Page 24

Chapter Twenty-Four

We don’t learn until after school that Mom’s surgery is going to be the next day. Joel has to work, so we can’t visit her. I call her a couple of times, but she never answers.

Her surgery is at 7:30 in the morning, so Joel and I get to the hospital early enough to sneak into her room before they take her away. When we walk in, Mom’s mouth drops open in surprise, and tears flood her eyes.

“You’re here,” she says, holding her hands out to us.

I walk around the bed and take her one hand, as Joel steps up to the other side of the bed to take her other hand. Joel is stiff, but I’m happy to see him trying. He and I share a look, and I can see he is just as surprised as I am over how emotional Mom is to see us.

“Have they already drugged you up, Mom?” Joel jokes.

She doesn’t seem to understand the jest. “No, they should come in soon, though. Why?”

“You’re so happy to see us,” I say.

She looks between the two of us. “Of course, I am. I wouldn’t have been at all surprised if you guys wanted nothing to do with me. ”

“Are you nervous?” I ask.

She nods. “Though they tell me the chances of something going wrong and leaving me a vegetable are slim, I’m afraid of it happening.”

“Oh, great!” Joel grumbles. “I hadn’t even thought of that one yet.”

Mom laughs nervously, clearly surprised he had given it any thought. “If anything happens, I’ve signed a DNR, so you shouldn’t have to worry about me.”

“What’s a DNR?” I ask. My heart skips a beat.

“Do not resuscitate. It basically says that if I code or die on the table or something, they should just let me go and not do anything to bring me back.”

Joel and I look at each other across the bed. I swallow audibly. This is so much harder than I expected.

“Listen,” Mom says. “I’m sure I’ll come out of this fine, but in case I don’t, I need to tell you how sorry I am for being such a terrible mother. Obviously, I haven’t had the best example to learn from. But I’ve used that as an excuse my whole life instead of doing the hard work to figure out how to do things better, like the two of you have. I’m really proud of you.”

I’m stunned silent, so I just squeeze her hand. Joel clears his throat but just nods.

“I hope to do better. I don’t expect you to forgive me or love me or even like me, but I want you to know I am going to get help, and I’m going to try.”

The nurse comes in to tell us it’s time for them to take Mom to surgery. As I lean over to give her an awkward hug and kiss on her cheek, my heart is hopeful. Mom has never acknowledged her role in the toxic home life we have. It feels like a huge step. I turn to wave one last time before following Joel to the waiting room.

When we enter, a volunteer sitting behind a desk invites us to take all we want from a selection of packaged snacks, canned juices, and bottled waters arranged on a cart next to her desk. We shake our heads and smile as we head to the far corner of the otherwise empty room.

We sit in silence for a while before I ask, “How long is this supposed to take?”

“Four to six hours,” Joel says.

We both pull out our phones. I text the girls to let them know I won’t be in school. They immediately reply with well wishes and, in Sam’s case, excessive emojis. I’m not in the mood to browse social media, so I tuck my phone away and sit back to watch the morning news show, though I don’t really pay attention. I’m too busy thinking about what Mom said.

“Do you think she can do it?” I ask.

Maybe Joel was thinking about the same thing, or maybe he expected the question, but he responds immediately. “I don’t know. My friend’s dad is an alcoholic. He’s in and out of rehab all the time. I don’t even think he drinks as much as Mom.”

“Could you ever forgive her?” I pick at the hem of my sleeve as I consider my own answer.

“I don’t know that I can. I’m not like you. I have a lot of anger.”

I look at him with my head cocked. “I have anger, too.”

Joel shakes his head. “You have sadness. You’re sad about the childhood we didn’t get. Sad for the pathetic life Mom lives. Sad for all the burning rage that eats away at Grandma. But you aren’t mad at them. I’m angry. Every time they start in on each other, I want to join them and yell even louder. I want to slam doors until the walls shake, throw things that shatter into a million pieces because that’s what I feel like they’ve done to me. Broken me into a million painful shards.”

