Page 64 of The Autumn We Fell in Love

The second nurse moves around to Mom’s other side and holds one of her arms firmly. The original nurse inserts an I.V.

My throat spasms. I have to swallow hard once, twice, to make sure I’m not about to vomit. Because Mom’s shaking so damn hard that the nurse couldn’t get the I.V. line in by herself. She needed someone to restrain my mother.

Not a lot. But my mother is so not in control of her body, that she needed someone to help her make it still. I’m not even sure she’s awake, and what horrible thing it might mean if she’s not.

Fuck.

I run a hand over my skull and realize my hands are quivering too.

“Is there anything you can tell us?” I blurt out, desperate for information, for whatever reassurance I can come by.

The two nurses glance at each other. The first one shakes her head. “There’s not much I can say at this point. Her temperature is lower than we like to see. She might be dehydrated again.”

My dad curses under his breath.

“But the doctor is going to prioritize her case, given her history. He’ll be in to see her next.”

“How long?” I croak.

“Soon,” she says firmly and smiles again, more warmly this time. Then she and the other nurse leave the room.

Soon. In the hospital, things always happen soon, which can mean anywhere from a few minutes to long, dragging hours.

I hate it.

And if I hate, I can’t imagine what Dad’s feeling. He’s been living this reality far longer than I have.

Pulling a stool up to the side of the bed, I place a light hand on Mom’s forearm. I hate how cold her skin feels against mine, how papery her flesh is as it trembles beneath my touch.

“Mom,” I ask, “can you hear me?”

It takes her a minute — too damn long, in my opinion — but she blinks her eyes open. “Oh,” she sighs, giving me a quavering smile, “good. You’re here.”

“How do you feel?” I press.

She snorts. “Bad.”

My stomach swoops. “What kind of bad, Mom?”

Her eyes dilate, and when they focus again, her gaze moves to Dad.

He steps forward, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s give her a chance to rest, son,” he says, squeezing. Then, to my mom, “We’ll be right here if you need us. But you go on and sleep if that’s what you need.”

Mom’s eyes flutter closed. In a few more minutes, her breathing lengthens. I don’t miss that Dad’s eyes go to the monitors she’s hooked up to, making sure her vitals aren’t dropping.

But they stay steady, for whatever that’s worth. And now that she’s asleep, her hands aren’t shaking as much.

I decide to take that as a good sign. Doubly so because I don’t know when we’ll get another one.

Dad sinks into the armchair across from where I’m perched on the stool. Together, we settle in to discover how longsoonmight be this time around.

Shira

Ihaven’t been to the mall in a long time. So long I can’t even remember the last time I set foot in these pretzel-scented halls.

But today, the day I have to prove myself to the investors — and also the day I get used and tossed aside by the first guy I had real feelings for in who knows how long — is the perfect day to break my mall-less streak.

I examine my reflection in the dressing room mirror. I’m wearing a fitted green pantsuit and kitten heels.

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