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I headed there and parked, going inside and to the main desk. It was at that point that I realized I didn’t know if she still went by her last name. Had she been married? All I could do was hope she was still Mallory Taylor, like she had always been.
Thankfully, the woman at the desk didn’t recognize me immediately, and when I asked what room Owen Taylor was in, she told me without glancing up. The hushed whisper from the nurse’s desk as I got on the elevator to go to the pediatric floor meant someone had realized it, but by then, I was already gone.
I got to the pediatric floor and headed toward the rooms off to the sides. Owen was in the second to last room on the left, and as I got closer, I could hear Mallory talking. She was talking with another woman, and as I got to the door and peered in, I saw it was her mother. Her mom must have said something to make her laugh, and she was wiping away a tear as she did.
Mallory noticed the door opening and looked at me, and our eyes locked. Then mine floated to the side, to her child. Little Owen was sitting on the bed, a bag of ice on the top of his head and a crooked grin on his face.
A face that looked exactly like mine.
“I need to… get… a coffee. Yes. A coffee,” her mother said. “Excuse me.”
She brushed by me, looking up as she did and smiling a tight smile. I nodded at her, and she squeezed her smile higher, eyes clenching shut as she passed me and went on into the hallway. I shut the door behind me with a little click.
Mallory looked shocked and upset, like she was trying to figure out something to say and couldn’t. She stood up from the chair beside the bed and approached me, but my eyes were back on Owen. I couldn’t stop looking at him. My brain was doing the math, and I realized it all added up. He was the right age.
I looked back to Mallory, still trying to wrap my mind around it, and the look on her face was enough to confirm what I was thinking. Even still, I had to ask. I had to hear the words.
“Is he mine?” I asked.
Mallory opened her mouth like she was going to respond, but then didn’t say anything. She just nodded. Slowly. Her bottom lip quivered like she was going to cry, but she held it in. Then she crossed the room and stood next to her son again.
“Owen,” she said, “I want you to meet someone very special. This is Graham Miller. He’s a famous baseball player.” She turned to me and smiled. “Graham, this is Owen.”
Suddenly, I snapped back to reality. I couldn’t ask all the questions, say all the things I wanted to at that moment. Not with this little boy’s innocent, smiling face looking up at me from under the bag of ice on his forehead.
“Hi,” Owen said.
“Hi Owen,” I said, crossing a few steps closer to him and kneeling down on one knee beside the bed. “What happened today?”
“I got hit by a baseball,” he said. “On my head.”
“Oh no,” I said. “How did that happen?”
“I was playing catch with my best friend,” he said matter-of-factly.
I laughed, tears threatening to spill from my eyes.
“I know exactly how you feel,” I said.
“You do?” he asked. “Have you ever hit your head with a ball?”
“I have, actually,” I said. “I’ve gotten hurt playing sports plenty of times. You have to be very careful.”
Owen nodded, his face bunching up in frustration. “I know. My mama says I need to be careful all the time.”
“I get it,” I said. “It’s hard because it’s fun and exciting to play baseball, isn’t it?”
Owen nodded eagerly. “It’s my favorite,” he said.
I felt my heart clench. “Me too,” I said. “But your mom is right. You have to be careful too. But you look tough. You should be okay.”
“Yeah,” he said. “It’s just a bump on my head.”
I laughed again, and the door opened behind me. I stood and watched as Mallory’s mother came back in the room. I recognized her from seeing Mallory at some of the plays, but I had never been introduced. I simply nodded to her, and she returned the gesture before addressing Mallory.
“The doctor said he is just about ready to discharge Owen,” she said.
“Oh, good,” Mallory said.