I suck in a breath, trying to keep fresh tears at bay. I’ve never felt pain so acutely as I do right now for my brother. I clench my fists and force myself to respond. “The raised voices and slamming doors make me want to hide in a corner with my hands over my ears. I want to hide until it goes away. Like I used to when we were young enough to crawl into your closet. When you would shield me from it as much as you can. I’m a coward.”

Joel shakes his head. He doesn’t respond for a long time, and I suspect he’s reliving some of those earlier times like I am. Finally, he sniffs. “You’re not a coward, Ava. You’re compassionate and caring.”

I sigh and deny his claim with an infinitesimal shake of my head. “It was good to hear Mom say that she recognizes that we’ve overcome our circumstances.”

Joel sits up. His sudden enthusiasm is shocking. But in a good way. “I know, right? That totally took me by surprise. I had no idea she paid enough attention to our lives to even have a clue.”

“It’s still all going to be hard, with Mom recovering and trying to get and keep herself sober too, with Grandma picking a fight every chance she gets, with us having to keep up with school and you with work as well,” I say. “But for the first time…ever, I feel hopeful.”

Joel takes my hand. “We’re in this together.” His expression tells me he isn’t feeling hopeful at all.

“Together.” I squeeze before we let go.

He slides down in his chair, folds his hands together over his stomach, and leans his head against the wall, closing his eyes. I turn my attention to the television again, and with a clearer mind, I’m actually able to listen to what is being said. We wait.

And wait.

And wait.

Later, my phone buzzes with a text notification. I look at the time and see that first period just ended. The text is from Bek and is in all capital letters.

Bek: DYLAN SCOTT JUST ASKED FOR YOUR PHONE NUMBER!!!!

I sit forward in my chair.

Me: WHAT?! Did you give it to him?

Bek: Yes. I hope you don’t mind. He’s SOOOOOO worried about you.

Me: OMG. He is?!

Bek: He was super hesitant to talk to me. But he said the two of you had talked about your mom yesterday and he wanted to check on you. I told him she was having her surgery today and that you’d probably appreciate him reaching out.

Me: OMG. You did?!

Bek: You sound like a caveman. Lol.

Me: I’m in shock. That’s so sweet of him.

Me: DON’T SAY IT.

Cross-posted with:

Bek: I told you he’s sweet.

Me: mad face emoji

Bek: laughing/crying emoji

Me: Thanks for giving him my number and for giving me a heads up, I would have FREAKED out if he’d texted out of the blue.

Bek: Any update?

Me: No. Another couple of hours at least.

Bek: Heart emoji

The day crawls by as I watch first, a game show that requires no skill, second, a talk show with combative guests, and third, a soap opera with as much drama as we have in our own household. I can’t believe people consider this entertainment. To me, it feels like a documentary.

Joel checks his watch. “I think I’m going to go to the cafeteria for some lunch. Want to go?”

I look at the time on my phone. 12:30. Lunch has just started at school. I wish I was hanging out with Sam and Bek in the cafeteria instead of sitting vigil here. I shake my head. “I’m not really hungry. Maybe I’ll grab something from the cart.” I point to the rolling junk food cart the volunteer graciously invited us to partake in.

“Okay, I’ll be back.”

I watch my brother walk away, and when he’s out of sight, let my head fall against the wall and rest my eyes. It has already been the longest day of my life and it’s only half over.

“Excuse me. Is this seat taken?”

I open my eyes to glare at the person asking, knowing there are plenty of empty seats available. But my mouth drops open when I find Dylan smiling down at me. “Oh! What are you doing here?”

He perches on the seat Joel just vacated and turns toward me. His unruly hair flops over his eyes. The collar of his t-shirt is frayed. The elbows on his leather jacket are worn. One of his shoes is untied. I’ve never seen him look more adorable. He shakes his bangs out of his eyes before speaking.

“I couldn’t get our conversation out of my mind. It didn’t feel like we got to finish it.”

