“Lucy Hayes?” A young woman in white scrubs covered in multi-colored smiley faces waits for him by the corridor.
He stands quickly, still clutching Lucy as the nurse ushers them to the room, her cheerful face hiding a calm professionalism. The walls are a clash of rainbow colors and cartoonish sunflowers, a childish attempt to ease the tension of the place. Even as they float past them, he can’t shake the gnawing panic rising in his chest as they get further down the hall.
The hospital, recently purchased by investors, is undergoing renovations. The new striking crescent blue of the pediatric ward helps to soothe his nerves as they finally make it into the room. It reminds him of the last time he took Lucy to the beach.
When the nurse shuts the door, he falls into their usual routine: he slips her out of her Winnie-the-Pooh onesie and into the gown the hospital provides. The whole time, she fondles her plushie, distracted. Happy. Oblivious. This is how it should be for her 24/7. She shouldn’t be spending every waking minute in a hospital, strapped to machines. He sighs as he drops her against the pillow, kissing her cheek.
Moving to the other side of the space, he pulls out his laptop before lowering into the chair. The room is spacious, with a small TV mounted on one wall and a window that overlooks one of the courtyards on the other. Landscapers work on trimming the hedges as patients mill about.
Rolling his neck, Roman draws out his phone to read the schedule his advisor sent over once more, ensuring he’s signing up for the right classes.
But when the landing page loads on the computer, the date he reads causes numbness to swarm his limbs.
“Shit,” he whispers, refreshing the screen. He does this more times than he can count, the knots in his neck pulling tighter with each click, but it stays the same. “Fuck.”
He missed his appointment slot for registration.
Sitting upright, he sifts through the available courses, and his stomach drops the further down he scrolls.
Suddenly, the door swings open and his mother walks in. He shuts the laptop, rubbing a hand over his jaw as he plasters a rehearsed smile on his face.
“I’m here, I’m here,” she calls out, placing her bag on the side of the cot. Her overalls are covered in green and blue paint splatter, and her white and gray hair is piled in a messy bun. “How’s she doing?” she asks.
She must have rushed over from the studio, Roman thinks, and the idea makes his heart sink.
He exhales harshly, folding his arms over his chest. “Doctor hasn’t been in yet, but I don’t know, Mom. She doesn’t seem good. Look at her face.”
His knee bounces as they both turn to her. Lucy’s curls stack haphazardly on her head, her brown eyes wide, her cheeks rosy.
“Look at my gorgeous girl,” his mom says as she smooths Lucy’s hair, pressing soft kisses over her face, causing her to let out a garbled laugh. “My little girl. My brave girl.”
His mom exhales, sinking down next to him, applying a hand to his thigh to still his bouncing knee. Pressing his hands together, he cracks his knuckles.
He juts his chin towards Lucy. “You see it, right?”
His mother’s mouth twists. “It’s probably nothing, honey. She’s getting older, it’s probably some extra weight she’s put on.”
He shakes his head, not feeling comforted by her words. “She’s relapsed. Her whole body is swollen.”
She squeezes his thigh. “Let’s wait for Dr. Newark, okay?” She turns away from him, reaching into her bag. “There’s no use in stressing over hypotheticals and potentialities. Did you eat?”
“No,” he murmurs, taking the wrap from her hand. “Thanks.”
He’s two bites in when she asks the last thing he wants to answer.
“You got everything sorted for your last semester?” she asks, nudging his foot with hers. He busies himself with the sandwich, taking another bite. As he chews, he contemplates his answer.
“Yeah, everything’s fine,” he says, working on swallowing.
And it must not be convincing enough because when he does turn to look at her, she’s pushed her glasses to the top of her head.
“Roman Alexander Hayes, don’t you lie to me.”
He shrugs in an attempt to play it cool. “I missed the deadline to register for classes. I have to go in person tomorrow to sort some things out. No biggie,” he says, grinning.
She presses her hand to her temple, her eyes closing. “How?”
“I … misread the appointment date and time, but it’s fine,” he says, letting out a forced laugh.
