Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65192 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 326(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“Okay, well, let the reception desk know if you two need anything. We have water and snacks and Sudoku for family members. I’ll be back to give you directions to her room as soon as we have a placement.”
“Thank you,” I mutter, tugging at my collar as I turn to face Sam.
Sam, who is in love with me.
Sam, who has evidently always been in love with me.
Sam, who is…gone.
Before I can beg him to wait and give me a second to pull my head together, Sam has bolted for the door, mumbling something about going for flowers. I start after him, jogging to catch up with his much-longer stride, only to nearly collide with a stretcher zooming through the sliding glass doors.
A stretcher with my cousin Vicky on it, moaning and clutching her stomach, and Steve and my dad not far behind the EMTs racing for the elevators down the hall to the left.
“We’re headed up to labor and delivery,” Steve says as he rushes by. “The baby’s coming early. How’s your mom?”
“She’s fine, or she’s going to be. Don’t worry about us, just focus on the baby,” I say, taking my dad’s arm, my heart breaking at the terror on his face.
My mom and dad have never been a demonstrative couple. They don’t kiss or cuddle or whisper sweet nothings to each other while they’re washing and drying dishes, but my father has brought her breakfast in bed on Saturdays for as long as I can remember and my mother never misses a chance to sing Dad’s praises in public, making up for Dad’s soft-spoken nature by raising her voice for the both of them.
They’ve been in love since they were twenty and nineteen years old and have rarely spent a single night apart. Losing Mom would kill Dad.
The thought brings something Sam said popping back into my brain, but there’s no time to analyze any of that right now.
I have to calm Dad down before he has a heart attack.
“She’s fine,” I repeat, holding tight to his arm as I lead him into the ER waiting room. “They said it was a mild cardiac event and she’s going to be fine. She just needs to make a few adjustments to her lifestyle to make sure it doesn’t happen again.” Which reminds me… “Mom doesn’t smoke, does she? The nurse said she did, but she must have her confused with someone else.”
Dad settles into a chair with a sigh before shooting a guilty glance my way. “She never wanted you to know. She always goes outside in her raincoat with the hood up to keep her hair from getting smoky and then washes up right after. She was ashamed that she couldn’t seem to quit. She didn’t want to set a bad example for you or your friends.”
“Wow.” I sit back into my chair, feeling like I just took a punch to the chest. “How did I never notice that? Not once in my entire life?”
“Your mom was very careful,” Dad says, patting my knee with his usual gentleness. “And we mostly see what we expect to see. It’s the way humans are.”
“Like the gorilla,” I murmur, Sam’s devastated face filling my mental screen.
“Gorilla?” Dad echoes.
“Yeah, it’s part of an experiment on the way humans observe the world. Sam and I were just talking about it,” I say, my pulse picking up as those big feelings start swelling inside me again. I turn to my father, unable to stop myself from asking, “Dad, did you know that Sam liked me when we were younger? Like…like liked me? As more than a friend?”
Dad frowns. “I suspected. Didn’t you?”
I shake my head, anxiety making my stomach clench. “No, I didn’t. I was completely clueless.” I bite the edge of my thumbnail, talking around it as I ask, “What’s wrong with me, Dad? Why am I always the last to know what’s going on with stuff like that? Evie and Harlow have always teased me about being a robot, but it’s not funny anymore. I want to know what other people are feeling, or at least be able to make an informed guess, like a normal person.”
“You’ll have to figure out what you’re feeling first, Bug,” Dad says, using the old nickname from my childhood I haven’t heard in years. It makes my eyes sting again as he continues to pat my knee. “You try so hard to be strong and do the right thing, but sometimes the right thing is to soften and let your heart tell you what to do next.”
I scowl at him. “Who are you? And what have you done with my ‘let’s not talk about the hard stuff’ father?”
He smiles, tiredly. “Not talking about the hard stuff doesn’t mean we shouldn’t feel it. But maybe we should have talked more. All of us. Mommy, too, even though that’s never been her way.”