“I heard what happened.” She ignores me and talks directly to Cosmos. “I paged Dr. Newberry about the blood pressure spike. They’re calling cardiology to adjust meds.”
Cosmos looks pointedly from Samantha to me.Her expression changes so fast it nearly gives me whiplash, going from Type-A All Business Resident to Concerned Preschool Teacher faster than I can blink. “Hey, how’s your Mom doing?”
A forced smile tightens my cheeks. “Fine.”
Cosmos turns toward Samantha, angling me out of the conversation, which is fine with me. I need to get back to Mom anyway and was probably reading way too much into whatever is going on between us. It’s better if we stop talking now, before I start jumping to even more conclusions. Or acting on my thoughts. A very bad idea, since most of those thoughts involve a lot of touching… and licking.
I step back into Mom’s room and slowly close the door. My phone vibrates again. Another text from Jeremy.
Ex-Dad:
How’s your mom doing?
Like he cares. I should call him back just to tell him to back off. But that would require a confrontation, and the thought of talking to him makes me immediately exhausted.
I open my text chain with Kiara and tap my phone against my chin, staring at the closed door that stands between me and Cosmos.
“You okay, Hazelnut?” Mom mumbles from the bed.
“Yeah,” I answer, still thinking. “Would you mind if I left for a few hours tonight?”
“Of course not. I probably won’t even know.” Shedoesn’t mean the words to sting. She just means she’ll sleep the whole time. But somehow the statement makes me feel like all the work I’ve put into taking care of her is unnecessary. Unappreciated. It makes me feel invisible and alone.
Yeah, it would be good for me to get out. I type a quick response to Kiara.
I’ll be there.
Chapter Fourteen
The Book Bar is different on Friday nights. Most of the time, it’s cozy and quiet. A good place to have a drink with friends or sit and write by yourself. Sometimes Kiara and I come here for afternoon ‘book dates.’ We each order a coffee drink, buy a paperback, and read quietly side-by-side. Occasionally, we’ll read passages we like aloud to one another. It’s pretty much my dream date.
I once suggested it to Kane, and he told me it was the most boring date idea he’d ever heard. When I tried to argue that it was relaxing, he accused me of thinking he wasn’t as interesting as my books. We ended up staying on his couch watching an action movie together. The whole time I tried to figure out how that was different from reading books together. I never figured it out.
A year later, the memory still makes my chest ache with how similar it feels to all those times Jeremy toldme to put my book down and socialize, all the times I was told I was being rude for reading at a party, all the times I was called anti-social for having my nose in a book, even when everyone else had their eyes glued to a screen.
I shake off the ghost memories and scan the room for Kiara. Tonight, the Book Bar is less English library and more frat party. Not my scene. I’m kind of shocked so many people are interested in open mic night. Either some real talent attracts crowds, or a few of the readers are just very popular and invited everyone they know.
I want to run, but I told Kiara I’d be here, and I can’t leave without seeing her perform. Especially since she’s been begging me to come with her all semester, and I haven’t.
As I weave through the room, I bump into a table, snag my sweater on the buckle of a purse hanging over the edge of a chair, and almost knock over a guy’s drink. He doesn’t look old enough to have it anyway, but I still feel like an out-of-place klutz. I hate navigating places like this.
When a rowdy group jumps up from their table to smash their chests together in some show of machoism, I hop back too quickly and slam my heel down on someone’s foot.
“Ow!” the man yells, but when he looks down at me his frown lifts. He’s tall with shoulders so wide I can’t see around him. He’s wearing a Portland Trail Blazers’ jersey and holding two empty beer mugs inone hand. Not exactly the poetry-reading type, but hey, who am I to judge?
His lips lift in a sleazy smile as his eyes linger on my chest. “Hey there, beautiful. Where are you going in such a hurry?”
Away from you. “Sorry,” I mumble, turning away.
He grabs my elbow, fingers digging in. “Buy me a drink. It’d go a long way toward easing the pain.”
“I, um…” I did step pretty hard on his foot. Do I owe him a drink? What’s the social etiquette here? Is there one? I need to think of something to say that’ll get me out of this without hurting his feelings or making him call me a bitch. I’ve been told way too often that I’m rude and bitchy, and I really can’t deal with that right now.
My mind is spinning at a hundred miles per hour, but also somehow absolutely still. Blank. Like every thought has left, and all that’s remained is panic. I have no idea how to navigate this social situation, and I hate that.
“Come on now, sweetheart,” he says, smiling. “It’s just a drink.”
“I don’t… I can’t…” My heart hammers in my chest, but no matter how hard I try I can’t think of the right thing to say. It’s like the pages have been ripped out of my brain, and now my only thought is just the pound of my heart trying to break out of my ribcage and run away.
