“Why didn’t you wear your helmet?” Sky’s anger and frustration comes out in her harsh tone.
Twisting around to look up at her, I shake my head. “Not now, Sky.” She mashes her lips together and looks away.
I get it. I want to yell at our mom too, but right now, finger-pointing won’t benefit anybody.
Turning back to my mom, I tell her what happened. “I don’t know what you remember, but you were thrown from the motorcycle you were riding. You hit your head and were brought here. There is some brain swelling, and you’re on medication to reduce that.” I skip over telling her about the possibility of surgery. She might feel stress, and that would only make things worse. “You have a good doctor, and you’re in good hands.”
My mom’s eyes widen as I talk. Her head tips to the side and she looks out her window.
“It’s Wednesday,” I tell her. “The accident was Sunday. Three days ago.” I’m guessing what she wants to know, thinking of what I’d want to know if I woke up in a hospital this way. “The guy you were with broke both legs.”
She looks back at me. I smile and take her hand. Her fingers move, like she’s tapping piano keys.
Sky moves around so she’s next to the bed, and leans down, kissing our mom’s cheek. “You terrified us, Mom.”
Mom looks up with an apology in her eyes, and tears fall down Sky’s face. “I’m going to ask one of the nurses to send Mom’s doctor in here,” she says, clearing her throat. “I want to talk with him.” She walks out, the door falling closed with a softthud.
Rubbing a thumb over the top of my mom’s hand, I open my mouth and words pour out of me. I intended to talk about nothing of importance, but when the words come out, they’re about Noah.
“Noah came to see you. To be here for me. Dayton called him.” I picture Noah on his crutches, swinging his braced leg around the waiting room, struggling to stay awake. My heart aches. “He’s on his way back to Atlanta now. I didn’t stop him from leaving. He said he’s rehabbing with the team and he’ll play again, and I couldn’t say the words to stop him. I don’t even know if I should have. I’ve never stopped him from pursuing his dream. How can anyone ask that of another person?”
I shake my head as I talk, feeling tears pricking my eyes. Mom watches intently, the corners of her eyes moving.
“I broke it off with Matt. I realized I was filling a Noah-shaped hole with someone who couldn’t possibly fill it. Nobody can. I have to let Noah be a memory.” I swipe at the tears. “Except, I don’t want him to be memory, Mom. I don’t.” Shaking my head, I continue. “I’ve spent years loving him, but I have to admit it. It’s over. I need to let him go. I can’t keep doing this to myself.”
Her fingers tap my hand, and I look down at them. They curl in, like she’s trying to squeeze.
“Mom, I—” I’m halted when I look up and see her eyes. They are alarmed, like she’s trying to tell me something.
“What, Mom?” I lean forward, as if that will help me decipher her thoughts.
“She doesn’t agree with you.” Sky says from behind me.
I turn around. Sky stands two feet inside the room. She walks closer and sits down in the chair opposite me, closer to the window.
“About what?” I ask.
“About Noah. She doesn’t agree about letting him go.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because she wishes she would’ve fought harder for poem guy. The one who wrote in that journal she keeps.” She looks at our mom, then back to me. “Mom’s a romantic, Ember. She wants you to go after Noah, maybe even fly to Atlanta, and tell him he needs to be with you.”
I glance at Mom, and her eyes flicker with excitement. “And you know this for certain?” I ask, looking back at Sky.
“Yes,” Sky chuckles, “but not because I’m a mind reader. Mom and I talked about it last month, after you and Matt saw Noah in the airport. She didn’t think Matt was right for you, and she wanted you to call Noah and ask him to come home and be with you.”
I look at my mom, astonished. She touches my hand, this time able to squeeze it harder.
“You should call Noah’s mom, Ember,” Sky says. “Figure out when he’s leaving, or if he’s already gone. Do something crazy and romantic and stop putting other people’s happiness in front of your own. Go after what you want.” She forms a fist and shakes it between us. “Take it. Make it yours.”
“You should be a motivational speaker.” I laugh, but excitement builds inside me.
My gaze swings to my mom. Her chin lifts and lowers, a micro movement, but it’s enough. I see her agreement.
“Okay,” I stand, releasing my grip on my mom’s hand. “I’ll call Johanna.”
I step out of the room and pull my phone from my purse with shaky fingers. Weirdly enough, Johanna has been coming to my yoga classes for the past year. My shock over seeing her eventually faded and she became a welcome sight in my classes. One day, she hugged me when she said hello. Now that’s how she always greets me. If it weren’t for that, I wouldn’t feel comfortable calling her.
