“Thank you,” I say, but the surgeon is already walking away, ready for their next case.
“That was stressful,” says Ronnie, slumping down into a chair. She’s been pacing and prowling around the waiting room, which was stressing me out, so I’m glad she’s finally sitting. “At least we know she’s going to be okay.”
“Yeah, now we’ll just have to deal with the mess that is her life.” I rub the sleep from my eyes. I’m exhausted and emotionally drained. “I’m not surprised Dad left, but she’s going to need a lot of help dealing with that emotionally. That’s going to be worse than the recovery from surgery.”
“Just so you know, that’s not all on you,” says Ronnie, slinging her arm around my shoulders to pull me closer. “She needs therapy.”
“I doubt she’ll go.” Not unless the therapist will promise to help her get Dad back. “Dad has always been her entire life, and now he’s abandoned her. I don’t know what she’s going to do.”
“Whatever she wants,” says Ronnie with confidence. “Besides, he was always the worst. She’s better off this way.”
“True, he never met another woman he didn’t want to sleep with.” That’s my dad: womanizer, and solid reason not to trust men.
“Well, yeah, but I was more thinking because he never supported your mom. Not emotionally at least. And a good guy, he’ll always support the dreams of the woman he loves.” Ronnie stands and stretches as if she didn’t just say something so incredibly romantic it makes my heart ache. “Do you want me to stay the night with you here?”
“No, I’ll be fine. There’s probably only one chair in the room to sleep in anyway.” I stand and pull Ronnie in for a hug. I really do appreciate her being here beside me through this, and everything else the past few weeks have thrown at me. “Besides, no use in us both getting uncomfortable sleep while listening to my mom complain that we’re not my dad.”
She gives me a sympathetic look as she squeezes my arm. “All right, I’ll go return Courtney’s car and come back tomorrow with fresh clothes for you.”
“Thanks.” I stand there, watching Ronnie walk away. While I’m in a really sucky situation, I’m glad I have my best friend by my side.
The hospital room chair is even worse than I imagined. Not that I’d be getting any sleep even if it was the most comfortable thing ever. Mom doesn’t want to rest at all. She wants to leave and try to go find Dad herself to convince him to come back to her. She’s saying all sorts of ridiculous things, insisting that this has happened before and he always comes back when she grovels, which I find surprising. Not because I think it’s out of character for her—it’s absolutely not—but because the most likely reason is that whatever girl he left Mom for realized he was trash and kicked him out. But it’s mainly a surprise because I didn’t know about any of this. She never told me.
“Mom, you can’t go find Dad right now. You just had surgery,” I explain for at least the sixth time. “The doctors aren’t just going to let you leave.”
“But I need to be with him. I’ll sign myself out against medical advice. I have to go explain to him why he’s making a mistake. What is he going to do without me? Who will make him dinner and fold his laundry?” She tries to swing her legs out of the bed, but I block her and push them back onto the mattress. We’ve been doing this dance every few hours all night. They said her concussion was very mild, but I’m tempted to ask them to check again because she’s obviously not thinking clearly. Unfortunately, I know it’s not a head injury that’s causing this behavior. This is just my mom.
“Knock, knock,” says Ronnie from the doorway.
“You don’t have to knock.” Ronnie has already seen the worst of my family. If she hasn’t run yet, I doubt she will.
“I brought you some clean clothes.” She hands me a bag.
“I love you.” I am definitely starting to feel ripe. I’d love a shower, but that can wait a while longer. Clean clothes, though, will help a lot.
When I come out of changing in the bathroom, Ronnie is listening patiently to my mom at her bedside. I wish I could getMom to calm down that much, but she seems to get agitated whenever she talks to me.
“All right, well, I have class, but text me if you need anything,” says Ronnie, pulling me into a big hug.
“Thanks again.” I hug her back. I’m so exhausted, but she’s gotten my mom settled enough that maybe I’ll get a little bit of a break.
But as soon as she’s gone, Mom goes back to demanding I give her back her phone. I’ve asked the nurses’ station to keep it for me because if it’s in the room, she’ll try to get out of bed to get to it. And all she does once she has it is try to call Dad. I’m afraid he’ll try to get a restraining order if she keeps it up.
“How about this,” I say, trying to get her to focus on me. “If Dad calls or texts me, I’ll ask him to come visit.” I highly doubt he’ll do either of those things, but at least it’s a promise I can keep.
“All right. He’ll call soon,” says Mom, nodding to herself. “I’m sure he’s worried sick about where I am.”
“I’m going to go grab a coffee. I’ll be right back, okay?” I slowly back toward the door, half convinced she’s going to try to follow me, but her head bobs in agreement. I’ll have to trust her because it’s been possibly the longest night of my life, and I need coffee. There’s no way around it.
I let the nurses’ station know I’m stepping away and she’s alone in the room, then make my way down to the cafeteria. The first sip of coffee is … a disappointment. It’s worse than the hotel coffee we had at Nationals. But at least it’s caffeine.
Although each sip makes me think yet again of the amazing coffee the guys brewed each morning that I stayed with them. And then I remember that they should be leaving soon for Worlds, if they haven’t already. Events start tomorrow, and they’ll want to get there early to adjust to the different time zone.
It’s probably better for them that I won’t be there this time. I won’t distract them. They’ll need to stay focused to achieve not only their personal bests, but also the titles of World Champions. This is everything they’ve ever worked for.
Meanwhile, I’m heading back up to the hospital room to take care of my mother and drink crappy coffee, with absolutely zero possibilities for my own career. Once everything is sorted with Mom, I’m going to have to make an appointment with my academic advisor and get his help sorting things out.
Actually, no, I decide as I wait for the elevator. I’m not going to wait. This is my career. I can take care of Mom and solve the problem of my future at the same time.
