Page 16 of How Freaking Romantic

I haven’t always hated hospitals. When I broke my arm in second grade after falling off the playground at school, the ER doctor gave me a lollipop and a purple cast so by the time I left three hours later, I was actually smiling.

And when my mom’s fourth husband had a heart attack one night during my sophomore year of high school, I had no problem sitting by his hospital bed for three days until my mom returned from her girls’ trip to Las Vegas.

I even grew kind of fond of the vending machine across the hall that provided a steady stream of Pop-Tarts at any hour of the day.

No, it wasn’t until college that hospitals stopped being something seen in absolutes—a place where people go in broken and come out fixed.

Junior year I rode in the ambulance to the hospital with Josh after he was injured during that infamous football game, listened to his screams as they worked to set his ankle.

I had been the one to call his mom in California from that sterile waiting room and relay the information from his doctors.

It was the same waiting room where I sat with Travis and Jillian and Maggie a year later and listened to a different doctor outline how Josh’s injury had led to an addiction to painkillers.

How we could take him home, but “fixed” wasn’t a term that applied anymore.

The nurse directs me to the elevators, and I head up to the seventh floor.

Frank’s room is at the end of the hall, and I take my time walking down to it, keeping my eyes on the floor and trying to keep my breathing in check.

But the sharp smell of antiseptic is unavoidable—it seeps into the artificial citrus scent of various cleaning supplies.

Together they tickle my nostrils, forcing images of rushing nurses, sleepless nights, and barren waiting rooms through my mind.

The door to Frank’s room is open, and I pause just outside it.

There’s a curtain partially drawn around the bed, and I use its cover to give myself a moment to prepare for whatever I’m about to face a few feet away.

Despite his age, I’ve always seen Frank as an immovable force, this permanent thing in a world where everything else seems fluid.

In the three years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him look weak. I don’t know if I’m ready for it now.

But then I freeze when I hear Frank’s laughter, along with another voice, deep and gravelly and familiar.

“They arrived yesterday,” Nathan says from beyond the curtain that divides the room and blocks my view.

My heart stutters. I had assumed that if I stopped by during the day it would guarantee a Nathan-free visit. I mean, the man had to work, right? But apparently being a partner in a law firm means you can just leave whenever you want, which… yeah, now that I repeat it back in my head, makes sense.

“Daisies?” Frank asks, still chuckling.

“She said they were to celebrate the first time I remembered her birthday.”

I don’t move from the doorway, just lean in a bit further to listen.

Frank’s laughter slowly fades, and it’s a moment before he asks, “When was the last time you saw her?”

“Christmas.”

“And how was it?”

Nathan sighs. “Good.”

“Good?”

A shift of weight. “Better than I expected.”

“Well, that wouldn’t be hard.” Frank lets out another dry laugh.

“She’s good, Frank,” Nathan says. I can hear a weary smile in his voice. “We’re good.”

“Are you?”

A shift of weight. “Well, she made it clear she didn’t want me sticking around.”

“Of course she doesn’t,” Frank murmurs. “She knows you have your own bullshit to deal with. You don’t need to take on hers, too.”

“I need a little bullshit in my life,” Nathan replies. “I have enough people telling me I’m right all the time.”

There’s another grunt, as if Frank finds some hidden depth to what Nathan has said. Then, “It’s okay to feel mixed up about it.”

Another shift in weight, then a sigh. “It’s good, Frank.”

“You know, one of these days you’re going to realize that pretending you’re fine doesn’t work on me.”

Nathan sighs, though the sound of it is mostly lost in the sounds of the hospital around me. “Right.”

Silence. Who are they talking about? Nathan’s girlfriend? His ex? I lean in further, shamelessly hungry for any scraps to explain what Frank is talking about, but then a nurse appears beside me so suddenly it makes me jump.

“Oh, hello there!” Her voice is loud and chipper and there is absolutely no way that Nathan and Frank didn’t hear it from a few feet away.

“Hi,” I reply, trying to keep my voice down.

Sure enough, there’s a shuffling behind the curtain, as if Frank is moving to sit up as he calls out, “Bea?”

I cringe. “Yup.”

The nurse smiles as if she’s done a favor. “You can go right in.”

“Super. Thanks.” I glower at her.

