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I had to eat no matter what. My medication couldn’t be taken on an empty stomach or it wouldn’t be absorbed correctly. And if it wasn’t absorbed correctly, then we’d be in a very different situation than we were now.
My mom looked at me, and I mean really looked at me, and she saw right through my flippant attitude and immediately dropped Joslin’s hand and started hustling to the kitchen.
I followed her, keeping my eyes on my mother’s back instead of on Joslin’s annoyed face, and Dean’s pissed off one.
Whoops.
Spoiled their big reveal. My bad.
She may love Joslin and Dean, but she loved her baby boy more. Tattoos, disappointment, and all.
“They told me about today,” she whispered once she was in the kitchen.
“I…I don’t like it. I feel like I should’ve done more. Been faster. I don’t know. He was a police officer,” I told her.
That tid-bit hadn’t been released as of yet.
So when she gasped and whirled around, a block of cheese in one hand, and a Tupperware of cold cuts in the other, I realized I’d surprised her.
“What?” She asked in horror.
I nodded. “The murder suicide was with a cop and his wife,” I confirmed.
“God, that’s horrible. And I heard the doctors talking. The baby will live, but they’re not sure about what cognitively was effected yet, correct?” She asked, placing the food on the counter and making me a sandwich.
When she would’ve reached back in for the tomatoes I stopped her. “None of those, please.”
She looked at me, looked at the tomato that she knew I loved, and nodded, placing it back on the shelf in the fridge and closing it with her backside.
“And yes, that’s what I heard when I called to check on him earlier. They’re keeping him in a medically induced coma until they’re sure the swelling is down to a manageable level. They’re contacting the paternal grandparents, too.” I knew that would be her next question.
My mom had a bit of a soft heart for those who didn’t have family.
Which was why Joslin was so loved by her.
Joslin’s parents weren’t what one would call ‘quality’ people.
They both smoked weed and neither had a job. I wasn’t even certain how they funded their extracurricular activities.
Then again, I’d never asked seeing as I was a fuckin’ cop.
She smiled at me.
“That’s good. Is he on the ped’s floor or in ICU?” She asked.
My mother worked on the pediatric floor.
That’d been where she was working when she met my father, who was a pediatrician, thirty five years ago.
My sister worked on the ICU floor, and Dean was a general surgeon.
“ICU for now. Ped’s when he gets better,” I answered, accepting the sandwich she offered me.
Her nose scrunched when she caught a closer look at my tattoos, and I barely restrained the urge to roll my eyes.
What was the big fuckin’ deal about the tattoos?
I thought they were fuckin’ great.
She, on the other hand, thought they were ugly.
Whatever.
“So, when did Joslin and Dean start dating? I hadn’t realized they were even together,” I asked, taking a bite of my sandwich.
It felt like a mouthful of sand as I chewed and swallowed.
I washed it down with a large slug of sweet tea that my mother handed me, and finished the sandwich in three bites while my mother worked the corner of her lip with her teeth.
“Well?” I asked again.
She sighed. “They’ve been seeing each other for going on a year now, Michael.”
I blinked. “No shit?”
She narrowed her eyes. “Michael, you know how I don’t like when you curse.”
Being on the ped’s floor really kept my mother from using bad language day in and day out. She rarely, if ever, used them. And hated when her family did.
“What’s the big secret?” I wondered aloud.
My mother pursed her lips. “Joslin said you’d be upset, and she’d like to keep it quiet until they were ready to share the news, and I went along with it.”
I raised my brow at her. “You do realize, right, that I’m your child and not her. She was in the family for less than a year if you want to count the amount of time we spent separated. Why keep her secret from your own son? It’s not that I’m torn up about it, I’m just disappointed in my family for keeping it from me. I’m not going to fucking break.”
“Language!” She snapped.
I threw up my arm.
“Thanks for dinner, ma. Maybe you can let me know when you’d rather put me ahead of my ex. I’ve got some awesome stories that I think you’ll find extremely interesting,” I said, walking to the back door.
“Mikey,” my mother said worriedly.
I held up my hand. “Save it.”
With that, I left and didn’t look back.Chapter 4I hate you. Not in an ‘I hope you die’ kind of way, but more like I hope you develop an allergy to chocolate and cheese kind of way.
-Coffee Cup
Nikki
“Hey there, Nikki!” Joanna said from her position behind her desk at the Pediatric ICU nursing station. “How have you been?”
I smiled. “I’m good. I just came up here to check up on that little boy. How’s he doing?”
She smiled sadly at me. “Lonely, I’m sure. But I’m short two nurses and we’re nearly at capacity.”
I brightened. “Do you mind if I sit with him for a while?”
“I think he’d like that,” she smiled.
Taking her words to heart, I followed the directions to his room, and walked in on a starkly white room with a crib in the middle of it.
Well, a hospital bed, crib.
It really wasn’t much of a crib.
It didn’t have that homey feeling like most cribs had.
This one was cold, metal, and bland.
And the tiny boy in the middle of it, hooked up to hundreds of tubes and wires, broke my heart.
I loved children.
I loved them with a passion and fierceness so powerful that I could barely see straight.
And I’d never have any of my own.
So I soaked it up by spending time with other people’s children.
And it looked like this little guy could use a friend.