I arch my brows. “So, you came to the hospital to continue it?”

His mouth flaps like a fish out of water before he finally says, “Well, I mean, kind of. Not that particular conversation, I guess. But when I didn’t see you today after first period, I found your friend and asked where you were. She was kind of cagey about her answer, so I told her that you told me about your mom and that I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

I just stare at him because that didn’t really explain why he was at the hospital.

He bends forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I…um…I was worried about you. I had to come make sure you were okay. But now that I’m here, I feel like a stalker, so I’ll go.”

He pops to his feet, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“No! You’re not a stalker!” I jump up too, ready to tackle him if I have to. “It was really nice of you to come.” Now I’m facing him with my arms crossed over my chest. Anybody looking would probably think we don’t want to be talking to each other. “Um, but are you skipping class? There’s no way you can get back before lunch is over in ten minutes.”

“I have a free after lunch. I usually go home.”

“Oh.” That would explain why I only saw him that one time. “My brother’s…” Just then, Joel strolls back into the waiting room, carrying a paper cup with a straw sticking out of the top. “Right there. He’s back from lunch already.”

Joel frowns as he approaches. “What the hell is he doing here?”

My stomach clenches at Joel’s tone. I glance at Dylan to see if he’s getting ready to throw a punch to defend his honor or anything, but Dylan’s expression is void of emotion as he waits for me to answer my brother.

“He came to see how things are going.” I haven’t spoken to Joel about Dylan since he’d told me he thought Dylan was trouble. And honestly, I probably wouldn’t have changed his mind even if I had spoken to him. Clearly, my brother has very strong opinions.

Joel narrows his eyes. “Why would he care?”

I huff. Sure, Joel is acting like a big brother. But like a jerky big brother. “We were talking about it yesterday and he wanted to make sure everything was okay. Stop acting like a caveman.”

Joel raises his eyebrows. “Did you just stand up for him?”

My back is straight. “I was actually standing up for myself.” I gesture for Dylan to follow me. “Come on, let’s go to the cafeteria. Joel, text if the doctor comes out.”

He grunts and watches us leave with a menacing expression on his face.

“Sorry about that. Joel only knows you from your reputation.”

“No wonder it looked like he wanted to pound me.” Dylan grimaces. “I take it you guys are close?”

“We are. He’s one of the main reasons I’m sane.” I laugh humorlessly.

“You’re lucky to have him. And I’m sure he’s lucky to have you, too.” We finally find the cafeteria. Dylan walks to the self-serve soda machine. “Do you want one? My treat.”

“Um, sure, thanks.” I grab a cup, dispense some ice, fill it almost full of cola, and then top it off with lemonade. I pop on a lid and slide a straw through the slits of the top. Dylan laughs at me as he fills his to the top with a single flavor. I shrug. “I like lemon in my soda!”

He holds a hand up in surrender. “I didn’t say anything.”

Dylan pays the bored-looking cashier, and we walk over to a small table next to the windows. The sun blazing through the glass takes the chill from my skin. The air conditioner is blasting in the waiting room even though the outside temperature also has a chill.

“Ava?” Dylan looks uncertain. “I know you’re going to be busy with your mom and stuff, but I was thinking, or hoping that we could maybe go to dinner or something together one day soon. Only when it’s convenient. I know this is a lot.” He waves a finger in the air to indicate the hospital.

The bad boy of Oak Grove High is rambling and it’ s the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. I’m so caught up in it, it takes me a second to hear that he just asked me out. For a second time. I feel my cheeks burn bright and bite my lip to keep from squealing. I didn’t even realize I wanted him to ask me out again until this very moment when suddenly, it’s what I want the most. “Um…”. I swallow my soda at the same time I try to speak and end up coughing out the sip I’d just sucked up. Some sprays on Dylan, and I’m mortified. I hack up a lung while I stumble over to the napkin dispenser and grab a handful. I turn and run into Dylan, who apparently followed me.

“Are you alright?” he asks. His hands hover in the vicinity of my shoulders. “Should I thump your back of something?”

