Chapter 17
April
Angela’s apartment smells like antiseptic wipes and instant coffee. The dining table is buried under mounds of paperwork. Insurance forms, appointment letters, printed emails with highlighted lines, a stack of bills so thick it looks like it could qualify as a small novel. Angela sits in the middle of it all, shoulders hunched, hair thrown into a knot that’s trying to give up. When she looks up and sees me in the doorway, her face changes instantly. Relief first, then guilt for feeling it.
“April,” she says, pushing a pile of forms aside like she’s clearing a space for me to just exist. “Oh, my God. I didn’t think you’d make it today.”
“I said I would.” I hang my coat on the back of a chair and step closer, trying to pretend the knot in my stomach isn’t tightening with every sheet of paper I see. “How bad is it?” Angela laughs once, but there’s no humor in it. “Bad enough that I’m pretty sure I’m going to start dreaming in medical jargon.”
I lean over, scanning the form that sits on top. More medical verbiage and that cold, bureaucratic tone that turns a little girl into a “case study.”
“You’ve been paying so much,” she says quietly, eyes looking up at me. “I don’t know how you’re doing it, but thank you. I know I say it a lot, but I don’t feel like it’s enough.” I open my mouth to brush it off, but something stops me. The gratitude on her face isn’t casual. It’s heavy and desperate. It’s love. So I just nod and pull out the chair beside her. “Let’s see what we can do.” Before I can touch a single paper, a small blur barrels out of the hallway like a missile. “Auntie April!”
Ava Swan launches herself at me with so much enthusiasm that I nearly topple backwards. She’s small, all knees and elbows in an oversized pajama shirt. Her hair is a messy blonde halo, and her bright blue eyes look too big for her face. Her arms wrap around my waist like she’s trying to fuse herself to me.
“Hey, bug,” I grin, crouching to hug her properly. She smells like strawberry shampoo and something faintly medicinal. It’s like the hospital never fully washes off her little body.
She pulls back and beams at me. “Mom said you got me that mermaid blanket!”
“I did,” I grin, smoothing her hair back. “Do you like it?”
“Iloveit.” She says it like it’s the most important truth anyone’s ever spoken. “I sleep in it every night. I’m a mermaid when I sleep. I told Mom you probably bought it because you’re rich.” I laugh at Angela’s strangled little noise that comes from behind me.
“I’m not rich,” I tell Ava, keeping my voice light. “I’m justreallygood at finding mermaid blankets.”
Ava squints at me suspiciously. “Are you sure?”
I snort. “Very sure.”
She leans in like she’s sharing a secret. “Okay, don’t tell Mom that, though. She thinks you are, and it might make her cry more if you’re not.” My heart trips over itself.
Angela clears her throat behind me. “Ava, honey, go finish coloring, and then you can hang out with Auntie April.”
Ava pouts, but she does as she’s told, shuffling back to the living room. When she’s gone, Angela’s face crumbles for half a second before she forces it back into place. “She’s doing better,” she says quickly, as if she has to say it out loud to believe it. “The treatments… they’re working. The doctor said her levels are improving.”
Relief rushes through me so hard it makes me dizzy. I grip the edge of the chair, forcing myself to breathe normally. “That’s good. That’s really, really good, Ange,” I say.
“Wouldn’t be possible without you,” she adds. Something sharp presses behind my ribs. I can’t look at her for too long. Not with that kind of faith in her eyes. “Okay,” I say, reaching for the nearest stack of papers. “Show me what’s got you overwhelmed.” We get twenty minutes into it before the room feels like it’s tilting. At first, it’s just a strange queasiness, like the air is too warm, and the smell of coffee is suddenly too strong. I swallow hard and try to pretend I’m fine, but suddenly my stomach rolls in that violent, unmistakable way. My mouth floods with saliva, and I blurt, “Oh no!” I stand up so quickly that my chair scrapes the floor, startling Angela.
“Bathroom!” I choke out, already rushing to get there in time. I barely make it to the toilet before I’m heaving. It’s ugly and immediate. It’s the kind of sickness that takes over your whole body like it owns you. I grip the porcelain and let it happen, eyes watering, skin going clammy. When it finally stops, I slump against the counter, breathing hard, staring at myself in the mirror like I’m looking at a stranger.
“Auntie April?” Her voice is small when I hear it through the door. I swallow, trying to school my voice into something that doesn’t sound raspy. “Yeah, sweetie?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m okay!”
“Sounded like you were throwing up.”
Fuck.“Did it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice light. “I’m fine, Ava.”
“It’s okay if you did. I do too sometimes.”
“Thanks, bug,” I sigh, pushing to my feet when the world finally stops spinning. My face is pale in the reflection, my eyes too wide, and my hand drifts to my lower stomach without thinking. No. No, it’s too soon. But is it? How long has it been? Edward Island, the hotel, his penthouse. It’s been weeks. Enough time. Enough tries. My period is…shit, eight days late when I check the tracker. My pulse pounds hard in my ears. I rinse my mouth, splash some water on my face, and try to fix my expression into something normal. Something that doesn’t screampregnancy panic.I step out of the bathroom and find Angela watching me with narrowed eyes, the papers forgotten.
“What was that?” she asks.
“Nothing,” I say, walking back toward the table. “I’m fine.”
