Page 40 of The Now in Forever

T he sound is turned up on my phone. Text notifications too. I even turned on social media alerts. That’s how crazy I’ve become. So that I won’t miss a message from Ed. But it has been radio silence.

This morning, I have a tiny hangover, but I’m pretty sure it’s more emotional than alcohol related. Could be both, though.

Ten years, three separate times, he’s entered my world, the best sex of my entire life, and now he’s just gone. Like a tornado moving on to the next town. Or maybe I’m just being crazy.

I came to the hotel last night, crawled into bed with a glass of wine and a chocolate bar, both of which I purchased on my long, long walk here.

My feet are killing me today; my silver sandals aren’t really the best walk-clear-across-town shoes.

It’s days like this I wish I could sleep in.

The world might look a lot friendlier after a couple more hours of sleep.

Childishly, I used the kiss with Kyle like a weapon.

I shouldn’t have told Ed about it like that.

I should’ve told him sooner and been gentler.

I knew that it might hurt him, and so I did.

I wanted him to feel something, anything, for me.

Honestly, I wanted him to fight for me. For us.

For what could be. But he let me walk away .

The plastic crinkles in my hand as I unwrap the cup on the dresser and try to figure out the little coffee machine, my audiobook playing on the Bluetooth speaker I packed.

I’ll be fine. I can accept the job at that private school and move to Portland.

There’s lots of fun things to do here. I’ll meet some nice people.

I have my book—which, last night when I got back to the hotel, I sent to the agent I met at the Pittock Mansion.

After my second paper cup of wine, I sent her the version where June chooses the real, live, emotionally available man.

Why wouldn’t she? She wants a future with someone, a family and a stable relationship.

How can she have that with someone who keeps jumping back into a book?

A shrill ring comes through the Bluetooth speaker, and my heart jumps into my throat. Shit. It’s Ed. It has to be. Who else would call me? I walk over to my phone and take a deep breath. When I reach for the phone, I see it’s not Ed. It’s my mom.

My mom never calls me. I always have to call her first. She says she doesn’t want to get my voicemail or bother me, but I think it’s really because she’s so busy.

“Hey, Mom.” I put her on speaker and continue fiddling with the coffeemaker, placing the mini filter in the top, pouring the packet of grounds, and placing the cup underneath.

She sniffles and swallows before speaking. Maybe she has a cold. I grab the freshly poured coffee, holding the warm cup in my hand. “Mom, are you okay?”

“Baby…”

My stomach muscles clench as if preparing for a blow. Mom never calls me baby—not since I was seven and told her resolutely that I was not a baby anymore.

“It’s your grandma, sweetie.”

The cup slips from my hand, hitting the brown carpet and spilling into a steaming puddle at my feet.

I’m packed before I’m even off the phone with my mom. Wheeling my case through the lobby, I freeze in my tracks as the man at the counter turns.

It’s Ed.

“Hattie.”

I keep walking out the door, heading to my car.

“Hattie, wait.”

“I can’t.”

Opening the back of my Subaru, I throw my suitcase inside. Ed puts a hand on my back, and I wheel around. “I don’t have time for this. It’s my grandma.”

A sob wrenches out of me.

Ed’s face turns hard. “I’ll drive.”

“No.” I sniff back tears. “I’m sure you have meetings to get to.”

“They’ll keep.”

“What about your car?” I look around for it in the lot but don’t see it.

“Wouldn’t start. I took a Lyft.”

Tears are still streaming down my face.

“Hattie. You’re in no state to drive. Hand me the keys.”

I hand them over and get in the passenger seat. “She’s at New Haven General.”

It’s a five-hour drive. Ed doesn’t try to talk, which I appreciate. My mind is mush, and my nerves are frayed. Cranking up my audiobook, I try to lose myself in the story, as the yellow line swooshes by, miles and miles to go.

Panic washes over me in a wave. It starts slow and then crashes, pulling me under with it. My breathing turns ragged.

“Are you okay?”

I can’t even answer, and Ed takes the next exit. He parks at a Shell station as I heave out breath after breath, feeling like I might not be able to take another. Like my heart might stop.

“What can I do?”

I can’t do anything but breathe .

“Are you having a panic attack?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Okay. Where are you?”

“What?”

“Where are you? Just trust me. This helps.”

I look into his warm eyes. “In the car.”

“What can you feel?”

“The seat heater is warm on my back, but the rest of the leather is cool on the back of my thighs.”

“What can you see?”

I gaze out the windshield. “A girl is walking out of the gas station in white shorts and a pink tank top, sipping on a bucket of soda.”

“What can you hear?”

