Page 45 of Rosé with My Fake Fiancé
“Just fine.”
The doctor inspects her cast, checks her vitals, and pronounces that the back injury is going to require some physical therapy, and they’re going to move her to another ward. She’ll stay a few more days under supervision until she can stand up on her own.
We wait again until Mémé has a room, the staff has moved her in, she’s met her new medical team, we’ve signed paperwork, and all the other monotony of the medical system.
Once we’re alone again, Mémé turns to me. “Darling, I’m so sorry you had to miss your flight.”
“It’s fine, Mémé.”
“Have you talked to Tessa?”
“No, not yet. I’ll call her when I get home.”
“You should go now,” Mémé urges. “The excitement is over, and the boring stuff begins. I’m sure you don’t want to watch me exercise or whatever horrid thing they’ll have me doing. Then you can get a good night’s sleep and be back tomorrow.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely. I’ve got my phone, so I’ll call you if I need anything.” She pauses. “Actually, call me before you come back here. I might have you bring a few things for me.”
I shake my head, upset I didn’t think about what things she would want to have with her for a multiple-day stay. “Of course.”
“Good,” she says, and then gestures me over to kiss her cheek and gives me a gentle shove—with her good arm—toward the door.
The sun blasts me in the face as I step out of the hospital. I have no idea what time it is, but I can guess that it’s near sunset, and I wonder what Tessa did this morning when I didn’t meet her at the cafe. I take the metro toward home, guilt hanging over me that I was going to spend every Sunday in Portugal with Tessa. What was I thinking? What if Mémé had fallen twenty-four hours later, and I’d been away? This time, I was going to stay for two days, flying in Sunday morning and out Monday night. Mémé would have been on the floor for who knows how long.
Hell. I was going to go right from driving to the bar. Mémé easily would have been on the floor all night if not for my stupid, wonderful phone cord.
I’m blinded by the sun again as I step out of the metro station and point my feet toward home. The streets are busy with the market nearby, and the temperature dipped down just enough to promise the end of summer and the bustle of Sunday night diners.
The apartment is empty and dark when I get in. I plug my phone in and tackle the dirty dishes and the food left out on the counter.
When my phone is charged enough to turn on, it dings with missed calls, voicemails, and text messages. A quick glance shows most of them are from Tessa.
I slump into the armchair in the living room. Forty-eight hours ago, the thing I wanted more than anything was for Tessa and me to be together. Mémé’s fall has turned that into wishful thinking. I can’t leave my grandmother now. I can’t fly to visit Tessa every weekend. I know Tessa needs time to trust me, to heal from the hurt James caused her, but I don’t have the time.
My heart aches knowing I have to let Tessa go.
20
Tessa
Throughout the week,Sara has been updating us on her bizarre living situation.
He smokes! At least he always does it outside.
I’m guessing he is not married. The inside of his refrigerator is like a textbook sad bachelor’s diet.
I have literally accomplished all my goals for the day and Chris isn’t even awake yet.
Basically, they are complete opposites, and Sara has free run of the house. Chris has an entire wing where he spends most of the day and comes out with ink-stained fingers. There’s artwork all over the place, and he’s got a broody, contemplative mood most of the time, which fits since Sara has discovered he’s an artist.
It’s a great distraction since Luc is very late to meet me at the cafe and is not answering his phone. I don’t know if he missed his flight or if it’s something worse like he was in a car accident last night while driving or...
Or he realized he couldn’t do the long-distance thing.
Or that I’m too old for him.
But he would call, right? Luc, kind, thoughtful Luc, wouldn’t just not show up.
