Page 39 of All Her Broken Pieces

“That’s okay, honey. Your body’s still adjusting. But if you don’t have a bowel movement in the next three days, give us a call. In the meantime, I can call in a stool softener and laxative for you.”

“No, that’s okay. I have some over-the-counter stuff I can try if I need to,” I reply, glancing toward my bathroom, where I keep most of my medications.

“Perfect. How’s your pain been on a scale from one to ten?”

“Without medication, it’s been a five or six. But it’s not constant. The Percocet obviously helps, but I’ve been swapping it for ibuprofen. So maybe a two or three once it kicks in? My shoulder’s been sore too.”

“That’ll happen. You could continue with the Percocet and add the ibuprofen in instead of swapping it out.”

“I’ll think about it. I’m not sure that I want to continue with the harder stuff. I don’t want to grow dependent on it, but it mainly knocks me out, leaving me feeling vulnerable and sleepy. Plus, I think it’s messing with my sleep cycle.” I know Ethan would never take advantage of me in that state, but the thought of being vulnerable like that around anyone makes me uncomfortable.

“Fair enough. Do you have someone you can count on as a caretaker? You’ll need someone to get groceries for you. You shouldn’t be lifting heavy bags.”

“It’s fine. I use an app for grocery deliveries.”

“Do they bring it in and put it away for you? Because the last thing you want is to hurt yourself lifting a gallon of milk.”

“Not typically, but it’ll be fine. I don’t drink much milk anyway, so I don’t buy it by the gallon.”

“It’s not just milk. Anything heavy like that can do damage right now, even carrying a laundry basket. You should avoid any moderate or heavy lifting for the next six weeks. It can be hard for a lot of women, especially those with kids or pets?—”

“Then it’s a good thing I have neither,” I retort with a bit of bite in my tone.

“Well, okay,” she stutters. “Please don’t hesitate to reach out if you have any questions or need anything.”

Ending the call, I toss my phone down on the bed. I think about Becka. She and Robert will get back in a few days, and I’m going to have to tell her about my surgery, especially if I’m going to enlist her help instead of Ethan’s.

But if Becka comes, she’ll probably need to bring her daughter Hallie with her, and while she’s adorable, the thought of a four-year-old running through my apartment and getting things sticky when I should be resting—well, it doesn’t sound relaxing.

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It’s much later in the day as Ethan begins prepping dinner in the kitchen, while I sit on the loveseat in the living room watching him, my show forgotten in the background. He’s oblivious to my blatant staring as he opens drawers and cabinets to pull out various items he needs: a cutting board, a few different knives I own but clearly don’t know all the different uses for, and several pots and pans with matching lids. I track his body as he dances around, organizing his workspace. Oh, to be in my early twenties again and have that kind of energy—though Ethan has far less worries and a hell of a lot more optimism than I ever had at that age.

His forearms flex and pop as he skillfully angles the knife up and down, chopping carrots and celery. After several minutes of chopping, he stills, wiping the blade on the edge of his apron.

“Where did you get an apron?” I ask with confusion. I don’t own any, and I don’t remember him putting one on. Maybe he did it while I was watching TV. I mean, I haven’t been staring at him this whole time. Have I?

“From my bag.”

“You bring aprons with you when you pack an overnight bag?”

He chuckles as he sets the now-clean knife down. “I knew I’d be doing a good bit of cooking for you, and I like wearing one when I cook.”

“That tracks, I guess.”

“You always gonna bust my balls this hard?”

“Maybe,” I shoot back.

“Good, I like it. Keeps me on my toes.” He smiles, showing off his perfectly straight teeth and adjacent dimple.

He turns his back to me and opens the fridge, gathering various items in his arms. I’m grateful for the break in his attention as my cheeks flush. I might be starting to like our back and forth.

“I’ll get you in here with me one day,” he promises as he lines up items on the counter and begins filling a pot with water. “Once you’re healed, I’ll teach you some things. But for now, just enjoy the show, beautiful.”

“You sound pretty sure about that. Didn’t realize you were so cocky.”

“Only when it comes to you, sweetheart.” He turns to put the pot on the stove. “I make your favorite meal, after all.”

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