Page 45 of What You left in Me

She squeezes my knee. “Okay, sweet thing. Tell me everything they said, then tell me everything you haven’t told me yet. You weren’t the world’s clearest person last night.”

I open my mouth. Words fail me.

What do I start with? I pick the safest ones first—the doctor’s exactly, the monitor’s relentless, Mom’s new PR job. I tell her about Julian’s eggs. I do not tell her about Finn’s mouth. I do not tell her about the way my own skin keeps betraying me. I do not tell her that perfection feels like a glass I can’t get my fingers around.

I stare at the hospital entrance until it blurs. Somewhere inside, my mother is spinning straw into statements. Julian is saying all the right words to all the right people. Richard is breathing for both of us.

And me? I am parked next to a bag of Doritos, holding a can of soda I can’t seem to drink, realizing I am more trapped than I have ever been—between the woman I promised I’d be, the man who makes safety look like a plan, and the dark pull of someone I shouldn’t want, who keeps appearing where I’m weakest and saying nothing at all.

Penny drives me around the block like I’m a feral cat she’s trying to lull into trusting the carrier. She nudges me until I open the bag of chips. I nibble at a Dorito like a rabbit and watch the hospital doors, half hoping, half dreading that the universe will throw me another curveball in the shape of a six-foot problem in expensive shoes.

No curveballs. Just a volunteer in a vest and a child dragging a stuffed tiger by its tail. Reality resumes.

“What’s new with you?” I ask her. “How’s Holden?”

“Who’s that?” she asks with a cocked eyebrow.

“God, Penny… you already broke up with him. He was my favorite so far!”

“Yeah, and he didn’t know anything but missionary. I swear… the guy would get inside me with closed eyes and come before I could even get wet.”

I chuckle.

Penny’s always been adventurous when it comes to having sex. Toys, BDSM, role-plays and what not. I’ve always been intrigued but I’ve always played it safe. Julian would be horrified even at the idea of something like that. But the normalcy of girl-talk about anything but the dire reality waiting at the hospital feels good. I didn’t even realize how badly I needed the distraction until I have it.

It's nowhere near enough Penny Time before Mom’s calling me back to the hospital, irritated about my having left.

Thankfully, Penny doesn’t offer to fight her this once. I don’t know that I have the willpower to turn her down.

Instead, “Back we go,” she says, reaching over to squeeze my hand before she throws that car back into drive.

###

The rest of the day blurs into a loop: hand sanitizer, beeps, Mom weaponizing charm at a reporter, Julian smoothing a nurse’s ruffled feathers with baked goods he somehow conjuresfrom a vending machine (how?), me reading Richard the first lines of all the poetry I can remember until my voice frays.

The doctor’s evening update is another stack of ifs and maybes tied up with a neat medical bow: Stable for now. Monitoring. Waiting.

By the time the sky goes lavender, and the hospital windows start reflecting their own light back at themselves, even Mom’s pearls look tired.

Julian decides I’m done.

He shepherds me toward the elevator with that campaign-trail gentleness that makes people hand him their babies and their checkbooks. Mom nudges her legal pad into her bag, finally, and announces she’ll meet us at the house after she’s ensured the overnight staff understands which calls to route.

Translation: she’s going to micromanage until the nurse manager fakes a fire drill.

The estate glows down the drive like it’s pretending to be a safe harbor, every window a square of warm yellow someone ordered from a catalog called Comfort.

Julian drops his keys in the bowl by the door. He and the bowl are getting very familiar, and I haven’t had the time to appreciate the implications of that. There’s no room for warm and fuzzy left amidst the living, breathing anxiety sitting constantly on my chest. Still, he steers me toward the kitchen.

“Eat,” he says, because apparently that’s the job he’s decided is his now. All he’s done is feed me all day. It’s very sweet. He scavenges some soup Maria must’ve had made earlier. I’m sure it’s lovely, though it turns to sand in my mouth.

I still eat it.

Julian watches me until I swallow the last spoonful like a parole officer.

“Shower,” he instructs, kissing my temple. He’s been spending entirely too much time with my mother, I think. “I’ll get the bed turned down. You need sleep.”

He says it like a promise he can keep with willpower and a spreadsheet. He’s probably not wrong. I don’t even care anymore. I nod, kiss him back, and climb the stairs with a pressure behind my sternum. I feels kind of nice to be given instructions. I’m not sure I’d know how to keep putting one foot in front of the other without it. I feel so, so lost. This house feels too empty.