Page 90 of 32 Days in May

“Bones. Definitely Bones.”

“David Boreanaz is such a babe.”

Without thinking, I say, “I think Marco and I are over.”

She dismisses me with a brisk shake of her head. “We’ll think about that later.”

It’s decided, then. The show begins, the theme song playing, the premise set up. There are bones that need to be Bones’d.

Liv fiddles absently with the tape on the back of my hand. From the side, she really looks like our mom. Everything’s fuzzy again—but a good fuzzy. Fuzzy like sleep after a long day.

“Remember when we used to share a bedroom?” I ask, my voice already fading away. I hope this doesn’t scare her. I’m okay, I think. Just tired.

“Uh huh,” she huffs. She doesn’t take her eyes off the TV. “That fucking sucked.”

Saturday, May 27

There’s a soft knock at my door before it clicks open, and a figure—broad and handsome and painfully familiar—darkens the threshold.

I push myself up in the hospital bed. “Doctor.”

The door clicks behind Dr. Antoniou and he turns to me with a look of total annoyance. “God, city people. Why would I lie about being your rheumatologist?” He punctuates this by taking two very noisy pumps of hand sanitizer from the dispenser by the door. This feels like a rhetorical question, so I just sit up a little straighter in bed, smoothing a hand over the back of my head. My curls are completely stretched. I haven’t brushed my teeth in . . .

Why do I care?

With a shake of his head, he crosses the room and sinks down into the chair that Liv had spent most of the morning occupying while I was transported from the room to various other floors around the hospital where my body was examined, X-rayed, pinched, pricked, and frequently left to wait in really cold hallways. Underneath his long, lean frame, the chair looks cartoonishly small. He slides forward, locking his eyes on mine. “How are you, champ?”

Fucking hate that word.

I almost hate him. Almost.

Sebastian and Marco look a lot alike, especially right now with Dr. Antoniou not in any of his usual medical garb. I blink twice to make sure I’m not imagining it. But it’s all still there, all the hurt in my chest, when my eyes refocus. “Um, I’m okay? A little better.” I point at the IV drip over my shoulder. “They’re giving me The Good Stuff.”

He laughs. “They better be. You’ve had one hell of a time. How do your joints feel? Your muscles?”

“Stiff. But not as achy as before.”

“And your head?”

“Better.” We fall into a tense, awkward silence. I keep my eyes fixed on the thin blue blanket stretched over my legs. He’s watching me with a look halfway between concern and pity. Eventually, I ask: “How was your trip?”

“It was nice.” He nods. “Wonderful. I heard you’ve had a very eventful month.”

I drop my eyes immediately. “Did he tell you that?”

“Your sister, actually.”

“Traitor,” I mumble.

Dr. Antoniou laughs softly. “I’m happy you took my advice to get out more.”

“Marco is very persuasive.”

“He is. He’s charming.” Sebastian nods, pulling his lips into a sloping frown. “I think your sister has spoken to him—given him an update on your situation.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I say softly. “I relinquished my phone to her.”

“I’m really happy you told him,” Sebastian says. “I wish you’d been honest from the beginning.”