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Albeit disillusioned by her stern reaction, I understood where she was coming from perfectly, and I told her I would deal with everything, even the preparations for our upcoming nuptials, so she could put all her focus and attention on her sister. I wasn’t surprised that aside from asking me to write her a big fat check, Layla had made no attempt for any interaction between us. She didn’t even ask for me to be here today, but there was no way I wouldn’t come and support her while her beloved sister went under the knife. If Layla is to be my wife, then it’s my duty to stand by her side during both good and bad times. And for Layla, today definitely constitutes being one of those undefined days. It can either be the happiest of her life or the worst. It all depends on what Dr. Ramos says when he walks through those doors.
Layla crosses her arms over her chest, staring at me while I try to think of something I can say that will ease her worry. I rack my brain for something, anything, but I come up with jack shit, since being sensitive on occasions like these isn’t exactly my strong suit.
People die.
People die every day, every damn second. Shit, I, myself, have had a hand in making sure of it. What can I say to her that will give her some semblance of hope? What words could I utter that won’t piss her off or make her cry?
I’ve got nothing.
My chest tightens to the point of pain with how fucking useless I am. I’m unable to ease her suffering. So instead of acting like someone I’m not, I choose a topic that might get her mind off her sister’s surgery.
“I got us an admission meeting with St. Augustine’s next week.”
Layla blinks twice, gaping at me like I’ve just grown a second head.
Shit. Did I overstep? Am I fucking this up so royally even before it starts?
Goddamn it!
“It’s the best private school in the district,” I explain.
“I know it is,” she snaps, still staring at me with confusion etched into her features.
“So you have heard of the school before? That’s good. I thought that maybe when Zoey got better, she could start classes there. That is, if you want her to,” I say hurriedly, not wanting her to think I’m taking over her life. I just want to look after them and make them happy.
Her shoulders slump as she rubs her forehead as if to ease an oncoming headache—from the stress or me, I’m not sure, and I’m not sure I even want to know.
“I’ve been trying to get Zoey a scholarship to St. Augustine for ages. They won’t accept us, not when we don’t have enough money to pay for the bare minimum like uniforms and school supplies,” she replies, her voice tinged with sadness, and when her eyes flicker up to mine, I see self-hatred in her gaze. She thinks that’s her fault. I wish I could wrap my arms around her and let her lean on me, but I know she needs to come to me on her own. Instead, I try to settle her reservations about the school.
“Zoey won’t need a scholarship. I’ll provide for her schooling,” I offer slowly.
Her eyes snap up to mine, round and hopeful, but then it dashes away. Her expression drops and her lips tilt down, as if she’s taming her own excitement at the prospect. I hate that. One day, she won’t suppress her hope once she realizes she can have anything she wants in this world now that she’s mine.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“Yes, I do. Once you marry me, Zoey will be my responsibility too.” I shrug like it’s easy.
And to me it is.
Zoey is her family, and Layla is mine now, so therefore we are all family, and I plan to take care of that family.
Layla opens her mouth to say something, but she’s interrupted from doing so when Dr. Ramos walks into the waiting room. She rushes over to him, her pale face filled with fear. When the good doctor just smiles at her and says that Zoey’s surgery was a success, Layla breaks down and starts to cry. Her relief is such that she turns to me and wraps her arms around my waist just to keep her knees from buckling. Her tears soak into my shirt as the doctor gives us a moment for Layla to collect herself. I hold her tightly as the weight of the bricks that settled on my heart suddenly vanishes with the news that little Zoey made it just fine. I knew the tiny rag doll would. She’s a fighter, just like her big sister.
Layla pulls away to face the doctor once more, her bright smile incandescent as she dries her tears. She’s so beautiful, I can barely pull my eyes from her.
“When can I see her?” she asks hopefully.
“She’s resting now, but I can take you to her. I’m sure Zoey would love it if you were the first person she wakes up to,” Dr. Ramos offers kindly.
“Thank you, doctor,” she says, starting to follow him in, but I don’t let her get very far. I hold her wrist to stop her from taking another step.
“Doctor, when can we take Zoey home?” I inquire, ignoring the way Layla is trying to get out of my grasp. Like a hissing kitten, she digs her nails into my hand, making my lips kick up into a smile.
His confused stare bounces off Layla and onto me, unsure if he should give me that information.
“I’m Layla’s fiancé,” I deadpan so he can just come out and say what I need to know.
“We’ll need to monitor Zoey for a few days, just to make sure there are no complications. I’d say she should get her discharge papers in three days, four tops.”
