A Really Bad Idea Page 21

  He looks my way with a gleam in his eye and laughs with that deep baritone. “Meadow is hard to say no to. She held me hostage the other night, eating lasagna on the couch until midnight.”

  “Such a heavy meal. That’s no good for the waistline.” Mom tsks in my direction.

  I scowl at my mother as Christian defends, “Meadow has a perfect figure, just like her mother.”

  Mom soaks up Christian’s charm, which makes Brian rub his forehead and look at his watch. Dad doesn’t even react. He knows this is Christian’s way of making Mom smile. And she is, ear to ear.

  Christian takes a seat on the edge of Mom’s bed and puts a hand on her calf. “I wanted to pop in and see these legs. I heard you had some fluid.” He does a quick assessment and doesn’t show a negative reaction at all. “I’ll stop in tomorrow afternoon to see if the swelling is down. Just relax and enjoy the vacation.”

  He kisses Mom on the cheek and bids Dad and Brian farewell. I excuse myself from my family and follow him out.

  When we’re in the hallway, we step to the side to make room for a nurse coming down the hall with a medicine cart.

  “Thanks for coming by,” I say to him, clutching the wishbone necklace around my neck.

  “I have surgery tomorrow, so I was seeing a patient when Dad texted that your mom was coming up. I couldn’t not come to see her even if I wanted to.” His words are tender as he puts his hand on my jaw and raises my chin. “You okay?”

  I blink back the emotion I’ve suppressed the last few hours and take a heavy inhale. “I’m angry with myself for dropping the ball. I should have known she was in heart failure. I should have—”

  “Don’t blame yourself. If it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t be here, getting the care she needs.”

  I look up and away, breathing in the emotion that I have been neglecting to feel. “She scares me.” My chest collapses in as I exhale. “I complain about her all the time, but I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

  “Hey, hey, hey.”

  He pulls me in for a hug, and I fall into it, seeking comfort in the warmth of his chest and that woodsy scent I love. My arms cling to his back, and I grip onto him like he’s my lifeline.

  “Don’t worry. I’m gonna do everything I can to make sure she walks out of here, healthy and happy. She’ll be prying into your life again in no time.”

  I laugh into his chest. “Oh, a little heart failure won’t stop her. Thank you though.” I sigh. “I know you’ll take care of her.”

  He leans back and looks down at me, appraising me as he caresses my cheek with his thumb, brushing my hair away from my face. “Is that all?”

  I close my eyes and shake my head. Part of me doesn’t want to say anything, but it’s silly at this point to keep anything from him. “I’m not pregnant. It’s nothing. It just surprised me.”

  “That just means, we try again,” he says easily.

  I open my eyes and see he has smile crinkles on the sides of his eyes. I can’t ignore the way chills rush through my body at his easy way of saying we’ll try again.

  “Unless you want to stop?” His brows rise, making a line appear on his forehead.

  “No. I still want this,” I answer honestly. “You?”

  That tender smile widens, showing off gorgeous pearly whites and the cleft of his chin. “Yes.”

  His attention fixes over my shoulder, and I turn around.

  Brian is in the hallway, staring at us. “I’m heading out,” he says, walking past us.

  “I’ll head out with you,” Christian says to him and then kisses the top of my head. He places his hands on my shoulders and lowers his eyes to mine. “We’ll get her fixed as soon as possible.”

  “I know.” I give a closed-mouth smile in agreement as he backs away.

  “Good night.” My brother kisses me on the cheek, and I watch as the two men walk away.

  Brian has always had respect for Christian’s medical opinion, so I’m sure he’ll use this opportunity to ask him all the questions that have been eating him away all night.

  In Mom’s room, Dad is plugging her iPad into the wall as I walk in. Her favorite Sherpa throw is over her hospital blanket, and a picture of Aiden and Dylan is on her tray table next to another of all seven of us taken at my party a few weeks ago. She has a bag of Werther’s Originals at her side and a murder-mystery novel lying on her lap.

  “You’re all set. Looks like someone is ready to have you move in here permanently,” I joke, rubbing my dad’s shoulders.

