Guilt creeps across her expression. “He’d been having good days. I didn’t want to worry you, and I didn’t want to spoil the surprise of you showing up.” The M&M’s bag crinkles in her fist. “I wanted to pretend for a little while. I hope you can understand that.”
Instantly, I do. I’ve been pretending this whole time. I know how easy it can be to slip into a role you didn’t expect to be playing.
I hug her again while nodding, letting her know without words that whatever happened in the past, I’m here for her now. Nothing is going to tear me away. “Can I go in and see him?”
“He’s resting, but I’m sure he’d like that,” she says, walking me over to the room.
Just as we arrive, a doctor comes out. He talks us through a lot of incomprehensible jargon, runs down some vitals, and mentions they’ve scheduled Dad’s surgery for the morning—details about rods and screws and incisions that make me light-headed just thinking about them.
He tells us he has high hopes for recovery and then rushes off to his next patient.
“Why don’t you go get some rest?” I suggest when Mom tries to follow me in. “Grab your car from the train, and go home to get in bed. Sleep will help.”
She shakes her head. “I can’t leave him here overnight like this.”
Inside, I pause, taking in the sight of Dad in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines, mouth slightly open, tubes escaping his nostrils. He’s nearly unrecognizable. Time and disease have reshaped him. This can’t be the same man who taught me the difference between model railroad scales and helped me with my math homework. Who quietly believed in my comedy dreams as hard as I did.
“I’ll stay with him. You heard the doctor. You’ve done everything you can,” I assure her. “I’ll stay.”
Mom’s eyes take on a grateful glow. “Are you certain?”
“Yes,” I say, both because I know she needs the break and because I’d like to be alone with Dad for a while. After tonight, I know if I go back to the apartment, people will be waiting for me. If I turn my phone back on, Jessalynn will be in my inbox or at the hospital in an instant. At least now, away from my reputation, surrounded by IV bags and paper gowns, I can make believe I’m the Nolan I am inside.
Mom gives me a kiss on the cheek. “Thank you, sweet boy.” Then she goes.
I set down the Sour Patch Kids and pull up a chair beside his bed. “Hey, Dad.” I keep my voice low, as not to wake him up. “It’s been a while. Gosh, I don’t even know where to start.” The air is stale with antiseptic mixed with fragrant get-well-soon flowers. When I look at the card stuck on a plastic stem, it reads:See you soon, Dad. Love you.—CeeCee, James, and Imogen
So they’re coming. Last night, I thought I wouldn’t have to face CeeCee until I was back in my true timeline, but now I’m stuck, and I’m going to have to talk with her here. She won’t even return my emails or pick up my calls.
There’s a stirring from the bed, and I remember that my long-standing feud with CeeCee is the least of my worries. I have to be here for my parents right now. No running away. No dodging the situation.
Dad’s eyes flutter open, heavy with sedation. A wrinkle forms between his brows.
I’m arrested by his hazel eyes that match mine. It’s like looking in a mirror, one that Doop might’ve made, that shows my future. A more distant one than the one I’m inhabiting now. “Hey, uh, hi. It’s Nolan.”
Recognition doesn’t come. Neither do words. I should’ve been prepared for that.Late-stage.I may not have known with any certainty what Mom meant, but it’s well-defined now.
I skootch my chair closer to the bed, place my hand near his, and, using the voice he used when he’d read me bedtime stories in childhood, I say, “You’re never going to believe what’s happened to me.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
I’m stirred awake by the door banging open.
I sit up straight in the rigid chair and try to gain my bearings. Where am I again? Oh, right. The hospital. Dad’s across the way, and as I rub the sleep from my eyes, there’s the blurry outline of a nurse on the far side of the bed.
No, not a nurse.
Dark-brown hair. Medium height. Deep-set glower pointed right at me.
CeeCee.
My heart pounds as I take her in. She looks just as I expected except more world-weary.
Gone are the Doop-approved outfits. She’s a mini-Mom, dressed in beige pants and a flowy top. She even carries a Coach tote bag in a fake leopard print—the kind of purse that oozes New Jersey even though she’s just flown in from Colorado.
I can’t believe she made it here so fast. They must’ve taken a nonstop red-eye, which would explain her droopy eyes and the slump of her shoulders.
“Morning,” I say, just as she says, “What are you doing here?”
