“I’m great!” She waved her hand around, dismissing the question and straightening her posture. “Probably a stomach bug or nerves. Vicious is taking me to the doctor for a check. It’s already ten and you haven’t left your room. I came in to see if you were okay.”
I wasn’t okay. I was the opposite of okay. I was just too busy fantasizing about your ex-boyfriend, seconds from shoving a hand into my underwear.
“I’m sorry.” I pulled her into another hug, my chin on her shoulder. “I took advantage of this little vacay. Normally I open up the coffee shop at six thirty and don’t go to bed before ten or eleven.”
“Still volunteering with the babies?” She scrunched her nose. I looked down at my hands, bracing myself for another lecture. “You need to stop.” Her voice was forgiving.
“Yeah, well, that’s not going to happen.”
“You’re hurting yourself. Why would you do that?”
Because I couldn’t volunteer anywhere else. All the other places—hospitals, clinics, hospices—were full of sick people, and my immune system was as brittle as my heart when it came to a certain HotHole.
“Trust me, I’m no saint. If I didn’t love it, I wouldn’t do it. What about you? Excited about the rehearsal this evening?” I changed the subject.
Millie exhaled and plopped down on the cushions. I sat back down, but didn’t stare at the ceiling like she did. I couldn’t with my vest.
“I guess. The bachelorette party is what I’m really waiting for, though. It will be nice to spend some time together.”
Millie and I had only been apart for one year, when I was a senior, before I boarded a plane and joined her in New York. We went from living together for years to living on different sides of the country.
“Do you want me to come with you to the doctor?” I smoothed her hair. “I can do a coffee run, watch your car if you don’t find a parking space. Be your bitch.” I wiggled my brows.
“No need.” Millie’s gaze shifted, her hands landing on her thighs, but this time, she didn’t rub them.
I wasn’t stupid. The symptoms added up quickly. She was sick in the morning, woozy all day yesterday, and Mama didn’t want her doing any heavy lifting. Still, before I was an ex-nursing school student and a human being with a functioning brain, I was a sister. A sister who knew my sibling wouldn’t keep this kind of news from me.
Because there was nothing I wanted more than to see her happy.
And I knew that a baby would make Millie really, really happy.
“Is there anything you’re not telling me?” I asked, keeping my voice as casual as possible.
“No,” she said curtly, caressing my arm again, as she often did to soothe me. “Everything’s great.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“But that’s the answer you’re getting.” She cleared her throat. “I mean, come on, Rosie-bug. I’m getting married in a few days. I’m allowed to have a few off days.”
Fair enough. I spun in place and turned off the machine hooked to the vest, then went through the usual ritual of folding everything and tucking it in place. After that, we talked some more. Mainly about wedding preparations and how she thought I kind of looked like Emma Stone from certain angles (she brought it up…not me).
“Good luck at the doctor’s,” I said, when Vicious called Millie from downstairs and she walked through the door. The tray was still by my bed, and it would remain untouched until I got rid of it. I’d lost my appetite at dinner yesterday and never got it back.
I flung my body into the bed and closed my eyes again, ignoring the thump between them and Mama shouting at Daddy downstairs to go to the store and get Millie Twinkies.
They hadn’t spoken a word to me all morning, and since Millie hadn’t brought them up, I knew I was still in the doghouse. I would happily stay there for the remainder of this visit.
I wasn’t going to apologize for who I was. For who I wanted to be.
Independent and free.
I WAS CATCHING UP ON work emails and administrative shit when Vicious came to his balcony where I sat and slumped on the opposite couch. By the shit-eating grin on his face, I was guessing that someone had died or that he knew something that was going to rock my boat, or at the very least, create a hole in it. He didn’t mean to be an evil fucker. I think he was just born this way.
Working on the terrace was a good call, because I couldn’t concentrate anywhere else. I saw Rosie’s mom knocking on her door twice, nasally whining for her to do this and that—with Rosie barely answering back—and her dad bitching to Millie in the hallway about how his eldest daughter should just buy Rosie a ticket and make the decision for her. “Her irresponsibility will cost her her life,” I heard him say.