  “Your father spoils me,” she says, and Dad makes a humming sound in agreement. Mom holds out her arm, gesturing for me. “Meadow, come here.”

  I walk to the other side of her bed and sit in the wooden guest chair by the window. I take her hand. It’s cold yet smooth. She gives it a squeeze.

  “Thomas is very proud of you, you know.”

  “When did he say that?”

  “Every time I see him. He thinks you’re doing a beautiful job. So do I.”

  “And here I thought, you were annoyed with me for forcing you to come here,” I say, knowing she’s not mad in the slightest.

  She stretches one of her legs. “I knew something was wrong. I just needed someone to tell me what to do. Looks like someone is becoming like her mother.”

  I groan out loud at the thought. She laughs at my dismay.

  “Good thing you pushed me to be a nurse. I wanted to be an actress.”

  She pats the top of my hand. “And a lovely one you would have made. I wanted more for you. Stability.”

  “I know, Mom.”

  And there lies our relationship. She meddles, but it’s only because she loves me. I let her because I love her even more.

  “Doesn’t help that you were right. I enjoy working with Thomas, and, as it turns out, I’m pretty good at what I do.”

  “You get that from my side of the family.” She winks, and I chuckle.

  “I’ve never doubted it.” I kiss her goodbye. “See you tomorrow.” Turning to my dad, I suggest, “Do you want to come to my place and get some sleep?”

  He shakes his head like I’m crazy for even offering. “I’m staying by Mom’s side.”

  “There’s nowhere for you to sleep,” I state.

  He thumps the arm of the reclining chair he’s sitting on. “This is enough for me. I didn’t leave her when you and Brian were born, I didn’t leave her the last time she had heart surgery, and I’m not leaving now.”

  I give my dad the biggest hug, say good night to my parents, and leave the hospital.

  Walking through the park at night isn’t always the wisest decision, but it’s not even nine, and I need the fresh air. Central Park is lit well, and there are many people out, walking their dogs or taking a stroll.

  When I get to Bethesda Fountain, I look up at the bronzed angel gleaming in the moonlight. Her arms are open, asking for my wishes, so I make one.

  I make the same wish, but tonight, I hold my coin to my chest and think of my mom.

  It’s not just a wish; it’s a prayer. A plea for the one woman who has cared for me when I was sick, has fought for me on my down days, and loves me when I’m at my worst. No matter how logical I try to be, I can’t help but feel frightened at the thought of losing her.

  I believe in medicine. I know science, and it’s on her side. Still, the thought of my mother dying is one of the few things in this world that scares me the most. She’s too young to go through heart complications for the second time in her life. As much as she is the pillar of strength for our family, it’s only natural that she’s worried. That’s why she didn’t want to go to the hospital. She’s frightened as well.

  With a flick on my thumb, I toss my coin in the fountain and continue on home.

  Salvatore is there when I get back, and I tell him about my mom. He offers to keep her in his prayers. I appreciate that.

  I take a shower and change. Then, I head to my kitchen and open the refrigerator, staring at the contents with
no desire to cook. We ate an early dinner, so my tummy is grumbling, and I look for something to stifle the hunger. The lasagna, while delicious, looks like a lead weight in the tray. I close the door and stand here with my chin on my chest.

  A knock at the door is the only reason I move my feet. I look through the peephole and see Christian standing in the hallway.

  I open the door.

  I must have a confused expression on my face because he lifts a plastic bag in his hand and explains, “Thought you could use the company.”

  He has the bag in one hand and a leather satchel in the other. He walks past me and into the kitchen, and I close the door behind him in wonder. The satchel is now on the floor by the couch, and he’s rummaging through the contents of the plastic bag at the kitchen counter.

  “I have steak au poivre for you. Chicken saltimbocca for me. I’ll steal your carrots, and you can have my potatoes.” He opens the cabinets and takes out dishes. Gone is the suit from before. He’s wearing jeans and a thin crew neck shirt.

  I watch as he sets the dining table for two, right down to the placemats he knows I keep in the side credenza.

