Page 102 of A Really Bad Idea

Little does he know that I am, too. I’m embarking on my own epic journey to motherhood that is bizarre and beautiful, and I have my own insecurities about that. And the only reason I’m in this position is because he broke his promises.

With a few steps backward, I put distance between us. “I am the wrong person to talk to about this.”

“I was hoping—”

“Leave.” I’m adamant.

“Meadow.” His voice is a plea.

“I’m telling you to leave. Now.”

And he does. Brock walks away, sauntering out of the hospital with the sullen gait of a teenager. I’m not worried about being callous with him because he’s the guy who will fly off to the next person who will do him a favor.

I take a seat and hold my chest, trying to figure out if I want emotional, angry, or defeated me to take control right now.

I push them all to the side.

“Meadow.”

My name being called wakes me up from a sound sleep. My hand that’s holding up my chin is wobbly as I come to, and I have to blink a few times to get my bearings.

I’m in my mother’s hospital room, sleeping in the wooden guest chair by the window.

With a stretch and a loud yawn, I try to work out the kink in my hip from sleeping in this uncomfortable seat. The room is dark, except for the soft overhead light that stays on all night so nurses can come in and check on patients without disturbing them.

I rub my eyes and sit up straight, now coming to enough to realize my mom said my name.

“Go home, sweetie. There’s no good use in you camping out here all night,” she says, still lying propped up on her side since she has the tube in her back. Her eyes are weary, and she looks like she wants to sleep. Dad is snoring from the recliner.

I lean forward and rest my hands on my knees, looking up at the clock to see it’s past midnight. They scheduled her surgery for eight in the morning.

“It’s only a few more hours. I might as well stay.”

“You need to change your clothes.”

I look down at the black dress pants and button-down I wore today. They’re wrinkled, and I have a coffee stain on the lapel of my shirt. “I don’t want to leave you.”

She nods in understanding. “You’re making me feel like I won’t survive this surgery.”

I wake up real fast at that comment and sit up straight. “No. That’s not the case at all. You will be fine.”

“Meadow, please don’t lie just to make me feel better. Christian already went over the risks. I’m very aware.”

My shoulders fall. I look away and try to conjure up the words to express what I’ve been feeling. I rub my mouth with my hand and then hold it there for a moment.

“Look forward,” I hear Christian’s voice in my head. “Don’t overthink, Meadow. Make sure you talk about what’s going on in that head of yours.”

I look at Mom and give her my honest thoughts. “I know you’re going to be fine. My brain tells me that. You’re in the best hospital with the best doctor, and if I’ve learned one thing in my line of work, it’s that the heart is incredibly resilient. Miraculous even.” I smile with that thought, and then it slowly falls as I continue, “But I know there’s always a chance you might not make it, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

I have to open my eyes real wide to keep the tears from falling. I refuse to turn away though. Just on the off chance that this is the last time I ever see my mother, I need to know I spent as much time being with her as possible, looking at her, taking her in.

With a severe inhale, I will the emotion back. Mom extends her hand and holds out her palm. I move my chair closer and take it.

“It’s okay to be scared. I am, too,” she says.

“I know you are, which is why I don’t want to get you upset.”

She raises a shoulder. “If you think you can hide your feelings from me, then you’re crazy.”