He doesn’t seem satisfied with that answer, but eventually he nods then clears his throat and rests his hand on my leg. “Do you want to talk about?—”
“Not yet,” I interrupt. He squeezes my leg and nods. “Where are your parents and Nate? Do they, um, know what happened?”
“I sent them back to the house. Nate’s dropping them off. They all wanted to check in on you, but it’s late so they’ll come tomorrow during visiting hours.” Matt rubs his thumb back and forth where his hand still rests. “I gave them the overview, yeah. I hope that’s okay. They were really worried about you.”
“Yeah, it’s okay. A little awkward, but…” I finish with a shrug.
Matt scratches the back of his neck. “There’s, ah, someone else who’s going to be visiting you tomorrow too.” He looks nervous. “I probably should’ve checked with you first, but I was freaking out, and I didn’t want him to be in the dark and?—”
“My dad’s coming?”
He nods. “His flight gets in tomorrow morning pretty early.”
“You called my dad for me? And he’s coming?”
“I didn’t want him to find out some other way and I thought you might want him here. Sorry, baby, I just made a panicked judgment call.” That thumb makes another swipe. “My mom was the one who brought it up,” he adds. “I wasn’t thinking allthat clearly.” His shoulder lifts. “I reached out to Zoey to get his number, so she’ll be calling you to check in, I’m sure. I asked her to wait until tomorrow.”
It’s pretty common for patients to be emotional after surgery. Sometimes it’s linked to medications, and other times we don’t really know specificallywhyit’s happening, just that it appears to be normal. I think I’ll blame this persistent desire to cry on that and not the fact that my boyfriend is a walking green flag. Who loves me. And now I get to see my dad for the first time in over six months.
“That was really thoughtful of you. Thank you,” I choke out. My eyes catch on the clock on the wall as I try to keep the tears at bay with some strategic room scanning. “You’re welcome to stay at my place tonight, since it’s so close. You’ve got to be tired.”
As if the universe heard me, the door opens and Maggie strolls in carrying some sheets, a blanket, and extra pillows.
“Hey, honey,” she says to me. She drops the bedding on the couch against the wall and turns back to us. “The bedding you asked for.” She nods at Matt. “You might find it lacking,” Maggie jokes with a wink, then shifts her focus to me. “You ready for some pain meds, Ellie?”
“She’s my favorite nurse,” Matt declares to me. “Other than you, of course.”
I roll my eyes and watch Maggie administer the medication in my IV, trying not to get emotional again thinking about Matt sleeping on that teeny, tiny couch.
Walking green flag, indeed.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
ELLIE
“Well, this sucks, huh?”
I choke on my own laugh, squeezing my dad’s hand. He’s smiling, but I can see the sadness that just never quite leaves his eyes. It might even be a little deeper than usual right now. He asked me a few questions about what happened, the surgery, and how I was feeling, but he’s mostly just beenhere. That quiet support that’s so familiar and sturdy. I can tell it was a long night for him. Probably worrying about me and processing the news in his own way.
“It does suck,” I agree. “Would’ve preferred your first visit to be under vastly different circumstances. Or I guess second.”
My dad helped me move here last year by driving my car and most of my stuff over, allowing me to fly instead. He knew how hard that long of a drive would have been for me. At least he got to fly this time. Thanks to Matt.
Matt left the hospital for the first time about an hour ago after Dev promised she’d check on me every twenty minutes. It had been about fifteen hours since I was admitted. He proclaimed he had an errand to run and would be returning with lunch and his parents in a bit. I’m not sure if the errand is realor if it was a ruse to give me and my dad some alone time at the hospital since he got in this morning.
I can tell Matt’s anxious about leaving me alone. He made Nate bring him clothes this morning instead of driving the five minutes to my apartment himself. I cringed a little thinking about Nate seeing my disaster of a room, but I guess it’s handy Matt had some spare clothes there instead of sending Nate all the way to his house.
I told Matt he’s being ridiculous and I’ll be fine for an hour alone, but I secretly kind of love it. Being alone is overrated.
I wonder if my dad feels that way. The thought is like a kick to the stomach. When Mom died, he was lonely. But then I left him and now he’salone.
My dad and I don’t have hard, emotional conversations. He’s a superb father—endlessly patient and understanding, kind and supportive, just the right amount of silly. But even our deepest conversations have a surface-level feel to them. Like maybe neither one of us knows how to break beneath that layer to the nitty gritty. We had Mom for those harder conversations. But not anymore. At least I have Zoey and Dev. And Matt. I wonder who my dad can talk to, if anyone.
It’s the thought that urges me to speak.
“I’m sorry I left Boston,” I start, my voice surprisingly level.
My dad turns his head from the window to me. His brow is furrowed and he looks…surprised. “Why would you be sorry about that, sweetie?”