  When he plates our dinners, I ask, “How do you know I haven’t eaten?”

  He looks up with a grin, not stopping what he’s doing. “Have you?”

  “No.”

  “I know,” he says with a smug shrug. “And, since I know you had Sunday sauce at your brother’s, I figured you wouldn’t want to eat the lasagna. Just don’t tell your mother I’m feeding you this late at night.” He winks.

  I shake my head with a light laugh as I grab a pitcher of iced tea from the refrigerator. Since he has surgery tomorrow, he won’t drink alcohol tonight. In fact, I’m astonished he’s doing anything tonight.

  “I’m surprised you came out of your cave this late when you have surgery in the morning.”

  He doesn’t answer. Instead, he holds out a seat for me. I put the pitcher on the table and take the offered seat, looking down at my plate that’s a mishmash of the two dinners he ordered for us.

  “You know what I realized I don’t know about you?” He takes his seat and grabs his fork. “Your favorite flower.”

  He pops in a carrot, and I quirk a brow at him.

  “Makes sense why you jumped from sunflowers to roses. Quite the juxtaposition.” I pour iced tea in our glasses. “Are flowers the only thing you think you don’t know about me?”

  He finishes chewing and weighs this over for a moment. When he swallows, he looks straight at me and recounts, “You use way too much creamer in your coffee; there’s always a jar of peanut butter in your cabinet, and you don’t share because it’s for your dipping spoon only; you have an affinity for scented hand soap; and you have a unique excitement over filing our forms.” There’s a short pause as he looks up, thinking, and then adds, “And you’re afraid of turtles.”

  “They’re slimy, and the way their heads poke out of the shell is creepy.”

  “You’ll eat anything with bananas, even sushi, and if I were to ask you out for a karaoke night, you’d fight me for the microphone.”

  “‘Shoop’ is the best song ever,” I declare with a pointed fork.

  “I also know you keep photos in your nightstand that you refuse to part with because they’re part of your history.” He’s not saying this like it’s a bad thing. He’s just observing.

  I swallow my bite. “I didn’t know anyone knew about those.”

  His eyes look at me, disarming, as a tender, compassionate grin gleams along his face. “I like that you have them. You love hard, and feel deeply. You also hide away. You might not like turtles, but you’re just like one. Turtles can’t let anyone in.”

  “So, now, I’m a turtle?”

  He looks down and smiles sweetly. Then, he looks up at me through his long lashes and speaks as if he has a secret and is letting me in on it, “Hard on the outside, super soft on the inside. It’s okay. Every turtle has to come out of its shell every once in a while. I just wait until you’re ready.”

  There’s a truth to his words, and they hit me in the chest with a force that takes my breath away. It’s beyond belief when someone can describe you better than you can explain yourself.

  “Daisies,” I say as I look down and cut my chicken. “My favorite flower is the daisy.”

  “Good to know.” He grins.

  “So, there we were, standing on the roof, in nothing but our bathing suits, flippers, and scuba masks, locked out in the dead of March.”

  “How did you get back inside?” Christian hands me a dish.

  After dinner, we popped open the tub of chocolate chip cookie dough and split a mug full of it. He’s now washing the dishes with my new faucet while I dry.

  “Luckily, it was the second-floor roof, so we could scale down the side of the building.” I take a dish from him and wipe it with the dishrag.

  “I take it, you had to ditch the flippers.”

  “And the masks. Problem was, when we got on the ground, it was in front of the picture window of the meeting space where the president was hosting an alumni dinner.”

  He turns around to assess my face. “You’ve got to be kidding me. How come I’ve never heard this story before?”

  I guffaw. “Because it was pretty damn embarrassing.”

  “No. It’s pretty damn funny.”

  “Maybe now. At the time, it mortified me.”

  “All this to get into a sorority.” He raises a brow. “Wait, you weren’t in a sorority.”

  “Hell no. Between the danger of being trapped on the roof and the bikini show we gave to the alumni—which the girls knew was going to happen once we climbed down—I realized it wasn’t for me. I joined the Good Samaritans Society instead.”

