My mother smoothed my hair back from my forehead, her touch gentle around the bandage. “You need to rest. Get your strength back.”
“I feel fine now?—”
“You collapsed in a mall,” Jack said, voice tight. He’d settled into the chair at the foot of the bed, but his posture was tense. “You hit your head hard enough to need stitches. That’s not fine.”
A nurse appeared in the doorway, clipboard in hand. She smiled apologetically when she saw all of us. “I’m sorry, but thepatient needs to rest now. You can come back during visiting hours tomorrow.”
“We’re her family—” my father started.
“I understand, but this is for her well being.” The nurse’s voice was kind but firm.
My mother stood slowly, reluctantly, her hand sliding out of mine like she was fighting against it. She looked at me for a long moment, and something in her expression made my chest ache. Why did she look like she was trying to memorize my face? Like she was afraid she wouldn’t get another chance. It wasn’t that serious. But then again, she wouldn’t be my mom if she didn’t think a minor dizzy spell was life-threatening.
She leaned down and kissed my forehead, her lips warm against my skin. When she pulled back, she cupped my face gently, her thumb brushing my cheek. “Get some rest, sweetheart.”
My father squeezed my hand. “We’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Yes, we do.” His voice was firm. “We’re not going anywhere.”
Jack stood last, lingering by the door as our parents left. He looked back at me, and something in his face—and expression that made me stared back at him.
“What?”
“Nothing. See you later,” he said.
Then they were gone, and the room felt too quiet. Too empty.
I lay there in the silence, thinking about their faces. My mother’s trembling hands. My father’s exhausted eyes. The gray in her hair I didn’t remember.
One year must have been longer than I realized.
I wondered where Michael was.
I closed my eyes, trying to will myself to sleep like the nurse had ordered. But my mind wouldn’t settle. It kept circling back to the look on my mother’s face when she’d held my hand. The way my father had gripped my shoulder just a little too tight. Like they were both afraid of something more than a simple fainting spell.
A few minutes passed. The beeping of monitors became background noise.
Then I saw it.
A phone, sitting on the chair where my father had been. He must have set it down and forgotten it when the nurse came to clear the room.
I sat up slowly, testing for dizziness. The room stayed steady. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the IV stand rolling with me as I stood. My balance was off but manageable.
I picked up the phone and walked toward the door. The hallway stretched out in both directions, too bright, too empty, fluorescent lights humming overhead. Quiet except for the distant sound of medical equipment and low voices coming from somewhere to my left.
I turned toward the voices, moving slowly. The IV stand’s wheels squeaked softly with each step.
Then I saw him.
Michael.
His back partially to me. Relief flooded through me so fast it was almost dizzying—he was here.
I moved toward him, my father’s phone still in my hand, ready for him to turn and look at me with that expression he got sometimes, the one that made me feel like I was the only person in the world.
But as I got closer, I realized he wasn’t alone.
