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“Why?”
I threw my hands up. “Uh, I don’t know, maybe because less than two months ago I took you out for dinner and had to skip dessert because you were in cardiac arrest, Shelby.”
She closed her eyes for a beat, then leaned forward and reached for my hands. “I know that was scary for you.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. Well, I can imagine it was. It was scary for me, too. But things are different now.”
I waited for her to elaborate, but when she didn’t, I sighed. “How so?”
“I feel great. I’ve had way more good days than bad. I’m sleeping better, eating better, it’s all… better.”
Pulling my hands away, I rubbed them through my hair. This couldn’t be happening. “Shel, the ICD doesn’t prevent cardiac arrest, and it doesn’t fix any of your other stuff. It’s a safety net in case you need it. The rest of it is still there. So while I’m glad you’re feeling better, that doesn’t mean you should go.”
I felt the frustration coming off her in waves, but I was frustrated, too. Did she really not get why this was a bad idea? Did she really think I’d be cool with letting her run off to LA for two weeks to work on a TV set after what we’d just gone through?
“I understand what you’re saying, and as your best friend—because I like to think I will always be that, even though we’re more now—I want you to know I get it and appreciate it. But the safety net is making everything better, and I think it’s because the stress and fear were making everything worse before. I wasn’t really living. I want to live, Paul. That’s what almost dying taught me. I want to live.”
Her words tumbled around in my brain, and I wished so badly that I could be the understanding guy she needed me to be. But even though she’d been sleeping better now that her ICD made her feel safer, I couldn’t get the image of her lying on that bathroom floor out of my mind. What if her ICD malfunctioned when she needed it most? What if it still wasn’t good enough to save her? I couldn’t lose her. I wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry, Shel. You’re not a kid and I’m not your dad, so it’s not like I can stop you. But I don’t think it’s a good idea, and I don’t support it.”
Shelby nodded once, grabbing her purse and stepping out of the booth. “I’m really sorry you feel that way, Paul. I love you, but this really sucks.”
And with that, she walked away. I hung my head, replaying the whole thing so I could try to figure out where I’d gone wrong or what I should have said instead. Or conversely, maybe she was the one who was wrong, and she should have turned down the job offer. Man, even coming to me first before she took the job would have made me feel like I mattered more.
“Psst.”
Slowly, I turned my head to the side, seeing Ms. Hattie sitting at a nearby table with her husband. I had no idea how long they’d been sitting there or what they’d overheard, but my chest felt heavy when I met her eyes. “Hey, Ms. Hattie. Hey, Thatcher.”
Ms. Hattie leaned over. “You know how I have all of those cute holiday specials at my shop?”
“What?” I asked, startled by the subject.
“You know, Christmas specials on poinsettias, Valentine’s Day specials on roses, stuff like that.”
I swallowed, failing to see what this had to do with me. “Uh-huh.”
“Well, I’m having a huge, weeklong sale right now. Lots of elaborate bouquets that make a big impact.”
Looking between her and her husband, I raised a brow, taking the bait. “What’s the occasion?”
“April Fool’s Day.”