  “That’s my little do-gooder,” he says, so I give him the finger. He retaliates by splashing me with water.

  “Real mature,” I chide, and he splashes me again.

  I grab a cup of iced tea off the counter and dip my fingers in to flick him. He looks down at his shirt and the tea-colored stain on it. A wicked Cheshire cat grin coats his face as he steps away from the sink and lunges toward me.

  “You asked for it.” His voice is teasing, and in seconds, I’m tackled down to the floor.

  It’s way past my bedtime and what I would think is Christian’s. I thought he would have left an hour ago, but he’s still here. I’m happy; don’t get me wrong. I’m just … confused.

  My bathroom door is closed since he walked in there with his satchel. I’m in the living room, straightening up, as the door opens at the end of the hallway, and he steps out, wearing flannel pajamas and a white T-shirt.

  “Meadow,” he calls out, and I pop into view. “Where’s your toothpaste?”

  “In the medicine cabinet.” I point even though I only have one cabinet in the bathroom, so it shouldn’t be difficult for him to find.

  He keeps the door open while he brushes his teeth, and I stare at him as one would a lion in a safari.

  He’s a fertile male, distinguishable for his impressive mane, signifying masculinity. The darker the mane, the healthier the lion, as it allows him to appear stronger and appeal to lionesses, which are proven to be more attracted to thick, dark manes.

  Christian turns the light off and exits the bathroom with his satchel in hand. He walks it into the living room where he places it on the coffee table and takes out a blue file folder.

  “I thought you had surgery tomorrow?” I say as it has become abundantly clear that he is staying over.

  “I do.” He looks up from the open file that holds scans and hospital records.

  “You’re staying,” I state the obvious.

  He looks around, puzzled. “Unless you want me to leave. Although I’d prefer not to go home in my pajamas.”

  “No. I want you to stay. I just know you like to stay home the night before surgery.”

  “The surgery isn’t until the afternoon, so I thought I’d sleep in a little. I brought my stuff, s
o I can review here. Is that okay?”

  “Yeah. I’ve just never seen you go out of your routine.”

  His teeth skim his full lower lip. “You were upset for more than one reason tonight. I thought you could use the company more than I could use the silence.”

  A rush of emotion swarms up my spine and flocks into my chest, making my heart feel like it’s grown ten sizes. Good thing it’s protected by my rib cage, or that one line of chivalry would have had it bursting out and into his arms.

  I walk up to him, kiss him on the cheek, and then head back to my room to get ready for bed.

  I look at myself in my t-shirt and decide I should be an adult tonight. I slide on silk pajamas and then head to the bathroom to brush my teeth. I smile at the sight of his toothbrush sitting in the holder.

  In the living room, Christian is sitting on the couch with his feet propped up on the coffee table, an iPad in his hand and a medical journal on his lap. He’s looking at the scans and flipping through the screen in serious concentration.

  I take the romance novel off the bookshelf and take a seat on the opposite end of the couch, stretching out my legs until they’re just touching him.

  Christian lays a hand on my foot and gently rubs it as he does his work.

  I open my book and read.

  It’s been said, the one thing you can’t control is the weather. We can control our careers and our diets and, to some degree, our personal relationships. It is an undeniable truth that you can’t stop the rain clouds from forming and pouring down buckets of condensation. I whip open my umbrella and run out of the office. You might not be able to control it, but you can prepare for it.

  The weather saying is only partly true. While you can’t control if it will be rain or shine, you also can’t prevent many diseases. Sure, with a healthy lifestyle, there are many you can control. Certain cancers, nerve and spine disease, and heart valve deterioration are not one of them.

  My mother has had mitral valve prolapse her entire adult life. It was never a big deal. Taking an antibiotic when she went to the dentist was the extent of her coronary care. As time went by, she felt flutters, got sick, and had to have the valve replaced. We joked at the time that she was part pig because she had a replacement valve made of porcine tissue. She didn’t care for the jokes, and we laid off, living life as we had before. It was fine until recently when her seemingly healthy life took a one-eighty.