Page 62 of Severed Rivalry
Me: I hear you’re taking the day off. Be smart, okay?
Angel: Ayla has a big mouth.
Me: And let me know how Rosie is.
Angel: She was discharged overnight. Had a rideshare take her home. I feel like a shit daughter. We’re heading her way in a few.
Me: Donuts never go uneaten.
Angel: Good call. Get her high on sugar so she doesn’t know I slept through her call. Think it’ll work?
Me: I think she’ll be so glad to see you and have breakfast, she won’t remember the ride home.
Me: No word on what it was?
Angel: I’ll find out in a few.
Me: Keep me posted.
Me: I can’t wait until talking doesn’t hurt. Texting sucks. I missyour voice.
A minute later, she sends a voice message. “Have a great day, Ci. Hope the hike is good for you. I miss your voice too.”
I need to get better fast, do surgery fast, and recover like I’m not thirty-six years old.
I miss holding her. Once would never be enough. Once was enough to rekindle everything from more than a decade ago.
It’s as if part of my soul was taken from me when she was torn from my life.
I didn’t realize it was half a life.
I didn’t grasp I wasn’t whole.
I recognized it when she was in my arms again. When I was able to fall asleep with her in my arms as if the world stopped spinning. The rhythm of my world was set to the correct frequency again.
It’s been seven days. But it’s so much more. It’s been fifteen years and seven days.
Now to get the shit in my life under control so that it doesn’t spit its stink onto her.
First things first, I need a new job.
Sariah
Rosie is good. Tired, but good. Apparently, seizures are exhausting, and the poking and prodding and tests prevented any good rest at the emergency room. Not that it’s restful anyway.
We left donuts with her. Her phone is on the charger near her, and she has strict instructions that she’ll call as soon as she feels better, or the first moment something feels off in her body. We’re not going far.
It felt wrong to leave, but Rosie insisted. She said watching her sleep was creepy, and we should do more with a day off.
Renée wasn’t having it but wants to shop. We were goingback and forth about a Rockies game or a movie. I bet movie wins. I hope movie wins.
Downtown Friday afternoon traffic is a mess. Add to that being outside in a Colorado spring, and it’s iffy at best. It’s a bit far away from Rosie too, especially with traffic as yesterday proved.
We head to Belmar and stroll the streets of the outdoor entertainment and shopping district.
My daughter is noticeably silent, and I think better of filling the moment with useless chatter. She’s brooding and I want her okay in that without needing to stuff the silence with meaninglessness. It’s hard on me, though, because I know something’s brewing.
We’re sitting at lunch as she twirls Pad Thai around her fork when she looks up, tears filling her eyes, and quietly asks, “Is RoRo dying?”
