Page 110 of We Were Something
So, am I okay?
No.
What I want to tell my dad is that I’m feeling really fucking lost. Really fucking confused. Really fucking tired and afraid and broken.
He could understand that…right? If I tell him the truth. If I tell him what life has been like and everything I’ve been through, he might sit here and give me the shoulder I need to cry on.
But the silence we share is shattered by his phone ringing.
He tugs it out of his pocket and glances at the screen, smiling in a way I know means it’s one of the women he’s sleeping with, even though he’s still married to my mom.
“I need to take this. We’ll talk later, okay?”
He gets up and leaves the room, his faint voice turning charming as it drifts down the hall.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say to the newly empty space, swallowing thickly and pushing away the carton of sorbet.
When I wash up and crawl into bed a little while later, I try to convince myself of the same thing.
I’m fine.
Hopefully, if I say it enough, I’ll believe it.
Or I can force it to be true.
CHAPTER21
LOGAN
I sprint down the hallway, my shoes echoing loudly against the linoleum as I race toward my mother’s room, nearly knocking over a nurse who comes around a corner pushing a cart.
“I’m so sorry,” I say, making sure he’s alright before I continue the rest of the way, coming to a sharp stop at the doorway.
For the first time in the thirteen days she’s been unconscious, her familiar brown eyes look back at me.
“Mom,” I whisper, crossing the room to her and tugging the big clunky chair over so I can sit close. Then I take her hand in mine. “How are you feeling?”
“Like shit,” she replies, giving me a weak smile.
“Your mom is recoveringverywell,” Dr. Ramos says as he continues marking up her chart. “Her stats are great, she seems to have full function of her speech, and the follow-up MRI we did last night shows her bleed has completely stopped.”
My mom squeezes my hand, though the pressure is light.
“Hear that? I’m a medical marvel,” she tells me, and I break into laughter.
It’s my first laugh in almost a week as I’ve waited for there to be some kind of update on her condition. As I’ve gone through the rollercoaster of emotions wondering if every new day that passes is the day I get news that she’s crashing or showing no brain function or some other horrible outcome.
It feels so good to smile aboutsomething.
“Well, you do have a doctor for a son,” Dr. Ramos says, tucking his chart against his chest. “I’m almost certain some of his ‘Protector of Pike Place’ karma has rubbed off on his mom.”
I snort, rolling my eyes.
“See, that’s why I left Seattle,” I retort. “Tell me, how do I get people to stop bringing that up when I move back?”
“You arenotmoving back,” my mother interjects, her tone shifting from jovial and groggy to stern in a nanosecond.
I pat her hand twice and give her a soft smile. “We’ll talk about it once you’re up and moving around a little bit more, okay?”