I shake my head and start blotting the dampness from his shirt, but memories of blotting Rex rise to the front, and I leap away from Dylan like he has the plague. My foot catches the wheel of the utensil display table, which sends it careening into the wall, upsetting the containers, and sending forks, knives, and spoons clattering over the edge and onto the floor. The noise is deafening.

When the din dies away, I’m standing in utensil debris, my hands over my mouth, and Dylan is still in the exact same position I left him in, a look of shock on his face.

A hospital employee runs out from behind the counter. “Oh no. I’m so sorry. They always forget to set the brakes on those wheels. Oh my. Look at all of this. Are you alright, honey?”

Dylan is biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing. His eyes are filled with pure delight. And though I’m surrounded by the fork apocalypse, I’m not even embarrassed. I let my hands fall to my sides and laugh out loud.

The cafeteria employee looks up from where she’s scooping spoons into a tub. “Oh, aren’t you a sweet thing?”

For some reason, that makes me laugh even more. I squat down next to her and gather up the forks and knives that surround me, dumping them into the dirty dishes tub.

“Oh, don’t worry about it, dear,” the lady says. “I’m paid to take care of stuff like this.”

“You’re sure?” Dylan wades through the utensils. “She’s used to cleaning up after herself.”

I laugh again at Dylan repeating my own words to this lady. My heart is so full at that moment, and I waste a second on the guilt of feeling so good when my mom is on the operating table. But I immediately reject the thought. I have the capacity to be worried for her and happy for myself at the same.

“No problem at all. Go on, you two.” The woman shoos us away.

Dylan holds his hand out to me. Warmth spreads from my fingertips to my toes when his long fingers wrap around mine. He helps me to stand and leads me out of the fray and back to our table. “So, I’m not quite clear,” he says. “Is that a yes or a no?”

It takes me a beat to remember the question he asked before my spectacular display of clumsiness. I’m suddenly shy and unsure.

His face falls and I see the pain of rejection creep into his expression. “I’m sorry. I have such horrible timing.”

I shake my head and place a hand on the table in front of him, but my tongue is still frozen in my mouth. I can’t verbalize that it isn’t him at all. And it isn’t a rejection. It wasn’t the last time either. Well, that one was actually a rejection, but it’s because I’m so screwed up.

I pick up my hand and place it back on the table again. He’s watching me with his intense gaze, and it’s somehow comforting and empowering to know he is so interested in what I have to say. I swallow to get my voice back. A flush of heat blazes through my body as my anxiety spikes. But I steel my nerves and nod.

“Dylan, I don’t know how to make a new friend or how to date a guy.”

His smile is timid and encouraged. “It’s okay, I haven’t dated either. We can figure it out together.”

“No, that’s not it.” I stuff both of my hands into my lap. “Well, it is part of it, but I don’t make new friends or date because of my home life. I have been hiding it from everybody my entire life. My friends don’t even come over. They are the only ones I talk to about what happens there, but they’ve never seen it for themselves.”

I don’t know how to continue. Saying it out loud makes it sound so small and insignificant. Like maybe there are a few fights now and again and I should be able to get past it. But the shame I feel is so much a part of me that it isn’t letting me express the depth of pain living in my house has caused me.

Dylan stares at me, patiently waiting for me to continue. I feel no pressure of judgment from him. It gives me courage.

“I guess I’m saying that I’m pretty screwed up. I want to save you the investment of time it would take for you to figure it out. Let you off the hook, I guess.”

His eyes squint and his head cocks slightly. “Ava, when I first started volunteering at the shelter, the peaceful way you handle the animals drew me to you. You instinctively don’t make any sudden movements—unless you trip over a bucket.”

I snort.

“I get the impression you could walk into the middle of a herd of wild horses and gentle the dominant mustang.”

My brow knits as I wonder why that would attract him.

