Page 108 of Worthy

She giggles. “I’ll talk to him and make sure he knows what’s up. You focus on recovering, and I’ll be back soon to take you home.”

“I love you, Mal,” I murmur with the last bit of my energy. “I’m gonna sleep now.”

“Love you too, K. I hope this is the happiest day of your life.”

Maybe it should be. Maybe I’m ungrateful. I just want to curl up with my blanket over my head and my stuffy in my arms like I do every night. Instead, I’m stuck upright in this unfamiliar, empty room, watching the crack at the bottom of the blinds go dark.

Chapter three

Jamie

Pushing aside one of the architectural sketches on my drafting desk and picking up another, I try not to stare at the signature scrawled neatly in the corner next to mine—Brendan Yates.It doesn’t matter if I look or not; I can see the name woven into every wall and window of the museum we were in the middle of designing.

Brendan and I always joked that I took care of the foundations and he added the windows. I’d get caught up in mundane details like plumbing until he laughed and stole the drawing so he could add twenty skylights, ignoring my protests. “You need to let a little light in, Jamie. Humans aren’t meant to live in the dark.” I always called him ridiculous, but I lived for the days we’d visit the finished buildings and he showed me the miraculous way the sunlight spilled down and transformed everything it touched.

Now that he’s gone, I have to add the light to this building myself. I can’t let him down. But I don’t know how—I haven’t opened my blinds in so long that I don’t even remember where my own windows are. The plans are due in a few days, but I fold them up with a sigh and head downstairs.

My black cat, Sable, chases after me and weaves between my feet in her ongoing campaign to trip and murder me. When I reach the second floor landing, she peels away and sprints toward the cracked door of the guest room, ignoring my hiss of warning. Muttering profanities, I chase after her as quietly as I can.

By the time I duck into Kota’s room, Sable has already hopped onto the bed and started sniffing his hand. I snatch up the heavy cat and pin her to my chest, getting her long, dark fur all over my sweater. Kota doesn’t even stir, the slow rhythm of his breathing uninterrupted.

I catch myself staring at the unconscious boy awkwardly propped up against the headboard. He’s tall but a little too thin, like he doesn’t eat enough hearty meals. I’ve never seen someone with so many freckles—they dot his smooth skin all the way from his ginger hairline to the edge of his chest binder and out along his shoulders.

He’s changed so much from the skittish, delicate thing I met four years ago, hiding in clothes much too big for him. Every part of his face has been subtly altered and masculinized by what I assume to be hormone injections. Light facial hair dusts his jaw and chin, and his voice has dropped almost an octave from what I remember. My eyes linger a little too long on the swoop of his clavicles and the curve of his throat where his head rests back against the pillows. He’s a gorgeous young man. My body responds instinctively to the sight of him, but I can’t be blamed for that. I just need to keep my head in line.

Turning away, I lug Sable out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. When I set her free, she bounds away between the boxes and junk to nap in her favorite pile of dirty laundry. She thinks my squalor is some kind of delightful obstacle course specifically for her amusement.

I pour the dregs of my pot of coffee into an unwashed mug and clear the dirty dishes from a small section of the counter so I can lay out the paperwork from Kota’s nurses. Using the pen I keep perpetually tucked behind my ear, I check off each paragraph and add items I don’t have, such as absorbent pads, to a delivery order from the local grocery store.

Despite my master’s degree, it takes me several tries to work out a twenty-four hour schedule that coordinates all the medications they sent home with him. None of this comes naturally to me like it does to my daughter, and I have no bedside manner at all. It’s no wonder Kota looked panicked when he realized who would be taking care of him; I had the same face when Mallory called and begged me to pick him up.

When I’m finished, I replace my mug of coffee with a glass of Scotch and dial my daughter. I drink too much now, but no amount of alcohol can shut off my brain the way I wish it would.

“Hi, Dad.” Mallory sounds exhausted. I never know how to comfort people, but I wish I could give her a hug. As the boy sleeping upstairs demonstrates, I’d do anything to support my daughter.

“Did you arrive safely? How is your mother?”

“I’m with her. She’s safe, but they’re concerned she might have an underlying heart condition.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” It’s the right thing to say, but I never say it the right way, so I just end up sounding like I don’t care.

“I think…” She takes a deep breath, like she’s about to dive underwater. “I think I’ll have to stay here at least three or four days. But Kota can’t be left alone yet.”

“Who can I call to come take him?” No, that was not the right thing to say.

“He’s not a stray dog, Dad. He’s a person.”

I massage the bridge of my nose and sneak a burning swallow of scotch. “I only meant that he’d be more comfortable with people he knows.”

“He doesn’t have anyone else.”

“What about his family?”

Theyou’re so cluelesssilence feels gentler this time. “Think it through, Dad. He’s transgender, and his family didn’t show up for a major surgery.”

“Oh.” The idea makes my brain itch. Even though I never intended or wanted to be a parent, Mallory knows she could call me from anywhere at any time and I’d be there for her. “Then I suppose he’ll stay here.”

She’s too focused on firing off instructions to say thank you, but the relief in her voice is enough. “Track his meds for him, because he’ll be too loopy. Don’t let him use his arms, but make sure he walks around a couple of times a day. You should change his dressings every morning and evening, but I don’t think you can tonight because you don’t have any—”

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