Thank God for Zach.
Only the best Steel beef for you from now on, buddy.
“Dave? Sage? Angie?”
“Angie and Jason are on their honeymoon. We haven’t been able to get in touch with them yet. Dave and Sage are here in the waiting area.”
I swallow. It hurts. “Don’t bother Angie,” I say. “I don’t want to mess up her honeymoon.”
“She’d never forgive us if we didn’t let her know,” Mom says.
She’s right, of course. “Okay. But tell them I’m going to be okay and they don’t need to cut their trip short. That would just make me feel worse.”
“Of course.” Mom kisses my forehead again. “My sweet baby boy.”
My sweet baby boy…
Except I wasn’t her baby boy. I was nearly two when she and my dad got married. She never held me as a baby. Never fed me from her breast like she did the others. Never even fed me from a bottle.
But I wouldn’t remember any of those things anyway.
She would, though. She would remember. She has those memories for Dave, Angie, and Sage.
Dad rises. “I’m going to go tell Sage and Dave that you’re awake. They’ll want to see you.” He leaves the hospital room, closing the door softly.
“Do you want some water?” Mom asks. “Ice chips?”
I nod. “Ice chips. My throat hurts.”
“That’s from the intubation. It’ll get better soon. The ice will help.” She rings for the nurse.
While we wait for the nurse, Tabitha’s face drifts into my mind—her amber eyes, the way she laughs with her whole body, like she can’t hold anything back. She doesn’t belong here in this sterile room, but she’s here anyway, in me.
I clear my throat. “Tabitha…”
My mother tilts her head. “What about her?”
Before I can say anything, a nurse enters. “Yes?” she asks.
“My son would like some ice chips, please,” Mom tells her.
“Of course, right away.” She looks at me. “How are you feeling, Mr. Simpson?”
“A little groggy,” I choke out.
“I’m sure you are.” She smiles. “I’ll be right back with your ice.”
“What about Tabitha?” Mom asks once the nurse leaves.
“I… I need to see her,” I say, every word a rasp. “I want her here.”
My mother studies me for a moment but then nods. “Of course. We’ll call her.”
My vision is still a bit blurry, but I can see the questions in my mother’s eyes. Questions she’s keeping herself from asking because all that matters to her is that I’m okay.
And just like that, I know it doesn’t matter to her that she didn’t hold me as a newborn, didn’t feed me from her own breast.
She loves me anyway, as much as any mother could.
