Page 108 of We Were Something
It doesn’t take long for me to collect everything from Nancy’s house and get a car to the airport. But at the last minute, I redirect the driver to take me by the hospital.
Maybe it sounds ridiculous, but I’ve spent the past week at the bedside of a woman I might never get to meet. I at least want to tell her goodbye.
When I get there, I give a tight smile to the woman at the ICU desk, who shockingly gives me a small smile in return—probably because I don’t have flowers this time—before slipping into Nancy’s room.
Tucking myself against the wall opposite her bed, I watch her for a few moments as the machines in the corner beep steadily, trying to think of what I should say. How I should let her know I’m leaving. My wishes for her to get well.
But ultimately, all I can feel is my broken heart trying to thump a beat in my chest. So I cross the room and take her hand in mine, deciding I don’t need to have the right words to say goodbye. I just need to have honest ones.
“I wanted you to like me when I introduced myself,” I tell her, my eyes scanning the cuts on her face that have been steadily healing since she was admitted last Sunday. “I had this stupid vision that I’d talk to you and you’d wake up and realize I’m destined to be with your son.”
I let out a humorless laugh, squeezing her hand.
“And the funny thing is that he broke up with me before I ever even got the chance to really try to win you over. I’ve never cared about what a guy’s parents thought of me before, because I always knew we wouldn’t last. But with Logan, I cared. I wanted you to like meso bad.” I roll my eyes.“Clearly, ahugewaste of time.”
Giggling again, I use my free hand to wipe away a lone, traitorous tear that has broken free.
“So I’m here to say goodbye. I really do hope you wake up soon, hope when you open your eyes, you remember your son and your wonderful life and your cat. I even hope you remember Jen,” I joke. “Though I’ll be honest, that one is hard for me. Especially since you already love her way more than you probably ever would have loved me, and because she’s going to give you a grandkid, which I wouldn't have been able to do. But I’m trying to learn how to be a bigger person, you know? To truly want the best for people, even if it doesn’t feel fair. And if you want grandkids and Logan doesn’t want them, whycan’tJen be the one to give that to you? Family doesn’t have to look any certain way to mean something, right?”
I snort, allowing a few more tears to fall free, that familiar sting behind my nose warning me that if I’m not careful, I’ll be sobbing soon.
“Anyway, now I’m just a rambling mess your son broke up with, and I’m pretty sure the ICU ninjas are gonna throw me on the streets at any moment, so…I’m gonna go. But I just wanted to say I’m rooting for you, and if I can be of any help at all, just kick Logan in the balls and demand my number. I’ll be here as soon as I can.”
Squeezing her hand one more time, I lean over and place a kiss on her forehead. And then I leave the ICU for the last time.
My last-minute flight back to California is short and uneventful, but I’m exhausted when I finally walk through my front door just before the clock ticks past midnight.
“Hey pumpkin.”
I startle for only a second when I walk into the kitchen, my hand flying to my chest.
“Good. Ness,” I say then huff out an irritated breath. “You know, this whole sitting and eating ice cream in the dark thing is really starting to make you look like a weirdo.”
My dad smirks at me from across the room then shoves another bite of what can only be rocky road into his mouth without saying anything.
I stick my tongue out at him and continue through the kitchen, heading for the freezer to dig out my own little bit of sugary deliciousness.
It’s rare for me to eat things that don’t truly nourish my body—my mother’s harping about my weight-to-height ratio something that lives inside my head even when she’s not around—but after the week I’ve had, some raspberry sorbet sounds particularly delectable and is exactly what I need.
Grabbing a spoon, I cross over and plop down next to my dad. Once my carton is open, I stick my spoon out, he taps it with his own in a sign of solidarity, and then the two of us dig in.
Moments like this with my dad are what I used to live for. The man is almost never around, and when he is, he’s usually surrounded by a posse of assistants and friends who make it feel like I’m trying to get to a celebrity when all I want is to get a hug or a hello.
Carter Andrews is not the world’s best dad, by any means.
He’s perpetually late, can never seem to stay focused on one thing for longer than a few months, and struggles in general with responsibility. Growing up, he was more like a big brother or cool uncle than a father, sneaking me backstage at rock concerts and offering me my first beer when I was barely a teenager.
So yeah, he’s not the best father, but he’s easier to play around with than my mom, who takes everything so damn seriously.
“So what brings you into the kitchen looking so glum this late on a Saturday evening? Shouldn’t you be out with your friends?” he asks.
My spoon stops midair, and I look over at him, realizing he’s serious.
“I…I’ve been out of town for a week,” I tell him. “I just landed an hour ago.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize,” he says, giving me an easy smile and taking another bite of his ice cream, completely oblivious to the fact that I can’t believe he didn’t even realize I was gone.
I set my small carton down on the table, the sweet raspberry taste suddenly feeling like a pile of sugar coating my throat.
