AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Dad. You can’t blame yourself for someone’s suicide.” He nods and checks on a burger. “How did I not know this?”
Dad shrugs. “You weren’t even born. No one talks about it.”
He loads the platter with patties, and I think about all the rumors about her dad. They all said he’d never gotten over her mom, but no one ever said what happened. At least, no one my age did.
During dinner, conversation buzzes around us. I’ve lost my appetite, but only Sunny seems to notice. She places her hand on my thigh and gives me concerned glances. I try my best to focus on the positive, but there’s a part of me that wants nothing more than to research postpartum depression and the likelihood that it’s genetic. Of course, Dad is correct. Medicine has come a long way in forty years. As has our awareness of postpartum depression.
After dinner, I take the first opportunity to whisk Mom back to the laundry room.
“Is everything okay?” she asks.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her eyes widen in confusion.
“About Sunny’s mom?”
“Well, honey, I…we’re going to be there for her. Don’t you worry.” She places her hand on my shoulder. “Your dad and I, wherever y’all are, we’ll be there. She knows you work long hours, and…don’t you worry. We’re gonna watch her like hawks.” She pats me, but all I can think is that I do work long hours. Sometimes in the middle of the night, I’m called away.
“And no one ever thought to tell Sunny?”
She purses her lips. “Johnny didn’t want her to know. And then, so much time passed.”
“She told the doctor her mom died of heart problems.”
“Johnny took a risk not telling her. With this town, I’m surprised someone didn’t tell her at some point. But it was so hush-hush. It was like this thing no one could say out loud. I guess most of all Johnny.”
“You know, Mom, I don’t think anyone our age knew. I don’t think even Sam knew.”
“Probably not. It would be a hard thing to tell kids. But now all this time has passed, there’s no need for you to tell her.”
“Mom.” My parental tone startles me, and I have to inhale and put a hand on the counter for stability. Until recently, I would’ve said above all else, I am a doctor. Now, the truth is, above all else, I’m Sunny’s partner, and hopefully one day soon, a father. But as a doctor, I understand the importance of an accurate medical history.
I place a hand on my mom’s shoulder, and with all the love I feel for her, say, “Sunny has to know the truth. It’s not a slight on her, but the truth is going to help safeguard her.”
Mom purses her lips and slowly nods. “But don’t tell her today,” she implores. “It’s a special day.”
“It is. Let’s get back out there and celebrate.” I move to the door, but Mom hesitates.
“When do you think you’ll tell her?”
“Before the next doctor's appointment. But not this weekend.” No, there are other things I need to do this weekend.
ChapterThirty-Three
Sandra
Tuesday after the most magical weekend
When I glimpse myself in the glass reflection of the salon on Tuesday morning, I almost don’t recognize the carefree, happy, bouncing woman. I’m seeing clients, so I’m wearing black scrubs, but my skin literally glows under the morning sun. I used hot rollers in my hair, something I haven’t done in months, and the curls that have yet to settle bounce with each step. And my smile. I didn’t even realize I was smiling, but I think I haven’t stopped since kissing Ian goodbye this morning.
We had the best weekend. And he consulted with a friend and had some prescription nausea medicine called in for me. That alone led to me feeling worlds better. His friend warned it doesn’t work for every woman, but thank the gods, it worked for me. I’ve been able to keep food down. Which is good, because I needed the energy for our weekend.
He left, promising to come back this weekend. And we don’t have an answer for how we’re going to align our lives, but we’re going to figure it out. As I flip on the lights, golden light infiltrates every recess. I scroll through my phone, searching for my feel-good, happy mix. It’s one Ian created for me earlier this year, and it’s titledSunny.
Playlists are his thing. Apparently, he’s one of those surgeons who loves to have music playing in the background of the OR. Which is quite the coincidence, since I always have music playing in the salon. Admittedly, in my treatment room, I’m more of a spa-nature girl, but out here, this morning, I’m in the mood for a happy beat. The first song on the soundtrack breaks the silence. One of the best bands of all time, The Beatles, strike the first chords ofHere Comes the Sun. Ian’s ringtone. It’s going to be a fantastic day.
The bell over the door rings, and I sing out, “Morning!”
