Page 23 of Hearts to Mend

Dee’d been my first kiss. She was my first everything.

I learned how to kiss with Dee. More importantly, I learned how Dee liked me to kiss her, and I hadn’t forgotten those lessons. This kiss, though—it had been wholly different. Why?

People change, I know that; we grew up. When Dee and I were teens, we kissed like teens. We were learning about ourselves and each other; kissing was an exploration, an adventure, a desperate, breathless advancement toward some mysterious future life.

This kiss wasn’t about adventure or advancement toward some distant horizon. This kiss obliterated the horizon, like an atomic bomb boiling the air around us as our lips collided, our tongues tangled, an inferno burning between us, stoked hotter with every taste.

This kiss was, without a doubt, the sexiest kiss of my entire life. And I want more. But what does Dee want?

With a groan, I climb out of my car and slam the door closed. Inside the hospital, I consider a cup of the lobby coffee, but it looks like motor oil, so I take a pass and head to the front desk, where I aim to sweet-talk my way into Dee’s room.

Janet at the front desk lets me in, and I find Dee sleeping peacefully in her little bed, her left leg immobilized in some sort of contraption. I guess I thought she’d be awake, interested in talking to me or at least interested in fighting. To come into her room and find her asleep feels like a violation. I turn to leave, but I’m hemmed in by a nurse who’s come for her nightly rounds, checking Dee’s vitals and fluids.

Dee stirs awake and blinks past the nurse toward me. She doesn’t say anything, and neither do I; we just stare at each other as the nurse adjusts the saline drip. Once she leaves, I half expect Dee to tell me to leave, too, but she doesn’t. She doesn’t say anything.

Dee’s eyes start to drift closed, like they’re too heavy to hold open. Quietly, I settle into the chair beside her bed and turn my head to watch her, ready at any moment to leave when she demands it. But she never does.

* * *

“I was broken, too, but they fixed me.”

That voice. It sounds like my son.

“They’re going to fix me today. Maybe I should get a red cast to match yours.”

And that’s Dee.

“Then we can be twins!” My son squeals at a pitch so high it makes me twitch.

“Shh, you’ll wake the sleepyhead,” Dee whispers loudly.

“Daddy is a sleepyhead. Sometimes I have to jump on him to wake him up.”

Dee’s laughter sounds like music, a siren song that pulls me from what’s left of my slumber. I shift, and pain lances through my neck and shoulders. Grimacing, I blink my eyes open and find myself sprawled awkwardly in a chair in the corner of a hospital room, surrounded by people.

Dee’s dad, Mark, stands by the window, backlit by the bright Texas sun, looking far older than his age. Mamá is here, too, laying out food—enough food to feed an army—on a counter below the television set. And she has an army to feed, what with Dee’s fire crew all here, watching me with suspicion again. At the center of this impromptu party, Dee sits high in her adjustable hospital bed, one arm draped over my son’s shoulders, the two of them gossiping about me, apparently.

“Daddy, you’re awake!” Matty says even louder than his terrible attempts at whispering.

“Yep. Yep. I’m up.” I squint as I rub the sleep from my eyes and sit a little straighter in the chair. I try to smooth out the wrinkles from my shirt, but it’s no use. I’m a rumpled mess and still reek of smoke from the fire.

“You snored really loud!” Matty proclaims with delight.

I blink at him. “I did?”

“You sounded like a pig,” he announces then starts to make oinking sounds.

Dee howls with laughter and hugs Matty a little tighter against her side.

“Dee Marie,” my mom interrupts, pointing at an empty plate and the spread of food before her. “¿Qué te gusta comer?”

Dee shrugs. “I’ll eat anything, Mrs. R.”

Mamá loads up a plate full of pastries, fruit, and tacos, way more food than Dee could probably eat in a day. When she hands the plate over, Dee winks at Matty. “What do you say, Mateo? Wanna help me eat all this?”

Matty nods and grabs one of the tacos. I wince, worried he’ll make a mess, but Dee doesn’t seem to mind, so I let it go. Mamá serves heaps of food to Dee’s dad and her fire crew next, serving me last.

“Do the nurses know you’re feeding their patient?” I ask as mamá hands me a plate laden with tacos, cantaloupe slices, and a pumpkin empanada.

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