Page 219 of There's No Us Without You
She winks over her shoulder at me, then gives my mum and dad a quick hug.
What the hell?
I was so drugged off my face last night I don’t remember much of anything, but it’s obvious my parents and Eden have been introduced. Otherwise... awkward.
Mum takes the seat where Eden had just been and squeezes my hand while Dad hovers next to her, rubbing the back of his neck.
I’m not sure what to expect here, but if my mother is about to ream me, I at least need a moment to gather myself, so I grab my glass of water from the small portable table overhanging my bed and scull it down.
Right. Let’s just get this over and done with, shall we?
Mum gives me a small smile and grabs my hand. “How are you, sweetheart?”
With the best convincing smile I can muster, I pat the back of my mum’s hand as it rests on my opposite one by the edge of the bed. “Fine, Mum. You don’t need to worry.”
“Of course I’m going to worry,” she says, her eyes brimming with tears. “You’re my son.”
Dad places a hand on her shoulder and gives her a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, love. He’s in good hands.”
Mum opens her mouth to speak, but closes it again when a doctor strolls into the room. He hasn’t acknowledged us yet, his focus on the clipboard in his hands. When he’s positioned at the end of the bed, he sighs and presses the clipboard to his chest.
He nods at Mum and Dad. “These must be your parents.” He holds out a hand to my dad. “I’m Doctor Michaels.”
Dad takes his hand, shaking it enthusiastically as he places his other hand on top. “So what’s the damage, Doc?”
Straight to the point. Here we fucking go.
I plaster on a brave face, but my entire body is shaking. It’s bad, I know that much. I pushed too hard and now I have to deal with the consequences.
“Well,” Dr Michaels says, pulling the clipboard away from his chest to flip through the papers. “You’ve got a grade-three tear to your ACL, which, in layman’s terms, means you’ve completely torn it in half. It will require surgery to repair, but recoveryis usually quite good.” He pauses and gives me an empathetic smile. “You will need to rest it for a few days, of course, but after that you will require physiotherapy and regular checkups.”
I blow out a breath and run a hand through my still-damp hair. “I guess I was prepared for that.”
The doctor nods. “We can schedule you in for surgery this afternoon and have you out of here tomorrow morning once our resident physiotherapist checks you over.”
Mum grips my hand, hers sweaty and shaky. “Oh, Emerson,” she says, blinking back her tears. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
“Mum, I’m going to be okay. Right, Doc?” I glance at the man in the white coat as he hovers at the end of my bed, silently begging him to help me out here.
Even if I was dying, I’d expect him to lie just to get my mother off my back.
Doctor Michaels nods enthusiastically. “Oh, yes. These injuries are very common in your profession. With some rest and physiotherapy, you’ll be playing again in no time.” He hands me the clipboard and a pen. “You’ll need to sign these waivers to say you understand the risks involved with going under anaesthetic.”
I grab the pen and sign on the dotted line. He leaves the room, telling me he’ll get everything sorted for surgery.
Mum gives Dad a knowing look before she glances back at me. “Listen, sweetheart...” Her bottom lip trembles as she looks away and wipes under her eyes.
Dad pulls up a spare chair and places it next to my mother. “Listen, son,” he says, taking a seat and resting a hand on her thigh. “Your mother and I just want to apologise to you.”
This isn’t what I was expecting. But hey, as Eden said earlier, there’s a first time for everything.
“For what?”
“For putting so much pressure on you all these years. I know we haven’t been easy to talk to, but we thought we were doing the right thing. When your mother saw you go down on the field at that last game, we knew in our hearts it was because of us.”
I put my hand up. “Dad, stop. It’s not your fault. I made the choice to play with an injury, and this is the consequence.” I point to my knee. “My decisions put me here, not yours.”
Mum shakes her head. “But we pushed and pushed, sweetheart. I’m so sorry that you felt like you couldn’t come to us.” She presses her face into my dad’s shoulder, hers shaking as she cries.
