Page 35

thirty-five

sarina

You Look Like You Need Vitamin D

I watch my foot lift with each repetitive bounce of my crossed leg and silently congratulate myself for swapping my house slippers for my Chucks before I left the house this morning. Though, now I’m regretting not bringing a cardigan, or hell, maybe a blanket.

Why the hell do they keep hospital waiting rooms so cold, anyway? Is it to keep you so distracted with toes you no longer feel, or with full-body shivers that make you look like you’re attempting a poorly executed Shakira impersonation, that you forget what you’re even here for? Maybe it’s to keep the nervous sweating at bay. Whatever the reason, I cross my arms tighter over my chest and run my palms down my biceps.

The maternity ward waiting area at Stanford Children’s is relatively quiet today, with only one other family waiting across the room from us on similar uncomfortable vinyl chairs of institutional burgundy. Like us, they also seem to be oscillating between anxiety and anticipation, though they were here well before us.

I check my phone, relieved to see another text from Emanuel with a photo of Rome building a Star Wars LEGO set in our living room. An apathetic Sapphire is perched on the couch near him. She has a pink bow on her head to match the pink collar peeking through the fur around her neck.

Dad’s boyfriend was a godsend this morning, volunteering to watch Rome the minute we received Dev’s call that Piper was in labor. I send a quick heart emoji before going back to my nervous fidgeting.

My thoughts travel to my best friend, who was just rolled into the operating room for a C-section after almost twelve hours of labor. Dev came out an hour ago to tell us that while Piper seemed to be doing okay, the baby was showing signs of distress. His face was ashen as he hurriedly updated us, saying the doctors were wheeling her in to perform an emergency C-section.

My breathing feels erratic as the worst thoughts circle through my head before I remind myself for the hundredth time that everything will be okay. That while this isn’t an ideal situation, C-sections aren’t uncommon. The baby and Piper are going to be fine. Dev, however? He might need a cup of chamomile tea and a tranquilizer to get him through this.

Setting aside her needles and yarn—a sweater set she’s knitting for Piper’s baby—Nisha rises from her chair next to me for the third time to reorganize the magazines on the coffee table in front of us in alphabetical order. This is after she’d already organized them by type earlier. The woman has problems. That, or she’s as nervous as I am, and getting up every now and then is the only way for her to release some of that tension.

“If you organize those magazines one more time, I’m going to have security escort you out,” I mutter, earning a glare from my sister.

“I can’t help it,” she says, flipping through one before placing it in between two others. “I love having my hands busy with knitting, but it becomes so monotonous that my mind wanders. I just hope Dev comes out to give us the good news soon.”

“He will.” He has to. There’s no other alternative.

She picks up a new issue of Sports Illustrated, silently reading the headline printed on the cover. I don’t bother asking what it is since I’d already seen it as soon as we’d walked in— Back and Better Than Ever: Troy Winters Dominating the Mound in Comeback Games!

It’s as if my eyes are trained to find signs of him everywhere.

Whether he’s physically in the room, the vicinity, or even the same town, my eyes have become accustomed to seeking him out in every magazine, every channel flip, and every baseball cap spotted in a crowd.

I’d swear I wasn’t doing it intentionally, except I’m not sure that’s entirely true. Perhaps I’m seeking him out subconsciously, or maybe I’m willing his name into existence in every place I visit, hoping for a glimpse of something— anything —that’ll loosen the incessant ache inside me. The kind of ache that always makes me feel like I’m one step away from throwing up the contents of my stomach again.

It’s been eight days since I left his apartment with dried tears clinging to my cheeks and half a heart in tow. I’d convinced myself it was the right decision—the only decision—but I’ve felt worse every day after, if that’s even possible. Like some of the anesthesia has worn off after losing a limb and the real agony is finally registering.

Nisha waves the magazine in front of me, silently asking if I want to read it.

My eyes land on the picture of Troy in his Blazers’ jersey, his arm thrown forward mid-pitch while every muscle coils tightly on his beautiful frame. A tsunami of longing and regret threaten to pull me under as I recall those same arms holding me against his warm chest, those warm autumn-colored eyes raking over me like I was precious and loved, and those full lips curving up in a sad smile, telling me it was okay. That even though I was breaking both our hearts, he wasn’t holding it against me.

I shake my head, swallowing past the lump in my throat. “I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Nisha asks softly, peering into my eyes. “Can’t look at him? Can’t say his name? Or can’t admit that what you both had was one hundred percent real?”

My eyes fill, a condition I think has become permanent at this point. “I can’t talk about this. Not when?—”

“Then when?” she interrupts, coming back to sit beside me and taking my hand in hers. “Because it’s been over a week and you’re so closed off, I’d have an easier time recovering data from a fried hard drive.”

