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“Well, I’ll be back in the morning first thing,” she assured, kissing my forehead. “I will give them direct orders to call if anything changes or if you need anything. I love you.”
The rest of the room echoed the sentiment, and maybe it was the painkillers, but I felt a little gushy inside to be surrounded by so many people who cared. When they all said their goodbyes and gave a few more winks, I savored the quiet, finally allowed to think about all that happened.
It was a ridiculous mess. A broken ankle and being off work was the last thing I needed. And now some popstar was responsible. What was he even doing in Ocean City, and why did he seem like he was hiding?
They were thoughts for another time because my eyes were heavy. I fell asleep hoping I’d wake up from it all and realize it hadn’t happened.
Except, if I was being completely honest, the part about the gorgeous popstar who had become enmeshed in my life, even if just for a moment. I thought someday it would be a story I’d tell my grandchildren, about the weird day when a popstar accidentally tripped me on the stairs.
That’s all he would be, though. Some story.
Or so I thought.
Chapter Eight
“I still feel guilty. Maybe I could just call Fannie and see if she could cover. I took over for her a day last month when her dog groomer called with an emergency.”
I scrolled on my phone, listening to my mom continue on and on even though I’d already told her she could just go and that I’d be fine. I had a broken ankle and a bump on my head, something many others had lived through, I assured her. To be transparent, I wasn’t feeling very good. My head hurt worse than I was admitting, and my whole body felt like I got hit by a bus—three times. I was never going to acknowledge that, though, and risk having her hover over me all day. Especially not after she’d likened me to Fannie’s dog in a roundabout manner.
When my mother was nervous, her detailed stories and speed of talking enhanced tenfold, and ever since they’d released me from the hospital, she’d been a bundle of nerves. She’d jotted down notes about my aftercare like she was studying for the bar exam. She’d insisted I was using the crutches wrong and made me stop and have a lesson on the way into the condo even though she admittedly never had to use crutches in her life. She’d demanded that rest was the only thing on my schedule for the remainder of the summer, sending my dad to talk to Tino about my leave of absence. I was too groggy to argue; that would be a discussion for another day, however. I would not survive being my mother’s hostage for the entire summer.
But after she’d settled me onto the sofa with gameshows, Pickles, and force fed me healthy foods to promote healing—which was code for really gross food—the hotel had called. There was an issue with the electricity, and Vivian, the newest employee, was in tears with hundreds of angry guests.
“Mom, I’m fine. Really.” I was more than happy to convince Mom the hotel needed her more than me.
“I’ve seen you on those crutches. You’re likely to break your neck getting up to get water.” She tapped the table in indecision. I leaned my head back on the couch. Dad was at an important deposition and couldn’t stay back. I could see Mom’s wheels turning.
“Just go. Vivian needs you.”
The fixer in Mom latched onto those words. “You’re right. And I know exactly who will help.”
Mom grabbed her phone and punched in the numbers. I squinted, worried she was calling for a babysitter. I pictured my afternoon with a gum-chewing teenager paid to watch over me, my last ounce of pride dying a slow, agonizing death. She hung up the phone a few minutes later, though, with a smile. After she told me her illustrious plan, I sighed in relief. One could do worse than to have Dorothy as their babysitter.
***
“SO, WAS OUR BRITISH hottie at the hospital to see you off this morning?” Dorothy asked as she settled onto the sofa, picking up Pickles and giving the purring cat a kiss.
