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“Who am I kidding?” She snorts. “Her underwear don’t have days on them. She’s the kind of lady who wears Victory’s Secretive. I went into that store once and got overwhelmed. Too many choices, you know?” Maybe glances at the nurse, and the kind, older woman fights her grin by nodding.
“See?” Maybe points an index finger toward her nurse. “She knows. You know.”
The nurse nods again, but this time, she’s full-on smiling. “Yes, honey, I know.”
And Maybe keeps going. “That place, Victory’s Secret, they have bras with boobs already in them. Water boobs. I don’t want water boobs, ya know? I want normal boobs. And I actually love my boobs. I have nice boobs.” She turns that index finger in my direction. “And I love your boobs. Your pecs. Your man chesticles. I love them too. I love everything about you.
“You probs don’t know this, but I’ve been in love with you since I was, like, eleven or something. Wait…” She pauses. “No. I wasn’t. Well, I was crushing on you. But I didn’t really start loving you, crashing into love with you, until now. Well, not now, now, but you know what I’m saying. I love you. I’m in love with you. And I was so happy when I found out that Victory’s Secret model with the pretty face and the water boobs in her dress wasn’t your date. That she was your cousin. Not, like, your cousin that you’re dating, but just your cousin. I was so happy about that. Because I lover you so much.”
Goddamn. This girl.
“Yep,” she mutters as her eyes start to close a bit. “I lover you, you bastard.”
“Maybe?” I say her name, but she doesn’t open her eyes again.
“She’s still pretty heavily sedated.” The nurse’s soft voice fills my ears, and I move my gaze to her.
“Are you sure she’s going to be okay?” I question. “I mean, I know she had to go under general anesthesia, but is this normal?”
She nods. “Dr. Shepard is confident she’ll make a full recovery. She’ll probably be able to be discharged either tomorrow night or the following morning.”
“Really? That soon?”
“Yep,” she answers and connects a new IV bag to Maybe’s line. “She just needs to sleep off the anesthesia a bit, but in a few hours, she’ll be herself again.”
I nod and look at a now-snoring Maybe.
“Can I ask you a question that’s completely none of my business, but I’m just too curious not to ask?”
I look back at the nurse. “Sure.”
“Do you love her back?”
I don’t even have to think about my answer. “More than anything.”
“Damn,” she says on a dreamy sigh. “I sure do love the hell out of real-life romance.”
Real-life romance. Yeah. I don’t mind the sound of that.
Maybe
I blink my eyes open, and as my foggy vision clears, I find myself in a hospital bed.
Holy cannoli. Shit really went down last night.
I’m in a hospital gown. An IV is stuck into my arm and connects to a line that has some kind of clear fluids going into my veins. And a cup of watered-down ice chips and a remote control that’s connected to my bed sit on a side table to my left.
My mouth is drier than the damn Sahara, and I reach out with an unsteady hand to pop a piece of ice past my lips. It’s cold and refreshing and gone in no time at all and, immediately, I toss a few more pieces into my mouth.
I grab the remote and turn on the TV and mindlessly watch the morning news as I try to recount last night’s events in my head.
Evan’s wedding.
Walking down the aisle with Milo.
Dancing with Milo.
Trying to drown my Milo sorrows in a glass of wine but stopping after a sip when my stomach started to hurt again.
And the pain getting so intense I thought I might puke.
Milo being there and taking me to the hospital.
Lying on the surgical table with the bright light in my face as the doctor told me he needed to remove my appendix.
Someone putting a mask over my nose and mouth and telling me to take a few deep breaths.
And then…nothing.
Good Lord, I really know how to go out with a damn bang.
“Well, lookie who is awake,” Evan greets with a big smile as he steps into my room. “If it isn’t Ms. Drama Queen herself.”
I cringe. “God, I’m sorry.”
“I’m kidding, Mayb.” He shakes his head and sits in the chair beside my bed. “I’m relieved that you’re okay. I was pretty worried about you. We all were, actually.”
“Sounds like I created quite the scene at your reception.”
“Don’t worry about it.” He waves me off with a nonchalant hand. “Plus, it was nice that you waited to have a medical emergency until after we cut the cake.”
I laugh, but the movement causes discomfort in my stomach. “Ow, don’t make me laugh, you jerk.”