“Heard Best Buy is having a sale if you’re in the market for a new one.”

She gives me an unimpressed look. “Deflection and lame dad jokes don’t work on me.”

I rub my temple, hoping to soothe the migraine that’s been unrelenting for a week. If I’m being honest, it’s been there long before that, signaling the anguish I knew I was headed for. “I’m just . . .”

“Heartbroken? Scared? Too stubborn for your own good?”

“Clearly, I take after my twin in many ways,” I quip, lifting a brow.

Her eyes bounce against mine. “My situation with Patton is different, and you know it. This?” She waves between me and the magazine. “This is all very Anna Scott from Notting Hill of you.”

“Oh, Julia Roberts was such a doll in that movie!” comes Dad’s voice as he rounds the corner, juggling three coffees.

He’s wearing his usual short-sleeve Hawaiian button-down with powder-blue shorts. I notice with both amusement and horror that his boat shoes have little bananas and monkeys embroidered on them.

Nisha and I mutter out our thanks as we reach for our cups.

“And I agree, sweetie,” he says, taking another vinyl seat that never fails to sound like a fart with the smallest of movements on my other side. “Your story is very similar. You know, famous person falls in love with a ‘regular’ boy, then pushes them away because she thinks their worlds are too different.”

I give him an exasperated look. “Dad, Troy is the famous one and I’m the one who walked away.”

Dad waves a hand, his bangles chiming in to tell me to shut up. “Close enough. You could still walk back and woo him with that whole ‘I’m just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her’ speech.” Dad practically swoons. “Just think how sweet that declaration will be.”

“Thou hast such faith in my creativity,” I deadpan. “Hopefully, I’m a little more original than that.”

Nisha’s eyes light up. “Does that mean you’re thinking about reaching out to him?”

“I’m not thinking about anything. Besides, this isn’t the time to discuss me; we should be focused on Piper.” My leg bounces again before Dad places his hand over my knee. “She’s the reason we’re here, not me.”

“We can multitask!” Dad says dismissively. “Besides, Piper wants us to fix you. Up until a few hours ago, she was texting us about it.”

“She was what?” I sit up straighter, practically sloshing my coffee over my lap. “She was in labor!”

“And still the ever-concerned best friend!” Dad shrugs. “She threatened to not let me hold the baby— my grandchild , mind you!—if I didn’t at least attempt to ‘knock some sense into my idiotic best friend’. Her words, not mine.”

I gape at him, but my outrage transforms into a chuckle, despite the fact that I haven’t laughed at anything in over a week.

It’s such a Piper thing to do—to threaten to withhold her loved ones from things she knows they’re dying for just to get her way. And while I know she wouldn’t ever follow through with it, I love her for trying. I love her for being so authentically her and so resolutely my best friend.

“I’ve been watching every one of his games this week,” I admit, sliding the pad of my thumb over the lid of my coffee cup, feeling like I’m in a confessional. “He’s only been able to play in two games since he’s a starting pitcher, but I don’t know . . . I wait for every glimpse of him, whether it’s of him in the dugout with his team or in the bullpen.”

Nisha and Dad exchange a look before Nisha speaks. “Sweetie, look at you. You’re miserable?—”

“You really are, honey,” Dad chimes in, never one to miss an opportunity to drop a truth bomb. Some of that mirth comes back into his tone. “You look like you need vitamin D and a good kick in the rear.” He winks, leaning in. “And by vitamin D, I don’t just mean the supplement, if you catch my drift . . .”

“Dad, ew!” Nisha cries, wrinkling her nose. “I swear, your mission in life is to make us gag.”

“I resent that,” Dad huffs. “My mission in life is to make sure my bullheaded daughters live a little.”

Nisha’s hand finds mine and I gulp in a breath, not realizing I’d been holding it while she and Dad were arguing. “Honey, I know all too well what you’re going through.”

Yeah, she does. But it’s probably the first time since she and Patton separated that she’s actually brought up the subject herself.

I swallow as the despair I’ve held inside me for quite some time turns my belly. “Like you’re being torn apart slowly by a rusted and dull knife? Like there’s a scream lodged in your throat but no vocal chords to push it out? Like you’ve made a terrible mistake, but you’re terrified to do anything about it?”

Even Rome has wondered aloud if I’m okay. Troy and I never really spoke about how or if we’d tell the kids anything. To them, we were just friends. While we all hung out together a lot over the past year, we never saw each other daily. It was something we made the decision to do intentionally—keeping our families from becoming too intertwined—knowing our kids would get attached to the idea. And given how much Pearl’s little heart had suffered at the loss of Ellie, I didn’t want to risk hurting her again.

