Page 10 of Pursued By My Grumpy Fiancé
“Where have they moved her?” I can hear my voice tremble. The nurse blinks quickly.
“Oh no, no, no. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. She’s on floor twelve—she’s been moved to the donor wing.”
“The donor wing? We can’t afford that,” I mumble, still recovering from my initial panic. The receptionist scribbles something on a sticky note and hands it to me.
“All the bills have been covered; the door code and her room number are on the note.”
She smiles as I stare at her in disbelief, almost trancelike. I finally make the short walk to the elevator and get in.
I look at the elevator panel for a few seconds and finally press the number twelve.
“Going up,” the robotic voice says.
I take this moment to contemplate what I’ve just learned. My mother’s been moved to the donor floor. I should be rejoicing. That means even better treatment and more attentiveness from staff. But how is this possible? It must cost millions to get moved to the donor floor.
“Floor twelve,” the elevator announces as the doors slide open.
The upgrade from floor five is immediately noticeable. Instead of stark, sterile white everywhere, there are wood accents of a dark colored oak. I type in the door code and enter the lobby. The reception desk is nicer, and the lighting is softer than anywhere else in the center.
“Hi there. Is there something I can help you with?” The receptionist asks, a sweet smile spreading over her face.
“I’m just here to see my mom—she’s apparently been moved up here? Her name is Rebecca Dunn. I’m Hailey Dunn.”
“Right, she just got moved up here today. She’s in room 1206. I’ll have them send a refreshment cart there while you visit. Are there any special requests? We can do Voss, Perrier, or Icelandic spring water?”
“Um, I guess the spring water would be fine?” I mumble.
She nods and starts typing furiously into her computer.
I make my way down the hallway to the left, which has the first twelve rooms on the floor. As I walk down the corridor, I sneak peeks at the names on the doors in the halls. They’re recognizable names—politicians, celebrities, and other people of that ilk.
I stop outside of room 1206. The nameplate on the door reads Rebecca Dunn.
I push the door open and step inside. My mother is watching the home improvement channel, which has always been her favorite. She sees me and sits up, grinning from ear to ear.
“Hay Bales! Can you believe this room they’ve moved me to? It’s so swanky! A nurse comes in every thirty minutes to bring me this fancy water.” She waves a bottle of Icelandic at me and I can’t help but grin.
“Hey mom. I’m glad that you like it.” I go and sit next to her bed.
The chair is plush and comfortable, not at all like the ones on floor five.
“Knock knock!” An orderly rolls in a cart of refreshments. And not the pre-packaged, vending machine kind of refreshments.
An enormous spread lies before us on the cart. Included are an entire bunch of grapes, a bowl of olives, and those tiny sandwiches that fancy people eat with their tea. Two carafes—one labeled tea, and one labeled coffee—sit next to six more bottles of Icelandic water. My jaw drops open.
“Oh, this is so much!” I say to the orderly.
“It’s all right, whatever doesn’t get eaten gets recycled or composted. We don’t like waste around here,” he says before slipping out the door.
“Recycled?! You might as well take this all home. I know groceries are costing a fortune these days! Hand me one of those sandwiches,” my mom says, pointing.
“Are you sure that won’t make you sick, mom?” I ask as I walk over to the cart.
“No, no! I haven’t eaten much today.”
I grab a bottle of water and hand her a sandwich. I grab a handful of grapes, then sit back down.
“So, tell me, how did you swing this set-up?” my mom asks before taking a nibble of her sandwich. I pop a grape into my mouth and relish the flavor. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.
