My thumb freezes. I’m supposed to be caring for him, not scrolling gossip that has nothing to do with his recovery. I clear the browser tabs, delete the search history, and lock my phone. Biting down on my lip ring, the familiar tug settles me backinto myself, reminding me why I can’t let curiosity turn into something careless.
“This is silly,” I mutter, sliding my phone into my pocket. “He’s injured and your patient. Stop being a creep. You can’t even trust half the stuff online.”
Reminding myself of my responsibilities as Teddy’s nurse, I walk down the sterile hallway, my footsteps echoing in the quiet. It’s my literal job to go see him. I’m here to make sure he’s comfortable and healing.Nothing else.
“Damn,” Teddy says with a dramatic sigh the moment I walk into his room and close the door behind me. “I wish I could have pancakes with maple syrup and a pat of butter.”
I stop in my tracks. How much pain meds did they give him if he’s talking about breakfast food?
Then he adds, “No fruit or powdered sugar. Only pancakes topped with a little bit of butter, drowning in sugary maple syrup. The breakfast of champions.”
The corner of my mouth twitches as I try to keep a straight face. “Bold of you to assume hospital pancakes would be anything close to edible.”
“Have you ever had a perfect breakfast?” he asks, smiling my way.
I move to check the monitors and his IV. “Define perfect.”
“Just you, the food, and no one around to tell you that you’re being reckless with carbs.”
His description earns a small chuckle from me. “I was in Paris earlier this year and they had this all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet at my hotel,” I share. “It was perfection.”
His fingers move restlessly across the blanket, tracing a random pattern. “I’m listening. Go on.”
“Being a good tourist, I started with a croissant. Then there was fresh baguette, eggs with too much butter, all these different kinds of cheeses, jams, and a cappuccino that made me believe in God for about five minutes.”
“That's the most beautiful thing I’ve heard all year.”
I glance at him, and even though his eyes are not focusing, it feels as if he’s looking straight at me.
“I went back for more croissants,” I add cheekily. “No shame.”
“You shouldn’t have any. It sounds perfect.”
"It was. I’m planning on heading to Europe again next month and can’t wait."
He lets out a low whistle. “Europe, huh?”
“Annual trip with my brothers.” I leave out the fact that we'll most likely be joining the Ice Cross World Circuit. “You’ve probably been to Paris and seen all the tourist spots, right?”
“Yeah, when I was a teenager. I would love to revisit one day. There are so many other places to explore, too.”
“What’s on your bucket list?”
“I would love to see—” His voice trails off. “Fuck, it’s impossible to think about the future right now.”
My fingers pause on the IV bag I’m changing. “Your diagnosis can be temporary.”
“Temporary,” he repeats, testing the word as if he’s never heard it. “You know, I’ve been thinking about it. I mean, about the things I used to just accept as a given. All the little details around me. My whole life, I never really thought about how much I relied on my sight. I could look at something and know it’s there. But now, it’s all gone.”
We’ve known each other for less than an evening, and yet here he is, opening up to me. How do you comfort someone who feels familiar because they’re a public figure, even though you don’t really know them as a person?
“You’ll be okay. I’m sure of it. With or without your sight.”
Teddy shifts in the bed, frustration evident in his voice when he speaks. “Are you sure? I can’t even tell what’s in front of me. You’re standing right fucking there, but I can’t see you. The world around me has been wiped clean and I’m left with an empty canvas. I’m not convinced that analogy even makes sense.”
“It makes perfect sense, but there’s still a long way to go before a final diagnosis. Many people live fulfilling lives without sight, and resources and support are available for the blind and visually impaired. Even if, unfortunately, the world is built more for the able-bodied.”
“Are you only saying all that to make me feel better?”
