Page 20 of Maybe in Another Life

Did she just say I lost a baby?

I lost a baby?

“Here is what we are going to do,” the doctor says. “You have a lot of people here who have missed you these past few days. A lot of people who have been excited for this moment, the moment when you wake up.”

I close my eyes slowly.

A baby.

“But I find that some patients need some time alone right after they have woken up. They aren’t ready to see Mom and Dad and their sister and friends.”

“My mom and dad?” I start to say, but my voice comes out as an unintelligible whisper. It’s scratchy and airy.

“You’ve had a tube in your throat for some time. Talking is going to be difficult but will come back the more you do it. Just take it slowly. One or two words at a time at first, OK? Nod and shake your head when you can.”

I nod. But I can’t resist. “They’re here?” I say. It hurts to say it. It hurts on the edges of my throat.

“Yep. Mom, Dad, your sister, Gabby, right? Or... Sarah? Sorry. Your sister is Sarah, friend is Gabby?”

I smile and nod.

“So this is the question. Do you need some time on your own? Or are you ready for family? Lift your right arm for time alone. Left for family.”

It hurts, but my left hand shoots up, higher than I thought it would go.

Iopen my eyes.

My head feels heavy. The world feels hazy. My eyes adjust slowly.

And then I smile wide, because right in front of me, staring back at me, is Ethan Hanover.

I stretch slowly and push my head further into the pillow. His bed is so soft. It’s the kind of bed you never want to leave. I suppose, for the past few days, I really haven’t.

“Hi,” he says gently. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” I say back. I am groggy. My voice is scratchy. I clear my throat. “Hi,” I say. That’s better.

“You haven’t had a cinnamon roll since you’ve been here,” he says. “That’s at least three entire cinnamon-roll-less days.” He is shirtless and under the covers. His hair is scattered and unkempt. His five o’clock shadow is way past five o’clock. I can smell his breath as it travels the short distance from his pillow to mine. It leaves something to be desired.

“Your breath stinks,” I say, teasing him. I have no doubt that mine smells much the same. After I say it, I put my hand over my mouth. I talk through the spaces between my fingers. “Maybe we should brush our teeth,” I say.

He tries to pull my hand away, and I won’t let him. Instead, I dive under the covers. I am wearing one of his T-shirts and the underwear that I picked up from my suitcase at Gabby’s yesterday. Other than the trip to her place to grab some stuff, Ethan and I haven’t left his apartment since we got here Saturday night.

He dives under the covers to find me and grabs my hands, holding them away from my own face.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says.

“Nope,” I say. “No, my breath is too terrible. Free me from your superhuman grip, and let me brush my teeth.”

“Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” he says, laughing, not letting go of me. “You stink. I stink. Let’s stink together.”

I pop my head out of the covers to inhale fresh air, and then I go back under.

“Fine,” I say, and I breathe onto his face.

“Ugh,” he says. “Absolutely revolting.”

“What if my breath smelled this bad every morning? Would you still want to be with me?” I say, teasing him.

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