Page 41 of Let’s Pretend I’m Okay

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

DANIEL

It’s surreal seeing my dad. He isn’t what I pictured growing up. Even though I didn’t know anything about him, I always imagined him as a guy who wore plaid shirts and baseball caps. This man is prim and proper. His face is clean shaven, and his posture is straight.

He’s nothing like me.

I wonder what would happen if I walked up to him and told him who I am. Would he act like he didn’t know me? Or would he be sad that he missed his chance to be my father? Either way, I know I don’t fit into his world. Wedding or not, I wouldn’t blend into this crowd.

Margo leans against the wall listening to the music. Her cheeks are pale, and there are bags under her eyes. I knew she would be tired after the concert. I wish she didn’t insist on coming. But if I’ve learned one thing, it’s that you can’t argue with her.

She catches me looking. “What’s your plan?”

I look away. “I’m not sure.”

“Are you going to try and talk to him tonight?” she asks .

“I don’t think it would be right to confront him here.” I don’t know if I want to confront him at all, to be honest. I’m afraid he’ll reject me. If I leave without saying anything, I take that power away from him.

Margo’s head dips, and she sways.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping closer.

“Nothing,” she says. Then she fumbles as she grabs my hands and makes a feeble attempt to pull me away from the wall. “Let’s dance.”

Something’s wrong. She’s struggling to keep upright, so I pull her back. “I think we should sit down.”

“No,” she says, staggering farther away.

I follow. “Margo, wait.”

Her eyes meet mine for a brief second before her knees buckle and she falls to the ground.

“Margo!” I yell, racing to her side. I pat her face, trying to get her to open her eyes, but she doesn’t. Her breathing is weak, and her forehead is burning up. “Help me!” I scream.

Everyone who was dancing freezes and the music stops.

My heart races, and tears fill my eyes. I need her to wake up. I’m not ready to say goodbye.

There are people all around me offering to help, but I can’t hear any of them. Their voices are nothing but white noise. I scoop Margo up in my arms. She’s too thin. Too light.

I run.

I sprint out of the ballroom and don’t stop till I’m in the lobby of the hotel.

“Wait,” someone behind me yells.

I can’t stop. I’m ready to head out the doors even though it’s irrational.

“The ambulance is on its way,” they say.

I slow, hugging Margo close. My tears fall into her hair .

Someone touches my arm. “What’s your name?” It’s my dad. When I meet his eyes, there’s fear in them. The color in his face drains. At first I think it’s because of Margo, but he isn’t looking at Margo. He’s looking at me, studying my face like he’s searching for a sign.

“Daniel,” I say.

“What’s your last name?”

“Hansen.”

“You’re not Ashley’s—”

“I’m your son,” I say in a moment of courage.

His eyes widen in horror, and he staggers back. I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. Slowly, he shakes his head and leaves without another word.

Pain shoots through me, but I don’t have time to feel betrayed.

The sound of sirens steal my attention, and I rush out the door.

Even though I knew she was sick, I wasn’t prepared to see her lying in a hospital bed with oxygen tubes in her nose and an IV in her arm. Her hair is still curled, and her eyes are glittery, but she isn’t in her dress anymore. She wears a hospital gown. It’s white with blue spots all over it.

Her room is small, especially with all of us in here. Margo’s parents and Annie showed up right away, and we’ve all been here since.

I sit by her side, holding her hand. Her mom paces and her dad sits on the opposite side from me. Annie sits in the chair by the window with a book, but I know she isn’t really reading .

Margo’s eyes flutter.

“Bug?” her dad says.

“Papa?” she says. Her voice is rusty and weak. “What happened?”

“You’re in the hospital,” he says. His eyes are red and puffy, just like everyone else in the room.

Her eyes dart around the room, then her brow dips and she frowns. She stirs, trying to sit up.

“Just relax,” her mother says. She’s standing next to her now, brushing her hair back so it’s not in her eyes.

Margo squeezes my hand. “The wedding. Your dad. I ruined it all.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“But you didn’t get a chance to talk to him.”

I shake my head. “I did.”

She smiles. “You did?”

I soak in the softness on her face. The hope in her stare. I don’t want to take it away by telling her about his reaction. I refuse to tell her about the fear in his eyes or the way he immediately distanced himself. Instead, I smile back feebly, and say, “Yeah.”

“Oh,” she says. “Was he nice?”

I nod.

She closes her eyes and smiles. “That’s good.”

She doesn’t need to know I’m lying. She needs to think I’m okay because I want her to focus on herself. I just want her to be happy.