But intentions are a tricky thing, aren’t they? Despite all our not trying , we still became a family, nonetheless. Somewhere between Pearl curling up in my lap when she was tired, to Rome asking Troy for help with his homework, we created something . . . real.

Perhaps that’s why I found myself at Troy’s parents’ home two days ago with Rome. I told myself it was for the kids’ sake—to allow them a sense of normalcy—but perhaps it was for my own heart, too. Because it wasn’t just the loss of Troy that was breaking me; it was the potential loss of a little girl I’d become fiercely attached to as well. A girl I love as much as I love Rome.

The kids played while Troy’s parents and I made small talk, all of us avoiding the elephant in the room—the one that had stomped on the family their son and I were beginning to create for ourselves.

Maybe Troy made the same assumption I did—that when things ended between us, our friendship would quietly fade as well. But the thought of Rome and Pearl’s bond disintegrating with mine and Troy’s feels like a heavy metal chain wrapped around my already crushing guilt.

I often see the questions forming in my little boy’s eyes. He hasn’t explicitly asked me what’s wrong, but I know it’s coming. And if his worried glances at my red-rimmed eyes are any indication, that time is coming soon.

“Why?” Dad turns to face me, his tone uncharacteristically devoid of all humor. “What’s so terrifying about fixing a mistake you have the power to fix? What’s scary about being with the man you love?”

“Everything.” My voice cracks, but there’s no conviction behind my answer. Still, I attempt to defend my reasons once more, pointing to the magazine on the table weakly. “The media attention—I mean, he’s literally on the cover of Sports Illustrated —the spotlight, the scrutiny. Potentially seeing Rome’s pictures on gossip sites because he was spotted with Troy. Having our new family dissected by strangers who don’t even know us.”

Dad reels back, a mix of both surprise and hope floating through his warm gaze. “You see Troy and Pearl as family?”

I nod hesitantly, realizing the fact for the very first time. “Yeah. I think I have for some time now.”

“And isn’t family worth fighting for?”

A breath whooshes out of me and I rub my temple again, knowing the answer to that. Troy and Pearl are my family. In just a year, they’ve become two of the most important parts of my life.

It shouldn’t feel like a revelation, not when the truth has been living inside my marrow for so long. Not when I’ve walked around feeling fractured and incomplete for the past week without them.

We’re four pieces to the same puzzle, fitting together in a way that feels both unbelievable and inevitable. It was like we’d been walking through life trying to find each other this whole time.

Rome lights up at the sight of Pearl, as if she’s the sister he never knew he needed. And Troy? God, he’s everything to me—my late-night whisperer, the steady hand at the base of my spine, and the smile that reaches my soul.

My heart skips a beat as I finally allow myself to see what’s been right in front of me all this time. My comfort, my family . . .

My home.

“Yeah, it is,” I state, feeling slightly out of breath.

“Then why would you spend another minute away from him—the man you consider your family? A man who should definitely be your future.” Nisha’s hand tightens around mine. “Why would you sacrifice a chance at having it all with him? Or let Rome miss out on someone who clearly loves him like his own? Who would protect both of you the same way he protects his daughter?”

“I . . .” My voice trails off when Dev rounds the corner into the waiting room, a huge smile plastered on his face.

Dad, Nisha, and I rise in unison, closing the distance between us and him.

“Oh, God, please tell me how my granddaughter is?” Dad rushes toward Dev, bangled hands clasped together in prayer.

My brows rise. “How do you know it’s a girl, Dad?”

Dad waves a hand toward me, his eyes still on Dev. “I’ve always known these things. I told your mother both times that we were going to have a girl, and I was right. Now, tell me, Hot Daddy?—”

Nisha groans, interrupting my dad’s words. “Dad, Dev is practically your son-in-law. Have some decorum.”

Dad gives her a dismissive glance. “Troy is also practically my son-in-law, but have I had any reservations feeling up his biceps? No, I haven’t, and I don’t plan to start once he’s back.”

“Dad, Troy is not practically your son-in-law,” I hiss, feeling my face flush.

“Oh, it’s just a matter of time and you know it. Notting Hill ended with an HEA, and Sarina and Troy’s story will, too.”

I run a hand down my face in exhaustion before looking back up at Dev. “I’m so sorry you had to witness this glitch in our family programming, but please, tell us the good news.”

Dev’s smile had stayed intact through the entire last two painstaking minutes. “I’ve clearly missed some updates.” His brow lifts in my direction. “I can’t wait to catch up on those, but yes, I’m here to announce that Piper and baby girl Ariana Claire Menon are both doing great!”

