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She doesn’t get the chance to finish that statement because the doctor walks up, expression serious.
And just like that, our baby is getting prepped for surgery.
It all happens in a rush.
One second we’re in the ER, Roxie having just drifted off to sleep, and the next we’re being bundled off to a room and my daughter is awake and scared and in pain and doesn’t want us to leave her.
She clings to Brit’s hand, all in on her mom right now. “I don’t want to, Mom. Please don’t make me.”
The nurse is working on her IV, getting ready to administer some happy juice—a.k.a. something to relax her. But it’s not in Rox’s body right now and that switch inside her has been triggered.
There’s no pulling her back from the edge.
Not when she gets like this.
It’s why her threenager years were fucking torture.
“Rox, baby,” Brit says, cupping her face in both hands. “Sometimes we have to do things we really don’t like to do. Remember with the IV”—she nods at Rox’s arm—“you didn’t want to have the needle when we first came in, right? But you did it and they made you feel better and?—”
“I do feel better,” Rox says, clearly grasping at straws. “I’m all better, so I don’t need to?—”
“A slight sting, honey,” the nurse murmurs. Not that Roxie hears. She’s too focused on Brit and proving that she’s better, that her appendix isn’t at risk of bursting.
Not that she knows what that means.
Roxie hisses.
Brit keeps her face close, keeps her focus.
Distraction is key sometimes.
“I know you’re feeling better, but they’re going to help you feel even more better,” she says, tone light and easy. “So much so that you’ll be back on the ice and can do sleepovers at Uncle Mike and Auntie Sara’s place in no time.”
Roxie’s face is relaxing, but I can tell she hasn’t bought in, not completely anyway.
“And we can go down to Half Moon Bay,” Brit says, “and have one of our special Mom Dates.”
Rox’s lids—which had been slowly sliding closed—flash open. “To the fancy hotel by the ocean?”
Brit’s mouth hitches up. “Yeah, baby.”
“Another sting, sweetie,” the nurse says.
Roxie winces. “Can we get pedicures, Mom?”
Brit chuckles softly. “Always negotiating, huh, baby girl?”
“It’s my superpower,” Rox announces proudly, though the words are more than a little slurred now.
Brit chuckles again. “Yes to brunch and pedicures,” she says, then gently nudges Roxie back onto the gurney. “Now relax, baby, and let us worry about you for a bit.”
“That’s your superpower,” Rox murmurs, lids shutting.
And bribery for the win.
“Nice, Mama,” the nurse whispers, hanging an IV bag onto the machine next to Roxie’s and then bending down to unlock the brakes. “We’ll have her back to you safe and sound as soon as possible.”
“Thanks,” Brit says so softly I barely hear it.
