We’ll deal with everything later.
“The end.” I fold the tattered and torn waiting room book, and Ellie claps her hands.
“Again,” she says, oblivious to the seriousness happening down the hall. We’ve been here two hours now, and I’ve yet to get an update from Jude, who’s been consoling his sister this entire time, but I told him I’d stay here as long as they needed me to.
“Again?” I ask, tickling the sides of her ribs as she squirms against me. This will be five times now reading Elmo’s Favorite Things, and it’s not even the complete story. It appears that several pages have been ripped out, chewed on, or otherwise mangled.
Ellie nods, her dark curls falling over her big blue eyes, and she claps her hands. I turn to the first page. She’s so sweet. If every baby was like this, I’d want a hundred.
I’d always wondered if I’d have been a mom by now—had things turned out differently.
A family with five small kids pours into the waiting room a few minutes later, and within seconds, the TV hanging in the corner flips to the Disney channel. A childlike cartoon princess in a purple dress steals Ellie’s attention, and I quietly fold the book and place it on a nearby side table.
Ten minutes later, Ellie’s body grows limp against my chest and her breathing slightly louder. When I glance down, I realize she’s sleeping. With slow, careful movements, I lean down and retrieve her pink polka dot blanket from the bag I was handed along with Ellie when we got here earlier. Covering her up to stave off the waiting room chill, I rest my chin gently on the top of her head and breathe in her apple-sweet scent.
Resting my eyes for the tiniest moment, I open them a little while later to find Jude standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb and studying us, two cups of coffee in his hands.
“Wasn’t sure if you were sleeping or not there,” he says as he comes toward us. Placing one of the cups next to me, he adds, “That’s for you. In case you need it.”
“How’s she doing?” I sit up, bracing my splayed palm across Ellie’s tummy so as not to wake her.
“Better,” he says. “She’s awake now.”
“Did you know she had asthma?” I ask, “or did this come out of nowhere?”
He glances down at his coffee, pausing for a second, before his gaze lifts onto mine. “We’ve known for a while. I guess the inhaler Lo had on hand was empty. She couldn’t find the spare and Piper was gasping for air and time was running out, so she called 9-1-1.”
“I can’t imagine how terrifying that must have been … for both of them.”
His teeth rake across his lower lip for a second before he takes a sip of his coffee and loses himself in thought.
“Piper’s been sick ever since she was born,” he says. “She was a micro preemie, so that’s caused a lot of complications over the years. On top of the asthma and her partial hearing loss in one ear, she was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes earlier this year.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say, because no other words can do that justice.
“Lo’s a great mom,” he says. “She takes such good care of her girls. Today … that was just a freak situation. Sorry I was so out of it when you saw me in the hall. I just wanted to get here as fast as I could.”
“Don’t apologize.”
Our eyes hold and in this moment, I’m not thinking about a single thing outside these hospital walls.
“Going to go check on Lo and Piper, and then I thought I’d take Ellie home around five,” he says. “She needs dinner and she needs to go to bed on time. Lo’s going to stay here all night.”
“I’ll go with you,” I say, if only because his heavy lids and baggy eyes tell me he needs all the help he can get. He looks like he just returned from the war.
“You don’t have to—”
Lifting a hand, I cut him off. “I’m going with you.”
I stand in the middle of Lo’s apartment, taking in the sights.
I think this entire place could fit into my master suite. The walls are gray-toned, the beige carpet stained and flattened, and curtains hang off the living room window from nails hammered into the trim.
A flood of toys covers the living room floor and a ménage of family photos—mostly of the girls—rest on a side table next to a pleather sofa with stuffing teeming out of the seams.
In the kitchen, an open box of store brand Cheerios sits on the counter beside an empty, overturned sippy cup.
This place is bursting with life and love and togetherness.
They might not have much, but they have each other.
“Sorry,” Jude says, lifting his hand to the back of his neck when he returns from putting Ellie to bed. He studies my face, keeping his distance, like he thinks I’m seconds from trying to get the hell out of here.
I fed her chicken fingers and applesauce in the hospital cafeteria an hour ago, just before Jude came back from the PICU to get us. I thought maybe she’d have a hard time falling asleep tonight since she took that nap on me in the waiting room this afternoon, but we spent a good hour or so walking the visitor-friendly halls of the hospital, and then I took her to the park across the street to play for another hour after that.
“The place isn’t usually this … crazy,” he says, moving toward the nailed curtains in the living room and inspecting them. “Huh. The others must have fallen down.” He smirks. “Remind me to tell Lo she did a bang-up job fixing them.”
“I’m sure she did the best she could,” I say, a sleepy smile crawling across my mouth. It isn’t even that late, but this day has left me zapped and lifeless.
“You’re staying here, right?” he asks, detecting my exhaustion. “There’s a spare room. Full-sized bed.”
“I’m sleeping wherever you’re sleeping tonight,” I say. His mouth inches up at the sides, but only for a moment, and then it disappears altogether. For some reason, it’s like he won’t allow himself to be happy. Whether it has to do with his niece’s situation or the fact that he feels guilty, I’ll never know.
Following Jude down a small hallway, he leads me into a dark bedroom. He doesn’t hit the lights, only leads me to the bed covered in messy blankets. As my eyes adjust, I make out a nightstand, a gold lamp, and a small chest of drawers in the corner.
Peeling out of my clothes, I climb beneath the cool, faux down covers and rest my head on the pillow. The bed dips on the opposite side and the covers shift a second later. Jude slides in next to me, but he doesn’t pull me against him like he normally does—he keeps a safe distance.
I blame the day’s events.
He doesn’t have the energy to be “on,” to be the Jude he’s led me to believe he is.
“Thanks,” he says, voice gruff and muffled as the bed shifts again. “Thanks for everything today. You didn’t have to do that. Lo wanted me to tell you thanks too.”
“Not a big deal at all. I’m just glad I could help. And I’m glad Piper’s okay.” Turning to face him, I prop myself up on my elbow. “Oh. And I didn’t get a chance to tell you, but I’m going to the Hamptons with Tierney for a few days. Leaving tomorrow morning.”