He pivots on his heel, scratching the nape of his neck. Audrey’s arms are locked over her chest, and she rests her foot on the ledge of the cart that holds a monitor and several drawers of medical-grade supplies.
He sighs, dropping his hand. “Look, I meant to call. There’s just a lot going on in my life, and I don’t want to string you along with anything.”
He doesn’t need another person to disappoint.
She nods, looking up at him.
“Would it have killed you to say that to me the first night?” she asks, her voice coming out quieter. “I really thought that we hit it off, and then you just ghosted me like I meant nothing.” Her eyes flit back to his, a glassy sheen to them.
You piece of shit, Roman.
He steps closer, looking down at her. “I’m sorry, Audrey. I think you’re amazing. You’re this badass pediatric nurse, and you’re great with Lucy, but I’m just figuring stuff out right now.”
“I understand,” she says, the hum of the equipment and muted footsteps filling the silence between them.
He lets out a soft exhale, patting her on the shoulder. A pathetic attempt to console her from a distance.
“I really am sorry. I’ll see you around?” he says, voice edged with finality.
“Sure,” she says, her voice distant. “I’ll see you.”
The lights overhead flicker for a moment, as if the hospital itself is trying to remind him of his place. That people are dying here, people are in pain, and he’s standing in a hallway making decisions that feel so insignificant against the backdrop of it all.
CHAPTER 7
I AM MY FATHER’S DAUGHTER
JAHLANI
Dear Ms. Jahlani Maria Jones,
This notification is to serve as a reminder that your bill of $197.79 is past due. Update your current payment method and pay your remaining balance as soon as possible to remain in good standing. Failure to do so may result in the loss of your ability to acquire future credit and/or loans.
For questions about your account, please reach out to customer service.
Hillman Financial
Jahlani’s foot taps the dusty blue carpeted surface as she sits in the leather chair of the softly lit hallway of the Graduate Affairs building. She’d left earlier than she needed to, not wanting to deal with her mother’s blatant disregard for her. Jahlani takes in the floor-to-ceiling windows as the afternoon light filters in with ease, crafting a checkeredpattern against the walls. The campus is airy and large with sprawling bushes, and the chatter of students exploring.
She made the wrong turn twice on the way over, overwhelmed at the size of the campus, and having never been good with directions.
Now, as she sits and waits, the grip she has on her phone tightens with each breath. Her finger hovers over the contact for several ticks before she finally presses the call button. She finds it strange, the amount of unease that is ballooning in her stomach, rippling across her forehead, closing up her throat. It shouldn’t be like this. She shouldn’t feel like this, because it’s only?—
“Jahlani.”
She releases a shaky breath, the rough polyester of her pants scraping against her sweaty palms as her knee bounces.
“Hey, Dad,” she says, her voice sounding small.
Over the years, she’s grown strategic in how she speaks with him. She’s methodical. She breezes through the first part of her routine, mindful to keep her tone level with just enough interest to appear like she cares. Twenty minutes into him complaining about work, she brings up what warranted the phone call to begin with.
Rolling her shoulders, she clears her throat, a nervous utterance that echoes through the muted building.
“Hey, so I was wondering if you could, you know, maybe start paying back some of that credit card debt you owe me?”
The silence weighs heavily, stretching, expanding—a suffocating pressure—before her voice, thin and reedy, offers a fragile sound.
“You know what?” she says. “It’s fine?—”
