The compound fracture was clean — that's the word they keep using,clean, like something that tears through skin and bonecan be clean, but apparently, in fracture terms, clean means it broke in one place and went through in one direction, and the surgical repair was straightforward.
Straightforward.
I add it to the list of words that mean nothing.
The drive to my parents' house takes forty minutes. I sit in the passenger seat with my leg extended and my head against the window. I watch Seattle move past, and I think about the last time I made this drive. Cody's words in my ear.The people around you aren't who you think they are.
He was right.
He was one of them.
When I get home, my father hugs me carefully. He's not a man who cries in front of people, but his eyes are red, and he holds me for longer than he usually does. I let him because I need it.
My mother sets up the downstairs guest room, so I don't have to manage the stairs. She puts the fresh flowers from Maeve and the rest of my friend group on the nightstand. I briefly glance at it, wondering what happened to my wonderful group of friends. They stopped by the hospital, but it’s not the same, and it hasn’t been since I transferred.
My favorite blanket is on the bed along with a stack of books. My mom kisses me on top of my head, and I lean into it. She’s been my rock through this whole thing. I love her so much it hurts.
The first week, all I do is sleep and eat what my mom brings me. I do my physical therapy exercises three times a day. I think getting my body back is the first step toward getting everything else back. Even if I don't know what everything else looks like yet.
I know that I'm working on the body first.
The exercises hurt –– less than I expect by the end of the first week. My surgeon calls it remarkable progress and adjusts my timeline. I write down every instruction and follow each one exactly, and by the end of week two, I'm moving through the house on one crutch instead of two.
One morning, my father watches me navigate the kitchen and says, "You get that from your mother."
My mom says, "She gets it from herself."
I stand at the counter making my own coffee for the first time in two weeks and feel something small and necessary move through me.
Only Maeve contacts me.
I pick up my phone and see nothing from anyone but Maeve. I put it down.
I hate that I think about them constantly.
I think about Beckett's face when I told him to leave. The way he just nodded. No argument, no last attempt, just quiet acceptance that gutted me more than a fight would have.
I think about Cody, and I cry. I know he loves me in his own way, but I also know that I can’t forgive him for what he did to me.
I think about Theo.
I think about Theo more than I think about either of them, which tells me more about myself than any of it. Why is it always the mysterious ones who don’t give you much? I think about him standing at the door with his back to me and not turning around. Just standing there for that one long moment like he was giving me the chance to call him back.
I didn't call him back.
I think about that too.
Week three, I start walking without the crutch inside the house.
My surgeon calls it exceptional. He uses the word exceptional twice in the same appointment. He schedules me for a follow-uptwo weeks earlier than planned and tells me that whatever I'm doing, I should keep doing it.
I'm doing physical therapy twice a day now instead of once a day.
I'm eating everything my mother puts in front of me, and a lot of it is nutritious meals. For two days in a row, she didn’t feed me meat. She claims her focus is on whole foods and anything I can use for fuel, including special drinks.
I'm sleeping eight hours every night, which is something I haven't done since before I transferred.
My body is healing faster than it should because I am pouring everything I have into it. Every feeling I don't know what to do with, every thought I can't finish, every question that doesn't have an answer yet — I put it into the exercises, into the sleep, into the whole foods and proteins, and the ice packs.
