Page 72 of F*ck Marriage

Jules looks nonplussed. She looks at her phone. “Satcher…”

“Yup…”

“She’s awake.”

I stand up so suddenly the table wobbles, spilling my full glass of water. I toss bills on the table ... forty ... sixty ... eighty. Our dinner didn’t cost that much, but I don’t want to wait for the check. Jules grabs her jacket and scarf, and we’re out the door less than four minutes later.

When we get to the hospital, Woods is already there waiting outside Billie’s room. I tense up. I shouldn’t have drunk as much as I did. I peer through the glass and see several nurses around her bed. I can’t see anything but Billie’s feet, a lump underneath the sheet. My mouth carries the bitter aftertaste of bourbon.

“What are they doing?” I ask gruffly. And then—“Where’s her mother?”

“They’re checking her vitals. The doctor is supposed to be here in a minute. And she left for the airport an hour ago. I texted her.”

Hetexted her. Like he’s still her husband. I’m being irrational. I try to shrug it off, wishing for the dozenth time that I hadn’t had that last drink. I’m not an angry drunk exactly, but I’m irritable ... less tolerant. In college, Billie told me that I’m too controlled in my normal life, and when I drink I lose some of that. I want to fucking lose it on Woods.

The doctor nods at us on his way into Billie’s room. He looks like a mad scientist: wiry, white hair poking up at odd angles, and a droopy face that looks like it’s melting off his skull. We stand in the hall, tense and impatient. Woods glances down at his phone every few minutes. I want to ask him if Billie’s mother is coming back, but I know I’ll only be disappointed by his answer. Finally, the room clears out and we’re allowed to see her. The doctor steps into the hall.

“Mr. Tarrow?” He looks at me.

“I’m Woods Tarrow.” Woods steps toward the doctor with an air of importance.

“Billie’s husband?” he asks.

Woods’ face colors. “No ... I’m her ex-husband…”

The doctor frowns. “I’m afraid I can only release information to her husband.”

“That’s me,” I say.

“She married brothers?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer; instead, he launches into Billie’s diagnosis. Concussion, sprained wrist, broken ankle, three cracked ribs, and severe bruising to her face. “She’s going to need to take it easy. No stairs. We’re going to keep her for another day to monitor her concussion.”

“Thank you,” I say when he finishes his spiel. “Can I see her?”

“You can,” he says, eyeing Jules and Woods. “One at a time.”

I nod. I ignore the stares Jules and Woods give me and push through the door. Billie is sitting up, but her eyes are closed. When she hears the door, she cracks open an eye.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hi.” Her voice is raspy. She licks her lips as I approach the bed. “They think you’re my husband,” she says.

“Yeah,” I say, ducking my head. “I may have told them that.”

She starts to laugh then immediately flinches. “Ow…”

“Lucky for you I’m not really that funny, so that was a one-time thing.” I pull the chair up next to her and sit on the edge of it, leaning toward her.

“I can’t believe I married a guy with such a sucky sense of humor.”

I can’t hide my smile. Here she is lying in a hospital bed cracked and bruised and she’s making jokes.

“We were really worried about you,” I say. “Took you a while to wake up.”

“It takes me a while to do everything,” she says. “I’m a slow learner.”

“Apparently. Anyone ever teach you how to cross a street?”

Her chest heaves. “Stop being funny,” she says. “It hurts.”

---