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Two soft knocks sound at the door before a woman pops her head in. She’s dressed in a white doctor’s coat, her curly red locks pulled up into a practical ponytail. She’s got kind eyes and a gentle smile.
“Hello,” she greets. “I’m Dr. Linda Philips. I heard some talking in here, so I thought I’d stop in and see how you’re doing.”
A-Ma nods. “Yes, she awake now.”
Dr. Philips comes over and picks up my patient chart that’s hanging at the end of the hospital bed. She scans the documents quickly, reviewing my case as she asks me a couple of basic questions.
“How are you feeling, Eve?”
“My head hurts.”
“I expect it does. You were out for a while, so we went ahead and performed a CT scan to make sure your brain is okay.”
CT scan? I can practically see the dollar signs.
“Any bad news?” I press on.
“There are no signs of swelling or internal bleeding. We’ve determined that you fainted due to lack of proper sleep and poor diet.”
“Poor diet?” I frown. As far as meals go, I eat a fairly balanced mix of protein, veggies, and fats. It’s important for someone who’s burning thousands of calories a day to eat properly.
Dr. Philips nods. “I’ll know for sure if you’ll consent to a blood test.”
I bite my lower lip. “How much does that cost?”
A-Ma shakes her head. “Don’t worry about cost. Please, do test.”
The doctor smiles patiently. “It’s ultimately Eve’s decision. I’m not about to stick her with a needle if she doesn’t want that.”
A-Ma gives me an expectant look. After the whirlwind I forced her to sit through, I can’t bring myself to say no.
I sigh. “All right. Please go ahead.”
“Thank you, Eve. I’ll have one of my nurses step in shortly to take care of it.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” A-Ma says. “Thank you, thank you.”
At the door, Dr. Philips stops and looks to me. “By the way, there’s a gentleman sitting in the waiting room down the hall. He’s been here all night. Keeps asking to see you.”
I frown. “Is there?”
“Says his name is Nathanial Winthrop. Do you know him?”
A shiver snakes its way down my spine.
“Nate’s here?” I say without thinking.
“I go get him,” A-Ma offers, getting up to leave.
With a burst of energy I didn’t know I had, I snatch her by the hand to keep her from walking away. “No. No, please. Don’t do that.”
“Why no? He so sweet to visit.”
“I don’t want to see him right now.”
A-Ma looks as confused as I feel. “Are you sure?”
I nod slowly. “I don’t want to see him.”
“Something happen?”
I shake my head, sighing heavily. My chest and throat constrict painfully as panic mounts. I can’t see Nate. Mrs. Winthrop made things perfectly clear. No matter how badly I want to talk to him, no matter how glad and touched I am that he’s here, I can’t.
“Just send him away,” I say, the words heavy on my tongue. “Please.”
A-Ma hesitates but ultimately nods and leaves with Dr. Philips through the hospital room doors.
I finally get a moment of silence, save for the gentle beeping of the machine I’m hooked up to. It’s a nice sound, oddly enough. Kind of like a metronome.
I force my mind to go blank. I don’t know how to feel. I’m worn out, my head hurts, and the worry of debt and the fate of my dancing career hang over me like an ax. Nate’s outside, just a few yards away, but I can’t go to him. He can’t come to me. If Mrs. Winthrop finds out, she’ll probably keep her word.
She’s definitely spiteful enough to.
I stare at a spot on the speckled white ceiling, hoping that will help still my thoughts.
It doesn’t.
Just focus on getting better.
The sooner you’re better, the sooner things can go back to normal.
Except a part of me doesn’t believe my own words. Nothing about this is normal. Nate’s mother holding my fate in her hands? Definitely not normal. Not being able to see him anymore? Not normal at all.
In the few weeks that Nate’s been back in my life, I can honestly say that I’ve never been happier. It’s genuinely stupid how giddy I get when I see him smile. I feel safe and warm when I’m in his arms. His touch has left an impression on my skin, the phantom trace of his fingers haunting me.
I don’t know why I’m in so much pain, mind-melting headache aside. When I think about Nate, I can’t breathe. My throat swells up and blocks my windpipe. My heart twists in my chest. My fingers ache to reach out to him. I don’t know why I feel like crying until my eyes dry out.
I think I’m falling for him.
And now there’s nothing we can do.
The nurse Dr. Philips sends in, comes and goes, taking a vial of my blood without feeling compelled to make small talk. She’s clearly overworked and not in a personable mood. I genuinely don’t mind. I don’t think I have it in me to exchange pleasantries anyway.
