I follow the voices down the empty, fluorescent-lit hallway lined with mass-produced art prints until I see a break in the wall.
I turn the corner and when I see the scene in front of me, I burst into a fresh bout of tears. The room is packed to the brim. Vonnie and Justin. Charli and Shawn. Poppy and TK. Aviana and Crosby. Jacqueline and Peter. Paisley, Tanya, and Eloise.
Maxwell.
Everyone I care about in one small room. Well, almost everyone.
Maxwell, of course, notices me first and gets to me just in time to let me collapse into his warm and welcoming chest.
“You guys are here?” I cry, my unintelligible words muffled into his cotton tee.
Just before I’m mobbed by my well-intentioned, loving group of friends that, somehow, became my family without me noticing, Maxwell touches his lips to my forehead and whispers, “I’ll always be here.”
And even though I feel like my heart has been broken and scattered all over my dad’s hospital room, right here, being held tight and safe in Maxwell’s arms, a new piece falls into place.
* * *
—
“JUICE MAN IS here,” Maxwell announces as he walks into my dad’s hospital room. He holds up the 7-Eleven bag with the grandeur of Rafiki lifting up Simba.
“My man.” Dad pushes the button on the side of his bed to raise him into a sitting position. “Did you get a lemon-lime?”
“I got four,” Maxwell says, pride evident in his voice as my dad’s eyes light up.
Ugh.
Why do they have to be so damn cute together?
The inside of my brain has basically been a disaster since my dad was wheeled back into the room four days ago. Part of this could be because I haven’t gotten an actual good night’s sleep because the vinyl chair is actually a vinyl pullout. It’s so uncomfortable that my entire body is screaming at me. It could also be because I saw my train wreck of a mother, and through her insane rants she made me realize that beyond our looks we are nothing alike. And although it’s a huge relief, it’s also made me recount my entire adulthood and all the good guys I passed over. I missed out on a lot. I just know that I may not be able to rewind the clock, but I can make sure that, from here on, I invest myself fully into my relationship.
And luckily for me, I get to do it with Maxwell.
On that thought, Maxwell turns to me and holds up a separate bag.
I jump out of the vinyl monstrosity and snatch it from his hands before he can even say what he bought. “Taquitos!” I don’t even give him a hug or say thank-you before I pull one out and shove it in my mouth . . . you know, how you eat when you’re in a new relationship and keeping things sexy.
To be fair though, I’ve been living on kale salads and green juice (my body has fully rebelled against this, by the way). The cafeteria here has things like cheese fries, but I didn’t want to make this any harder for my dad than it already is. He hates kale. So it’s made his liquid diet more appealing.
You really do sacrifice for the ones you love.
“If you think that’s good, what are you going to do when you find out there’s a Slurpee waiting for you in the car?” Maxwell winks.
“I’ll probably ask why it’s in your car and not in my hand,” I say after I finish chewing. I do have some manners.
“Nope,” Dad pipes in after he nearly drains his first glass of Gatorade. “You’re not sleeping here tonight. I’m kicking you out.”
“What?” I drop the taquitos on the tiny table by my chair. “I’m not leaving you alone.”
“You are,” he says, and I’m almost a little relieved to hear the full force of his dad voice, even if I’m annoyed by the actual words coming out of his mouth. “It will do us both some good. You won’t feel sore in the morning, and I’ll get a good night’s sleep without your snoring waking me up.”
My eyes bulge and my face catches fire. “Dad!” I turn to Maxwell. “I do not snore.”
“She does,” my dad says from his hospital bed.
Maxwell flashes his white teeth and pulls me into a hug. “You do.” He tightens his arms around me when I try to push away. “But it’s an adorable snore.”
“Jerks.” I glare at both of them. “You’re both jerks.” And I no longer think they’re cute together. I consider arguing with my dad a little more about staying overnight again, but the truth is my body is so pissed at me. My neck hurts, my back kills, and I desperately need a shower. “Fine,” I say like I’m doing them a favor and not the other way around. “But I’ll be back tomorrow and I’m calling right after shift change, so don’t ignore my call.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dad salutes, a decision I know he regrets when his face screws up in pain from the fast movement.
I guess that’s what happens when you want to be a smart-ass.
“Later, Daddy-o.” I give him a quick and gentle hug, not wanting to add to his discomfort.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says. “Get out of here.”
I don’t make him say it again. My bed is calling my name and I wouldn’t want my Slurpee to melt.
* * *
—
I’VE GONE MUCH longer than a week without going to my condo, so I’m not sure why I feel such a stark relief wash over me as I push open the door and step inside.
It only takes me about two seconds to figure it out.
“What in the world?” I stand cemented to the entryway floor—that’s now donning a new rug—as I look around my once bare apartment that’s now bursting with personality.
“Vonnie,” Maxwell says, like that should explain everything. And it does.
I’ve never met a person who redecorates their home more frequently, and she’s the reason we’ve changed the barstools at HERS twice in the last seven months.
My white walls are the perfect shade of gray. My couch is overwhelmed with new throw pillows. My old frames are filled with pictures, and new frames are scattered along my walls and on tables. There are placemats on my dining table and brand-new dishes set on top of those. And the icing on the cake is the amazing glamorous, mod chandelier hanging in the middle of my living room.
“Dammit, Brynn. Do not cry again.” I close my eyes and try to fan away the tears with my hands and fail miserably. “How do I still even have tears?”
“Don’t worry,” Maxwell says. “Vonnie’ll love this, she was hoping for tears.”