Dad, Nisha, and I whoop and cheer, probably scaring the new family that entered the waiting room not too long ago. The other family that was here left during my epiphany about Troy and Pearl.

“I knew it!” Dad leans in to hug Dev. “I knew it would be a girl!”

“And I just love her name!” Nisha smiles widely.

“Piper wanted her middle name to honor my mom, Claire. My dad and sister are in the room visiting with the two of them now.”

“Oh, that is so sweet,” Dad says, his eyes glistening. “I bet your dad is so happy to be a grandfather.”

“He is. He loved that we gave her Mom’s name.”

My eyes pool with tears, knowing how much Dev and Piper loved Claire—how much they still miss her.

“I’m sure she’s shedding tears of joy for you wherever she is, Dev.” I lean in to hug him. “Can we see Piper and Ariana?”

Dev releases me, waving his arm toward another entrance. “They’re both waiting for you.”

* * *

“Oh, Piper, she’s absolutely beautiful!” I coo, holding my baby niece and already scheming ways to sneak her out of here right now and keep her with me forever.

Dev’s dad and sister left a few minutes ago, and I smile, thinking about how proud and happy his dad looked holding his granddaughter—like he’d never seen anything more precious.

I place a kiss on her forehead, right under the faint blue- and pink-striped standard hospital cap she has on. Her eyes, lined with the tiniest of dark lashes, are squeezed shut while her mouth twitches with a smile. “She’s perfect.”

Piper looks at us from her hospital bed, her long brown hair matted and tangled, but her smile radiant, albeit tired. “She looks just like Dev.”

Dev places a kiss on his wife’s forehead before steepling his fingers with hers. “I don’t see anyone but you in her. The same nose and pink lips.” He brings their joined hands to his lips. “God, I love you. Thank you for giving me the most beautiful gift in the world.”

Nisha, Dad, and I exchange teary smiles, the two of them looking over my shoulder at Ariana.

“So now that you’re all caught up on my baby girl’s dramatic entrance into this world,” Piper starts, giving Nisha and my dad meaningful looks, “what’s the scoop with Troy? Were you two able to convince her to get her head out of her ass?”

I freeze, mid-rocking the baby. “Piper, you literally just had major surgery. This is not the time?—”

“Yes, I had major surgery, but the drugs are doing wonders!” She lifts her IV-lined arm to show me the “drugs”. “So, instead of making me want to increase my dose, tell me you’re going to stop being an idiot.”

“But—”

“Sarina Arora! I just pushed a human out of my body, the least you can do is listen to me while I’m feeling all enlightened and experienced while hooked up to these painkillers.”

I don’t correct the fact that, technically , she didn’t push the baby out. That might cost me my life.

Dev chuckles. “I’ll just go get everyone some coffee.”

“You stay put, mister,” Piper demands. “You’ve seen Troy this past week. Tell my stubborn best friend how he’s doing.”

“What do you mean?” My heart stutters in my chest, and I hand the baby to Nisha, who still hasn’t held her because Dad and I had been hogging her. I look at Dev. “How is he doing?”

“Like he’d rather never have recovered from that surgery,” Dev answers quietly. “Yeah, he’s incredible on the field, but off it? He’s miserable. The guys and I took him out after his first game, and it was like he was a different person. Totally lost and . . . heartbroken.”

My breath hitches as tears prick my eyes. I thought that since he hadn’t called, hadn’t even texted . . . Actually, I don’t really know what I thought.

Maybe that once he was back on the field, he’d forget about me? Maybe that the video footage of him in the dugout, talking and smiling with his team, painted the entire story—that he was moving on?

Isn’t that what I wanted for him? For him to focus on his career and leave me and my issues behind?

So why does it feel like I’m both a little more relieved and a little more heartbroken at the thought of him being in this misery with me?

A tear rolls down my cheek before a soft sob escapes my lips. “I’m miserable, too! I guess . . . I thought I was protecting everyone.”

Dad pulls me into his arms. “Sweetheart, you can’t really protect what’s not yours anymore.” He leans back, wiping his thumb over my cheek. “Your heart.”

Piper sniffles, and we all turn to look at her. “God, my hormones are all over the place,” she says, wiping her tears. “Your dad is right, Sarina. You’re so scared about what might happen that you’re missing out on what could happen. You’re missing out on your present.”

“And the love of my—” But the rest of my whispered confession gets lost when Ariana lets out a cry, her tiny wail demanding her mom.

And even as I watch her be handed back to Piper, the truth of my unfinished sentence takes root deep inside my soul.