When I get her to the couch, she literally pours onto it, falling over and landing on her side. She pats the top of the couch and I follow her path, seeing a blanket just out of her reach. Grabbing it, I snap it open and cover her with it as I kneel beside her.
“What do you need?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing right now. Just to chill out, I think.”
“Are you sure?”
“Wow, when you come back from being a turd, you are Austin 2.0, aren’t you?” She rolls over and faces me as she pulls the blanket up under her chin. “I’m okay. When you get diagnosed with Graves you have a choice to get your thyroid removed or not. I decided not to, so I took the chance that I could have to deal with this every now and then.”
And here I’ve been sitting in my farmhouse feeling sorry for myself.
“Okay, well…” I scan the room, my eyes landing on the TV remote in the center of her coffee table. “How about I put on a movie for you?”
“A movie for us?”
“Us?”
She nods, eyeing the dog who is now curled up on the floor beside her. “Yes. Us. Me and Harley.”
“I knew it.”
Her lips twist as she fights a smile. I’m starting to realize I like that she smiles so much. I’ve not had this much goodness and sunshine in my world in a long time. Or maybe I haven’t been open to letting it in. Until now, that is.
“If you’re going to find a movie,Notting Hillpops to mind…if you’re going to stay to watch it, that is.”
“I can stay for a bit,” I acknowledge, pressing the power button as I land in the recliner next to her sofa. Don’t want to appear too eager, but let’s be honest: this is the closest I’ve come to a night out in a long time. I press a few more buttons, find the movie on one of her streaming services, and hit play.
In no time, I’m pulled in. Immersed in a neighborhood in London where Hugh Grant and his salty roommate make everything okay. Bex, who had been laughing away as well, has gotten quiet. I glance over, thinking she’s probably simply lost in the movie, but then I notice the steady rise and fall of her chest. Her eyes are closed, her breathing slow and even. She’s asleep.
For a moment, I just watch her—taking in the way her lashes rest against her cheeks, the slight parting of her lips, how peaceful she looks. Something tightens in my chest, a feeling I can’t quite name but that I know means trouble. It’s like I’ve been hit with a realization I didn’t see coming, and suddenly, the world feels different.
“Nope,” I mumble to myself, shaking it off as I grab my phone and sneak out to the porch, dialing our family doctor. It’s after hours, but that’s the good thing about small towns and personal connections. If the doctor knows you, he’s going to chat with you.
Dr. Bloomfield picks up on the first ring. “Austin, everything okay?”
“I’m well, but I have a question about a friend who isn’t if you have five minutes?”
“Of course. What’s going on?”
I quickly run through what Bex has shared with me, while also expressing my concern. Dr. Bloomfield listens, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth. It’s a sign of his thinking when I’m done talking.
“Honestly, Austin, it sounds like she knows what she’s doing. She’s calming herself when she feels her symptoms ramping up, and she’s taking medicine. Unless she’s got a fever or is experiencing symptoms that make her think a thyroid storm is evident, then she’s good for now.”
I understand what he’s saying, but it doesn't change the fact I’m worried. I’d go so far as to say I’m scared, but I’m supposed to be the tough one here. “So, she’s okay?”
“From what you’ve told me, yes. Graves is complicated, but it is treatable and can be addressed in a myriad of ways depending on the patient and the doctor. Let her lead you with this, and know she’s fine. Graves is complicated. Okay?”
The sound of someone in the background talking to him reminds me that this man is at home and he’s done me a huge favor taking this time to listen. I say a quick thank you, hang up, and then fire off an email to remind myself to call his office in the morning. Dr. Bloomfield won’t bill me for that time, but that doesn’t mean I can’t pay him.
I let myself back inside Bex’s house, closing the door quietly behind me as I enter the kitchen. Harley must have heard me as she jogs in with her ears perked up, watching me with those soulful, questioning eyes. I give her a quick scratch between the ears as I walk past, heading back to the living room.
Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant light up the flat screen, their banter filling the cozy space. I look around, taking in the warmth of the room, the way it feels like home. Then my gaze lands on Bex, curled up on the couch, fast asleep. Her soft breathing is the only sound other than the movie, and that little smile still lingers on her lips, even in sleep. I feel a warmth spread through me, something solid and sure.
This—being here, with her—feels right in a way I can’t fully explain.
I could get used to this.
TEN
