Page 663 of One More Kiss

Oh God. How do I use the bathroom? Recovering from brain surgery or not, there is no way I will shit myself in this bed, especially in front of Milo. My haircut is enough to make me feel self-conscious around him, I am not about to add “shits the bed” to the list of cons that come from this situation.

“Um, two more things before you go,” I start. “How do I go to the bathroom? And shower?”

“Right now, you have a catheter in, but we can certainly take it out, if you want. When you feel the sensation to go, by all means, press that red button right next to you. A nurse will come in, and either she or your mom can help you. I would just prefer you call for a nurse the first few times.” She smiles as if she understands what I’m asking without asking. “The same goes for showering once you’re moved. Either a nurse or your mom can help you. We even have a special chair we can put right in there until you can stand again.”

A knock on the door pulls all of our attention across the room.

My dad returns to the room and behind him is the man of the hour. He’s apparently the love of my life, and I don’t even know his last name. He stands in silence next to my father as Dr. Chaudhary wraps my upper arm in a blood pressure cuff. Placing the stethoscope underneath the cuff, she begins to squeeze the inflation bulb, causing the cuff to tighten around my arm. She twists a knob on the side of the bulb and suddenly, the pressure releases and my cuff loosens.

Dr. Chaudhary tells me she’ll send in some chicken broth for me to try, and she will make a note to the nurses that my catheter can come out whenever I’m ready. She prints her name and phone number on a giant white board hanging on the wall directly across from my bed and then smiles before seeing herself out.

When she leaves the room, my mom stands up from the bed.

“Walt, why don’t we go check out the gift shop?” She nudges my dad before looking back at me. “I’ll check and see what they have for books.”

The one thing my mom and I share that my dad could not care less about is reading. Mom tends to stick with her regency romances, while I love a good psychological thriller. The content of our books doesn’t matter as much as the contentment we both feel when we’re reading on opposite ends of the couch or while sitting together at the lake.

What I wouldn’t give to be lying on a beach towel, sun-kissed and sleepy, with a good book in my lap.

As soon as my parents leave the room, my stomach knots. I would like to pretend it’s a biproduct of the surgeries and the trauma from the car accident, but I know it’s because there is a beautiful man looking at me like I am glass about to shatter at a moment’s notice.

“Hey,” I start. I hope I look better than I sound, but knowing my head is shaved, I haven’t showered in days, and I’m wearing a hideous hospital gown, I don’t have much hope. “I hear we’re engaged.”

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