday party,” he says earnestly. Angie certainly doesn’t look like an almost ten-year-old, given her tiny frame. Although now her righteous sass makes a lot more sense. “Her mom, Payton, is way too busy with work, so I offered to do it.” Pained, he lets out the remaining air in his cheeks. It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask,And what about your brother?But I don’t. “I know you’re good with parties and events,” he says. Over the past few days, I’ve been in full planning mode for Crystal’s bridal shower in a few weeks. He’s all too familiar with my Pinterest aesthetic board.

“I am...”

“I know it’s a lot to ask, though, and I completely understand if you’re too busy—”

“I’m in.” Given that I cobbled together and revamped my former wedding into a brand-new wedding for Grandma Flo a couple months ago (while emotionally wounded), I’m certain a child’s party will be a piece of cake. “When is it?”

“Not for a month and a half. February fifteenth.”

Exactly seven weeks away. I drum my fingers, Mr. Burns–style. The gears are already turning with the possibilities.

His squared shoulders fall with relief. “Thank you. Seriously.”

The nurse emerges, signaling we can head back in. We stay for a little under an hour, and I watch in amusement as Trevor lovingly teases her about anything and everything, like her latest crushes (“You still in love with the kid on your soccer team?”). She gets him back with some sizzling burns of her own (“Do you still eat dinner all alone every night?”).

When it’s finally time to leave, I promise to come back and visit on my breaks, if she wants me to. This pleases her. She even asks me to write down my schedule so she knows when to expect me, which I take as the highest compliment.

Trevor and I are silent as we wait for the elevator. The beeping and the high-pitched laughter of the women at the nurses’ station echo behind us.

My thoughts are heavy with a whirl of questions and concerns as we step into the elevator. “What are her chances?”

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