I sit back on the edge of the bed, and he takes my hand. When he speaks into the phone, his voice is a crackle of emotion, breaking at the edges. I can hear his dad and his usual Southern timbre flow out on the other end. Steven’s shoulders relax at the sound, and I relate to the feeling. The sense of calm that comes with his dad’s voice and the repeated reassurance he gives with his trademark,everything will be as it should.
A knock at the door comes, followed by a slow creak of it opening, as Kate’s head pops through. If she is going for stealthy, she is failing royally, as Steven and I watch her awkwardly try to set my bagon the counter and a gift bag that rustles loudly as she sets it on the ground. A bottle of water tumbles out of her arms and bounces across the floor. She curses the bottle, crawling on all fours to get to it, then inches awkwardly back toward the door.
“Kate,” I whisper-snip. She stops like a possum in headlights. Wild and convinced she was convincing.
“Shh. I’m not here.” She attempts a whisper, but it’s just a raspy hiss.
I roll my eyes, leaving Steven stunned in the bed. He goes back to talking to his dad, and I pull Kate into the hallway.
“What are you doing?”
“I thought you might need your pumps, but the doctor said visitors might be overwhelming, so I wanted to drop them and run before you even noticed.”
“We noticed.”
“Sorry. How’s he doing? How are you doing?” she asks while opening a bottle of water then handing it to me. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“I can’t either,” I mutter into the bottle before taking a drink, and the lack of hydration hits me with blunt force. I chug the entire bottle, and Kate hands me another.
“Have you eaten?” Her question is more courtesy because she already knows the answer as she hands me a banana.
“They’ve been doing a million things to him in there.” I pinch off a piece of banana and practically inhale it. My words are muffled by the mouthful. “I didn’t want to leave his side.”
Kate snorts at my puffy cheeks and banana drool then hands me a napkin. “Do they think it’s permanent?”
“They don’t know. They said only time will tell.” I scoff, taking another drink. “I mean, who says that? Who tells someone their husband might never remember their marriage? Their kids?” The wall I’ve been holding up around my emotions seems to weaken, threatening to jostle my anxietymonster awake. I clutch my chest, the stinging sensation brimming there as tears sting my eyes.
“Here, sit down.” Kate pulls me to a chair across the hall from Steven’s room. “Breathe.” She mimics the breathing cycle I’m supposed to do during an attack while rubbing my back then whispers, “It’s alright. It’s going to be okay. Repeat that.”
“It’s going…to be…okay…” I have to force it out as my chest tightens against the words.
“Breathe and try again.”
I inhale, slow and dramatic, pursing my lips as the air leaves my lungs. I do this three times before my chest starts to loosen. My jaw is tight, and my mouth tastes like chalk when I finally muster the words, “It’s going to be okay.”
“There. Now what’s the plan?”
I can’t help but smile at this. Everyone who knows Kate knows she is the least type-A person. It’s not just her unruly black curly hair that lives wildly; she views life in a way that’s carefree and spontaneous. Making a plan, sure, but knowing it could—and most likely will—change? She welcomes that. I, on the other hand…I need a plan. I need structure. I need something to guide my steps, or my mind will crumble in on itself. And because she knows this, she knows helping me verbalize the plan will help my anxiety.
“Well”—I take a breath—“other than his memory, there’s nothing medically keeping him here, so he should get to leave in the morning.”
“Great. And then?” She takes a sip of water then adds, “Is he going to your house or should we set up a hotel?”
This thought didn’t occur to me. “I, uh…didn’t even consider that.”
“Well, of course you didn’t. He’s your husband, Em.” She looks around conspiratorially and whispers, “And even if things have been hard and he doesn’t know you from Adam, I know you’re going to do everything you can to make sure he’s taken care of. And in your mind, you can only dothis by not leaving his side, right? So, of course you’re going to assume he’s going home with you. And that’s okay.”
I nod, grateful for the reassurance. If I second-guess myself right now, I could overwhelm Steven, and who knows what that could do to his recovery.
“But I can book a hotel if you want.”
“I’ll ask him what he wants to do.” It would make sense if he didn’t want to come home. I wouldn’t blame him. But it would still hurt. Even with everything between us feeling rocky, he’s still my husband, and I want him to choose us. To choose me.
“Does he know?” Kate asks.
“Know what?”
“That you’ve been going through a hard time?”
