But this was different.
We were walking in as a couple. The playing field was completely different, and I was nervous. Why, I wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like I thought Mom and Dad would think her unsuitable. Dad liked Mina. He was the reason I showed up in his place that first, fateful day. He’d insisted we not disappoint her by postponing. There were others who weren’t so lucky.
And yet, here I was, walking into a cardiac rehab center, thinking they should probably hook me up to a monitor and make sure my ticker was okay. It was about to pound out of my chest.
I could have said no when my mom called to ask if I wanted to come have an indoor Fourth of July party at the rehab center. I could have told her I already had plans.
Instead, I asked if I could bring a date.
The double doors slid open, and a cool blast of sterilized air hit us as we stepped inside. Thick carpet cushioned our footsteps as we moved through the lobby and down a corridor filled with doors.
I stopped in front of Room 43. It sat cracked open about a foot. Pressing my fingers to the smooth, cream-colored wooden panel, I pushed it open.
A feminine bark of laughter erupted from across the room. I couldn’t stop the answering smile as I saw my sister, Lana, laughing from the tan pleather sofa at something my mom said.
Dad chuckled as he turned to look our way, drawn by the door’s movement.
The smile on his face widened as he saw Mina at my side.
“I wondered if she was the date you were bringing. Your mother said you asked if it was okay to bring someone.” With kindness in his gray eyes, he smiled at Mina. “Welcome.”
“Thank you,” Mina said. “Luke mentioned barbeque, and I’m not one to turn that down. I also wanted to see for myself that you were okay.” Her smile faded as concern took over her features. “How are you feeling?”
“Weak as a damn baby. But”—he held up a finger—“only as weak as a nine-month-old baby. I’m not a newborn anymore, so that’s progress.”
I chuckled. “That’s really specific. Why not a one-year-old?”
“Because a lot of one-year-olds can walk and not fall down. I can barely make it down the hall and back before I’m out of breath. The other day, though, it was the bathroom.” He shook a finger. “See? Progress.”
Mina laughed. “I like your attitude.”
“Me too,” my mom said. She sat perched on the edge of Dad’s bed and now ran a couple fingers through his hair, smiling at him with soft pride. “You’ll be out of here in no time.”
“I hope so. The food is terrible.” He spied the food carrier dangling from Mina’s fingers. “What did you bring?”
“Cornbread,” she answered. “And mini peach pies.”
“Oh, my doctor wouldn’t like you. That’s not on my diet.”
A chuckle came from behind Mina and me, and I turned to see a nurse in lavender scrubs enter. About forty, teal-framed glasses perched on her nose and her blonde hair tied up at the back of her head in a messy bun, the woman skirted around us. “I don’t think a couple of bites will hurt. Just don’t eat the whole thing.” She stopped at his bedside and held out the tiny plastic cup in her hand. “And take your meds.”
Dad took the cup. Mom handed him his water glass from the table beside her, and he tossed the pills back.
“Thank you.” The nurse took the empty pill cup. “Can I get you anything?”
“No. We were just about to eat.”
“I’ll leave you to it, then. But remember, moderation. Most of your plate should be vegetables.”
I couldn’t hold back the snicker when Dad’s nose wrinkled.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I know.”
“He’ll behave.” Mom got up.
“Good. Enjoy your family time.” With a wide smile, the nurse left.
“Mina, you can put that there with the other food, if you want.” Mom pointed to the dishes lined up on the counter on one wall.
