Page 28 of Rebound

I nod at my mom, and she follows the nurse through the door without another word. June Bug walks to a far corner, and I know it’s so I won’t see him cry. Donna follows him. As for me, I don’t care who sees. I burst into tears in the middle of the room. I cover my face with my hands and wail. I feel large hands on my shoulders again. I don’t try and move away. Not when he pulls my hands down from my face. Not when he tilts my chin up so I can look into his eyes. I know I must look like a mess. My eyes must be red. I’m sure the tip of my nose is as well, and there’s clear liquid oozing out of it. I don’t care. I don’t look away either. I take comfort in his green eyes, and I ask myself why I’ve never noticed how nice Seth Wakowski’s eyes are before this very moment.

I don’t pull away when he pulls me into his muscled broad chest—he’s so tall my head lands at his sternum—and wraps his arms around me. My cries get louder, and he rubs my lower back and makes soothing sounds.

“It will be okay,” he whispers repeatedly. He says those words so many times, that I start to believe them. He pulls me to the small couch on the opposite side of the room, and once we’re seated, he pulls me close, and I put my head on his shoulder.

Why does he always smell so good? He puts a hand on my lap, and for the first time, I notice how nice his fingers are. He holds me until the tears subside and all that’s left is an occasional sniffle.

My mom comes back, and her face is stoic and void of all color. She looks as if she’s aged years in only a matter of minutes. She looks frail. She comes and sits next to me and takes my hand. I remain in Seth’s arms. I’ve never had a man comfort me like this. Not since I was a little girl and my dad would hug me. The closest I get to that now is June Bug threatening to beat someone’s ass on my behalf for any imagined slight. Or when he lifts me off my feet and tosses me on the couch just because he can.

June Bug and Donna come over and we all wait for my mother to speak.

“She is still unconscious,” Mom says. “She looked so old,” she whispers. “So frail.” A tear falls, and she swipes it away. “We’re going to need to talk and make some decisions as a family.” Her voice cracks, and my tears start all over again. “I’ve never seen my mother look so small,” she chokes out.

“Stell, maybe we should go home, and everyone can talk tomorrow,” Donna says, but my mom shakes her head. “You don’t need to figure everything out now.”

“I can’t leave her here,” she says. “She’s always been there for me. I can’t abandon her in this hospital.”

“You won’t be. I’ll be right back here with you tomorrow, but you’ll need food and rest so you can figure things out. She wouldn’t want you twisting yourself like a pretzel sleeping here,” Donna says.

“I’ll stay, Auntie,” June Bug volunteers. “I’m off tomorrow. Bring me a change of clothes in the morning.

We decide to take shifts going to the hospital. Mom and Donna went this morning to relieve June Bug. I’ll be going after work, and my mom’s sister will meet me there. June Bug’s father hasn’t returned any of Mom’s calls yet, but I don’t expect him to.

Despite the stroke not being as serious as we thought, the news isn’t good. She’s going to need to go to inpatient rehab. She’s confused and doesn’t know where she is. She became combative with one of the nurses when they were making her walk.

I stare at my computer screen, unable to think of a single thing to do. My phone buzzes, and it’s a text from Jeannie checking on me. I pick up the phone to reply, but my vision blurs with tears and I don’t know what to type. Then it vibrates in my hand, and I recognize the number. It’s Wakowski. I smile for the first time today. He was incredibly sweet yesterday, and it was nice to have him there. He drove us all home before coming inside and ordering us dinner before he left to get Jasmine.

I feel a twinge of guilt for judging him so harshly before. He’s not bad at all now that I think about it.

“Hey,” I say with a sniffle.

As always, he doesn’t bother saying hello. “I’m outside. Jasmine wanted to see you.” Hearing Jasmine cooing in the background, I end the call and open the front door for them.

As usual, Jasmine is strapped to his chest, and he’s holding two big brown paper bags. He walks past me and goes inside. We don’t speak, but as he puts the Tupperware containers on the table, I get plates and pull the highchair over. After strapping Jasmine in, I sit down.

Today he brought baked chicken, sautéed vegetables, and diced potatoes. It’s delicious, and I don’t shy away from eating a large portion.

“Thank you,” I tell him.

He nods but looks up and grins at me. I never noticed how nice his smile was before.

“Nom nom,” Jasmine says while nibbling on a drumstick. Her face is so greasy, I get a paper towel and wipe it.

We don’t speak anymore while we eat. Once we’re done, I clear the table while he takes Jasmine to the bathroom to clean her up. They’re gone for a while, and when he returns, she’s not with him.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I put her to sleep on your bed.”

“It’s fine,” I say as I turn on the dishwasher. After making sure the kitchen is back in order, I go to my work laptop.

“Um, can I talk to you for a second?” he asks. I look at him, and he gestures to the couch. I nod, but I check my work to make sure there’s nothing urgent I need to do right now. I sit on the couch and wait for him to speak.

He gets up and comes back with a backpack. He pulls out a folder and puts it on the coffee table. I pick it up, and it’s a brochure for a rehabilitation center in Manhattan. He pulls out another, and it’s for an elite nursing home. I’m familiar with this nursing home, but only because there is no scenario in this world where we can afford it. It’s the Cadillac of nursing homes, and right now, we can barely afford a low-class sedan.

“Thank you, but we can’t afford either of those places. The hospital is trying to find her a rehab—”

“You know someone who can afford it,” he says.

The only person I know who can afford these places is my old boss Jeannie, who is now one of my best friends. There’s no way I can ask this of her. She hired me at the hotel despite having noexperience. She took me with her to corporate. She made me a bridesmaid at her wedding. She introduced me to Manhattan’s elite. I’m part of her inner circle. She’s done so much for me already that I can’t ask her for anything more.

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