Page 43 of Silver Fake

He's always been more of the silent type, mainly when he's worried. It's a trait that I, unfortunately, inherited from him. It's in our nature to retreat into silence when we're anxious, shutting out the world around us as we deal with ourselves. It's not the healthiest approach, I know, but it's our way of processing.

I give him a reassuring smile.

"We'll get through this, Dad," I say, patting him on the back. "Mom's strong, stronger than any of us. She's seen us through all our storms. It's our turn to see her through hers." My voice is firm, layered with the determination and strength that I muster for both of us.

To my surprise, he gives me a weak nod, his eyes brimming with tears. "I know, son. I just hate seeing her like this."

I feel a lump form in my throat, the gravity of this role reversal hitting me hard.

It's strange seeing my dad like this. He's always been a pillar of stoic calm, a rock in the stormy sea of life. But as I've gotten older, my parents have started to lean on me for comfort and reassurance. It's happening more frequently now, these moments of vulnerability where I find myself comforting them. It's a jarring feeling -- an honor and heartbreaking task all at once.

"I hate seeing her like this too. But we've got this. And we've got Mom, even if she's not up and about right now," I say, my voice steady. "She's here with us, and she'd want us to be strong for her. Let's do that, let's be strong for her until she's fit enough to boss us around again." I manage a small chuckle, hoping to lighten the mood, if just for a fleeting moment.

Just then, the door to the waiting room opens, and a tall, thin man in a white lab coat steps through. It's the doctor we've been waiting for. I rise to my feet, bracing myself for whatever news he has to deliver.

"Mr. Barton," the doctor says to my Dad. "I have good news. Your wife is awake, stable and expected to make a full recovery."

I can feel the weight of the world lifting off my shoulders. My mind floods with relief, and I allow myself to take a deep breath for the first time in hours.

The doctor clears his throat before continuing. "We believe the reason for your mother's collapse was not due to a heart or neurological issue. It appears to be related to some essential oils she had been taking."

My Dad narrows his eyes skeptically. "Essential oils?"

The doctor nods and produces a small bag filled with tiny bottles from his lab coat pocket, presumably from my mother's purse.

"Essential oils can have strong reactions, particularly if ingested or absorbed in large quantities," he continues. "We believe your mother may have inadvertently applied too much or ingested some, leading to her collapse. It's important to remember that 'natural' doesn't always mean 'safe'."

The doctor tells us that my mom will be kept overnight for observation, but that she should be able to go home the following day. My dad and I thank the doctor and make our way to my mom's room.

As I walk down the antiseptic-scented hallway, I can't shake the feeling of unreality that's been haunting me since my mom's collapse. My mom is supposed to be invincible, and seeing her hooked up to medical equipment makes my heart ache.

When we enter her room, my dad rushes over to her side, taking her hand in his. I hang back, watching their reunion with a lump in my throat. The sight of my parents together gives me much-needed comfort.

As my mom opens her eyes and manages a weak smile, I feel myself finally exhale. She's going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay.

I excuse myself from the room and make my way back to the waiting room. As I sit down in my chair, I allow myself to let out a sigh of relief. The weight of the world has finally lifted off my shoulders.

But as I sit there, I can't help but think about Lisa.

Sweet, supportive Lisa. Her radiant smile flashes in my mind, taking me back to the whirlwind of joy and laughter that was the wedding reception.

She was by my side, her hand nestled in mine, her laughter ringing out as we danced, oblivious to the world around us. Even in the chaos following my mom's collapse, she was calm and soothing. Lisa has a unique ability to lend strength in times of adversity. Her resiliency, her unwavering faith, is something I've always admired about her.

I find myself yearning for her comforting presence. With her, everything feels like it's going to be okay. And I can't wait to tell her that once again when all this is over.

* * *

Glancing at the clock on the dashboard of my car, I groan. It's almost two in the morning.

Lisa is probably already asleep by now. She didn't text to let me know she made it back to Denise's, and even though it's ridiculous, I can't ignore how much that hurts. I was on the verge of asking her to stay with me. I've never wanted anything more than to take her to my bed tonight, but it's way too late for that to happen.

As I drive through the quiet streets of Barton Beach, I can still feel her lips on mine. The way she tasted and how amazing it felt to hold her against me as we swayed on the dance floor. It didn't matter that there were hundreds of people there. It was just Lisa and me in those moments, and I could have kissed her forever.

When I get back to the hotel, I head upstairs to my room, trying to be quiet so I don't wake the other guests. I can see the light is on as I walk in, but I figure we must have left it on as we rushed out the door earlier to make it downstairs to the wedding.

When I step inside, my heart stops.

Lisa is sleeping peacefully on the couch, still wearing the beautiful dress she had on for the wedding.

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