Page 112 of Forever and Ever

Slowly I start waking up, and that’s when I notice my mom and dad are sitting on the couch in the hospital room.

“Mom,” I say, but it comes out sounding like there’s a frog in my throat.

She jumps up and hurries over to my bedside, grabbing my hand. Her hands are warm, and I run my thumb over the wrinkles that have started forming in the last few years on the back of them.

Although she tried to pretend all morning she wasn’t worried, I know her too well. Her brown hair is in a tight bun and there are dark circles under her eyes, reflecting the stress from today back at me.

“Hola, Mija,” she says with a careful smile, as she looks me up and down trying to read my facial expressions. “Don’t try to move too much. The doctor said you need to rest.”

“Did it go okay?” I can’t help but be worried after what happened last time.

Mom nods. “It went wonderful, don’t worry. It took a little longer than expected, but Dr. Winters took his time and said that everything went according to plan. There should be minimal scarring.”

She pats the back of my hand and gives me a warm smile.

“Good,” I tip my head back, feeling relief that makes me realize how stressed I’ve been. The weight I’ve been feeling inside physically and mentally feels like it’s lifted, and for the first time in a year I take a deep breath.

“Where’s Noah?” I ask her, surprised he isn’t in the room right now, and hoping my dad didn’t scare him off.

“He went to grab us water,” Mom says. “He thought we might be thirsty.”

She gives me a little smirk that shows me she’s coming around to him. After all, if anyone is proof that it’s impossible to deny Noah’s charms, it’s me. He’ll win them over in time.

Mom looks over her shoulder at Dad, who is standing now, looking at me with a straight face.

“I’ll go find Noah.” Mom leans down to give me a kiss on the cheek and whispers, “Play nice while I’m gone, Mija.”

I grumble, not sure why she’s worried about me. I’m the one chained to my hospital bed by IVs and wires right now, so if anyone has the advantage, it’s him. Mom pulls back and gives Dad a look over her shoulder that says something similar before leaving.

“Hey, Dad,” I say when Mom disappears, resting my head back and closing my eyes for a minute. It still feels like a lot of work to stay awake right now.

Machines hum, filling the silence of the room. Everything from my eyelids to my toes feels heavy.

The bed sinks and I open my eyes to find my dad sitting on the edge of it beside me. He looks a lot like Grandpa when he’s stressed, even more so these past couple of years now that there’s a sprinkle of gray hair starting at his temples. He has the same dark, hard stare Grandpa always wore, but Dad’s is softened by his rounder face and softer features.

“You look good.” Dad’s gaze moves down, taking me in.

With him sitting here, I miss how close he and I used to be. Growing up, Monica was close with Mom because she was a lot like her—down to earth and outwardly loving.

I was a daddy’s girl. He understood Monica and I weren’t close in age, so he found ways to make up for it. Every day after work, he’d find me. We would run around, play catch, go on walks, or take trips to the bay.

I’ve always been more like him—adventurous, wild, difficult to love. We don’t trust as easily, even if we’re passionate and impulsive. But with all our similarities, we’re also headstrong and set in our ways. And while it made us close when I was younger, as the years went on it formed a rift.

“Sounds like things went well,” I say, trying to fill the room with something other than our tension.

Dad nods, and I reach out for his hand. His eyes look down as my fingers rest on the back of it, and he covers it with his other hand.

“I worry about you,” he says.

“I know, Dad.”

“You run off with this band, and next time I see you is like this.” His mouth forms a hard line.

I shake my head. “That’s an exaggeration. I saw you a couple of nights ago for dinner. And I saw you last time I was in town.”

“You know what I mean,” he says, stubborn as always.

It makes me feel a little bad for what Noah must have to deal with when trying to get me to budge on something. While my dad’s bullheadedness is frustrating, I know it’s also a reflection of my own.

---