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But at the very fucking least, I wanted Brody there with me for this moment. And if I couldn’t get in touch with her, I couldn’t get to my son.
So, I called the only other person I knew would be there for me, the one person who hadn’t faltered ever since I’d known him.
“Hey there, stranger. What’s shakin’?” Brandon asked.
“I’m headed to the hospital. I was hoping you could meet me,” I said.
“Dude, the hospital? What’s wrong? You okay? Oh shit, is it your mom?”
“It is, but all good news. We found a donor and her surgery is in an hour.”
“No shit! Oh man, hell yeah. I’m on my way right now. Let me close up the office. Which hospital is it?”
“Ronald Reagan.”
“That’s right. That’s right. I sent flowers there yesterday I think. Did your dad or anyone mention getting any flowers?”
“Not that I know of, but I’ve been pretty MIA, clearing my schedule to take today and tomorrow off.”
“That’s fine. I’ll pick some up in the hospital gift shop or something. There’s a good chance I sent them to the wrong hospital.”
“Leave it to you,” I said, grinning.
“Is Ana going to be there? Or Brody?”
My grin automatically fell as I pulled into the parking lot of the hospital.
“I thought so. Maybe. Ana and I have sort of been rocky, but I thought we were on a good track Monday night. I had dinner with her and Brody, and I got to tuck my son in for the first time.”
“That’s awesome. Did you tell him a bedtime story?”
“I did. He’s even calling me Dad now.”
“Sounds like things are going well on that front.”
“They are. I told Ana all about this surgery. She was the first person I could think to call when Dad told me the news—no offense.”
“None taken. None taken. That’s baby momma and the woman you love. I get it,” he said.
“But she’s not picking up her phone.”
“Not at all?”
“Yeah. I’ve called her five times now, and nothing.”
“Is it, like, voice mail? Or ringing and then voice mail?”
“Ringing and then voice mail.”
“Shit.”
“And since I can’t get in touch with her—”
“You can’t get in touch with Brody.”
“Exactly.”
“That’s fucked up, Ty. I’m sorry,” he said.
“I’m just so angry at her. Again. I just got over being angry that she intentionally hid Brody from me, and now this?”
“You’ve got every right to be angry, especially if she knew the surgery was today. You’re sure you told her it was today?”
“Even if I hadn’t, we’ve got an agreement that when I call, she answers, and vice versa when she calls me. You know, because of Brody.”
“But things happen. She can’t just cater to you because you’ve dropped in and want to be Dad.”
“It’s not my fault I was put in this position,” I said.
“All I’m saying is, she’s got a life, too. Now, if you told her about today and she’s not picking up, that’s another story altogether. But I know how you get when you’re excited, and it could be that you told her the surgery was happening but weren’t specific on the date or anything.”
“It doesn’t matter. She’s not picking up her phone. She’s not returning my calls. And she’s not here when I need her the most.”
“Well, I am. I’m in my car now, Ty. Be there soon.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
I hung up the call with Brandon and got out of my car. I made my way to my mother’s room and sat with her, held her hand. She was already groggy and drugged up for her surgery, talking about how this was it, how she was done drinking. She would enroll herself in rehab after she recovered from the surgery.
Brandon came in behind me and gave her a kiss on the forehead, joking about how good she looked for someone with no liver. All of us shared a nice laugh. Brandon had always been good at alleviating tension when there was too much of it.
But I missed Ana, and I couldn’t stop thinking about where the hell she was.
I kissed my mother before they rolled her into surgery. Then the three of us went to sit in the waiting room: me, Brandon, and my dad. We sat there with our legs jiggling, our lips being gnawed on, our fingers fidgeting.
The hours ticked by slowly. So fucking slowly. Her surgery had been scheduled for eight o’clock that morning. I figured it would’ve taken two, maybe three hours. I had missed the surgery briefing due to my stepping out and constantly calling Ana. But when the clock turned over to one in the afternoon and the doctor hadn’t come out to see us, I started to panic.
“How long is a liver transplant supposed to take?” I asked.
“Anywhere between seven and twelve hours.”
I shot out of my chair when the doctor came into the waiting room.