He looks down at his cup and turns it a quarter of a turn and then another quarter of a turn. “I haven’t had a great home life either. It certainly isn’t a place I would show off to a new date. Years of not trusting my father to provide for us, or to not gamble away the little we had left, or to not disappear for days on end, have left me gun shy about relationships as well. But watching your simple, quiet approach with the animals made me wonder if maybe there was another option or at least hope that I could find someone I could trust in you.”

His statement makes me sit back, like it physically slapped me across the face. He had the same revelation about me that I had about him. We’ve been teaching each other to trust again. I stare at his carved features, his floppy hair, his intense gaze—currently trained on the soda in front of him—and I wonder if we really could be good for each other. I clear my throat and his gaze lifts to meet mine. Unhurried, but hopeful.

“What did you do to earn the community service?”

His face falls, but also darkens. He seems equal parts sad and mad, but I don’t feel as though it’s directed at me.

“It was because of my dad. He had borrowed money from some tough dudes, and they were demanding payback, but he didn’t have it. They put more and more pressure on him to pay up or they threatened to break his legs, or something equally stereotypical. This has happened to Dad a couple times over the years, so I wasn’t worried, but they must have had someone watching the house, because somehow, they figured out that Mrs. Bandweather was a weakness. They showed up at her work one day and threatened her.”

“Oh, that’s terrifying.”

“Especially for Mrs. Bandweather and her family. Luckily, Dad was freaked out too. He got the money and they let him know where to make the drop. It was an abandoned building in the industrial park. They told him when they’d be there.” He shakes his head. “I went with Dad to make sure he made the drop and didn’t stop and gamble it away. We were headed out of the building when the cops showed up and busted us for trespassing. Dad already has a record, so they took him to jail. I was a first-time offender, so I got off with community service. I think my service is so long because of my dad.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re probably hoping to scare me straight. They don’t have to worry. I do not want to follow in dear old Dad’s footsteps.”

I study him and consider what it would be like to be associated with him. Would I get a bad girl reputation? Do I care? “Can I ask you something?”

Dylan nods.

“I don’t fully understand the bad boy image. The more I get to know him, the less authentic it seems. Why?”

Dylan’s lips purse. He closes his eyes for a second before responding. “Dad has some scary friends. Having a tough guy reputation saves me from being picked on or preyed on.”

I let my gaze skim over his beautifully carved features. There is always more to the story, isn’t there? I think of thirteen or fourteen-year-old Dylan having to keep himself safe from his dad’s friends and my heart breaks for that little boy.

“Is it disappointing for you that I’m actually just an average guy?” Dylan searches my face for my answer.

I smile. “I doubt you’re average.”

I wrap my hands around the base of my cup. I realize there is a more important topic that I’ve avoided addressing with Dylan. I swallow my fear. “The other day when I ran out of the shelter and didn’t come back?”

His gaze sharpens and he nods his head once.

“I was freaked out because I recognized that while you were teaching Popeye to trust again, you were…” I’m forced to swallow again when a lump of emotion lodges in my throat. I can taste the tears in it, but I’m determined to be strong through this admission. “You are teaching me too. It scared me so much, I actually ran away. But honestly, Dylan, I’ve been running and hiding my whole life. ”

He reaches across the table and rests his long fingers over my wrist. “Sounds like we might be good for each other.”

I blush and peek at him through my eyelashes. “I was thinking the same thing.”

My phone buzzes. I pull it out and see it’s a text from Joel. “She’s out.”

Dylan stands and holds his hand out to me again. I take it and he pulls me from the chair. We walk hand in hand toward the waiting room. He stops just outside.

“I should get back to school. I hope everything went well. We’ll figure out how and when to make this work?” His voice lifts at the end in a question.

I nod and smile. “I’d like that.”

He steps forward and wraps his long arms around me. It feels so good. I wind my arms around his waist and rest my cheek against his shoulder. We stand like that for a few seconds, then Dylan whispers, “Thank you.”

He leaves with a shy little wave, and I stand until he disappears around a corner. Then I step into the waiting room to learn what the rest of my near future will look like.