I close my eyes. My heart rate slows. My breathing feels steady. “The whoosh of cars on the highway.”

“What can you smell?”

I inhale deeply his clove and orange scent, locking eyes with him again. “You.”

The air between us feels thick and charged like right before a thunderstorm.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yeah.” It’s not the first time I’ve had a panic attack. But it’s the first in a long time. This week has just been too much.

“Do you want to talk about us?”

I shake my head. “Not yet. Is that okay?”

“I’ve got all the time in the world.”

It’s an outright lie but a nice sentiment.

He pulls the car back onto the road, turning on the radio. We listen to old time hits the rest of the way to the hospital, until he drops me off at the front and goes to find a spot in visitor parking. I promise to find him in the waiting room, and then I run in and approach the welcome desk.

“Hello. My grandmother is here. Lilian Foster.”

The nurse directs me to where I can find her.

I get in the crowded elevator, which smells human compared to the antiseptic lobby.

Floral perfumes and musty sweaters. I almost wish I could stay a little longer.

The chemical smell of the rest of the hospital stings my nose.

The third-floor dings, and I step out, looking for room ten.

The cloudy day is casting a blue-gray light through the window and onto my grandmother’s face, leaned back on pillows.

When Harry Met Sally is playing softly on the television, and the remote is nestled securely in my grandmother’s sleeping hand.

I sit in the chair next to her bed and breathe a small sigh of relief. I made it. I’m here.

Billy Crystal is running down the New York City street while Meg Ryan looks bored at a party. I love this movie. I lean back, ready to watch Billy’s big speech.

“Hattie Bear.”

“Grandma. You’re awake.”

“You didn’t have to come all this way.”

I grab her hand, placing a soft kiss on her thin skin. “Yes, I did. How are you doing?”

Grandma tries to adjust her position slightly, pillows under her knees, but winces and lies back again. “I’ve been better. Take it from me, never break a hip.”

I smile. “I’ll try not to. What happened?”

Grandma sighs. “Those barn swallows were nesting in the barn, and it was spooking the chickens. There weren’t any babies in there yet. So, I got out the ladder?—”

“Grandma. Wasn’t Chris available next door?”

“They were on vacation, and the nest had just started. I wanted to get it before it became a real home. Anyway, I fell off and landed on my hip.”

The doctor comes in, her black hair tied back in a tight bun and her bright-teal glasses perched on her nose.

She explains the surgery is scheduled for this afternoon, in just a couple hours.

I get out my journal and take notes about the aftercare procedures, even though the doctor assures me I’ll get printed-out instructions.

It all seems straightforward. There will be an eight-to-ten-week recovery period, but the full rehab will be closer to a year. My mind is spinning in circles.

“Sorry, could you repeat that last part? ”

The doctor puts a hand on my shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. Your grandmother is a strong woman. But she needs to stay off the ladders.”

Grandma laughs. “I hear you. I hear you.”

The doctor leaves. Maybe the job in New Haven is still open.

A quick Google search later, I find the position still posted on their website.

I can work at the middle school and move in with Grandma to take care of her.

My notes feel heavy in my hands. My fingers go cold.

It all falls to the floor, and tears well up in the corner of my eyes.

“Hattie Bear. What is it?”

I screw on an all is right with the world smile that I definitely don’t feel. “I’m fine. I’m just going to find some food.” I’m about to ask if I can get her anything, when I remember she can’t eat until after the surgery in the morning.

I pick up my things, shove them in my bag, and head to the cafeteria, not ready to face Ed again. The floors squeak under my pink Birkenstocks. What am I going to do? Obviously, I’ll move in with my grandma to take care of her.

In the cafeteria, I wander the cases of thick juice bottles and prepackaged sandwiches, looking for something that might be appetizing. A yellow container catches my eye as my heart catches in my throat. A Lunchable.

Unable to hold it in any longer, tears flow in a steady stream down my cheeks. I leave the cafeteria and find the doors to a little courtyard setup with tables for people to eat at. Taking a seat at the farthest one, I wipe the tears that keep falling.

The most infuriatingly stupid thing is, no matter what I do, what I choose, I don’t see a way for Ed and me to be together.

I should go find him. I think of all our talks on our runs, sitting in front of the fire, or outside of that glass-blowing place that feels so long ago now. He might know what to do or what to say. He might have an idea I haven’t thought of or make me laugh.

I search the lobby with no luck. I go back to the cafeteria, thinking maybe I missed him. Nope. I head out the front doors, looking at the benches sitting in front of the hospital, but he’s not there either .

Pulling out my phone to text him, my insides vibrate, and a soft wind blows over my legs. As if reading my mind, a text appears from him.

Had to take care of something. Be back soon.