My heart is playing a staccato against my rib cage as I walk forward into the room.

It’s a carbon copy of the others I passed on my way down the hall: benign wallpaper that’s a swirl of pale pink and mint green and white.

Framed posters of famous artwork that’ve been on the wall long enough to fade to a muted effigy of the original.

It would feel like a bad hotel room if it weren’t for the drone of machines and beeps running like a steady soundtrack from nearby, or the acute smell of hand sanitizer permeating the air.

I maneuver around the curtain dividing the room, to find Frank propped up in the narrow bed.

Nathan is in the chair next to him. He looks perfectly disheveled in a way that finally matches his hair.

His gray suit is in pristine condition, but his shirt is slightly wrinkled, and his navy tie has been loosened so two buttons can be undone at his neck.

There’s a hint of that dip between his clavicles, a few chest hairs visible further below it.

But it’s his expression that startles me.

I don’t think I appreciated how hard he works to maintain that air of aloofness until right now.

How his surprise peeks through before he can lock down his look of ambivalence.

Then he stands like he’s going to give me his chair or do something else that his mom probably drilled into him from a young age.

I wave the impending offer away, my arm flapping in the space between us awkwardly.

“No, no, it’s fine. I can’t stay. I just wanted to…

stop by. Say hi. Hello.” It’s only then that I remember the box in my hand, and I swing it up into the air. “Cannolis!”

“They won’t be if you keep swinging them around like that,” Frank says, motioning me forward and taking the box from my hands. He sets it down on the table beside his bed, and it’s only then that I notice there’s an identical box beside it with the same red string tied at the top.

My eyes dart to Nathan, who is still standing across from me on the other side of the bed.

“Oh, did you…” I don’t know why I can’t finish the sentence. The words get tied up in my throat, so I just point at the box dumbly.

He gives me that condescending glare that does nothing to hide how uncomfortable he suddenly is. “You said he wanted cannolis from Veniero’s.”

“Next time I’ll say I want a million dollars and see how I do,” Frank says almost under his breath, shifting in his hospital bed again. There’s a grimace on his face as he tries to move his leg.

“How are you feeling?” I ask.

“Like I’ve had a hip replaced.” He looks pale and his face is gaunter than I’ve ever seen it, but his voice is strong—the same deep and biting tone I’m used to. “The infection cleared up, but for some reason I have to stay here another couple of days. Squeeze every last dime out of me, I guess.”

“It’s for observation, Frank,” Nathan says, still standing as his hands come up to rest on his hips. “They can’t release you until you’ve been fever-free for twenty-four hours.”

Frank mutters under his breath, a few curses punctuating a monologue that is too low to understand.

“But then you’re home, right?” I try to make the words sound encouraging, but my voice is thin, as if I need the reassurance as much as Frank does.

“Then I’m home,” he replies. “Course, I’ll have a nurse coming by twice a day. And physical therapy. I’ll be lucky to be off a walker by summer.”

A cold bite of anxiety takes hold of my chest, but before I can press him for more details, a voice calls out behind me.

“Hello, Mr. Landry,” a doctor says as she enters the room and pulls back the curtain. She doesn’t look up from her clipboard, just walks to the monitors by Frank’s nightstand. “How are we doing today?”

“Ready to get the hell out of here,” he mutters.

“That’s good.”

The exchange has the feeling of something that’s happened a few times before, but panic still claws at my throat as the doctor begins examining Frank’s vitals, studying each blinking screen and how their wires are connected to his body somewhere under that blanket.

It feels like my blood is pooling at my feet while my heart races manically to pull it back up into my veins.

I feel a pull then, attention on me from the other side of the bed. Nathan is watching me, his eyes narrow and jaw taut. It’s not the derisive look I’m used to, though; he looks like he’s trying to work something out. Almost like he’s concerned.

“Let’s take a listen to your lungs,” the doctor says.

Frank grunts again and leans forward.

“We’ll leave you to it, Frank,” Nathan says, moving around the bed to stand at my side. His hand is suddenly on the small of my back, a light touch that urges me toward the door. “If you need anything, call me. And let me know if they discharge you tomorrow. I’m happy to come pick you up.”

Frank waves him off, too busy grimacing at the doctor to notice or care that we’re inching out of the room.