Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84000 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I offer him a smile I know doesn’t meet my eyes.
“You know, when my dad died, I would have given anything to have gotten to say goodbye. I would have told him I loved him. Even though he must have known, I didn’t tell him enough. Sounds like you’re going to have plenty more opportunities to tell your dad how you feel about him. But one thing my dad’s death taught me was to try and live my life without regrets. I try to do things I think I’ll regret if I don’t. And vice versa. That means my friends tell me I’m boring and sensible and dad-like. What they don’t realize is that each time they tease me, they’re paying me the biggest compliment. It means I’m living my life exactly the way I want to.”
“You’re not that sensible,” I say. “You married me after knowing me no time at all.”
He fixes me with a look. “And I have no regrets about that. Never thought I would.”
My heart takes a tumble in my chest and I squeeze his hand. I take another look at the hospital.
“Will you regret going up there to see him? Or is it more likely you’ll regret not going up?”
He’s made the decision so easy for me. Long term, any regret I have will be about not going inside.
“You’re right,” I say. “I’m going up.”
Worth nods, like he knew I would come to this decision all along.
“I’ll go on my own if that’s okay. I just—”
“That’s fine. But you know where I am if you need me.”
I let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I do.” It feels good to have him here. It feels like nothing can go seriously wrong with him in my corner.
NINETEEN
Sophia
Noah texted me directions to Dad’s room. When the elevator doors open, I see Oliver right ahead of me. He’s slumped in a chair, one leg over the arm, just like he does when he’s watching a movie at home.
Mom is on the other side of the corridor. Part of me wondered if she’d be here, though I shouldn’t have. If she’s ready to host Thanksgiving with Dad at the table, she’s probably on board to see him through a medical crisis. I don’t know who we are as a family without Mom and Dad together.
She looks up and meets me halfway, pulling me into a hug. “It’s okay, sweetie. He’s going to be okay.”
When she releases me, Oliver is standing. I hug him too.
“How the fuck did you get here so soon?”
I shake my head, because it doesn’t matter. “Tell me what happened.”
“We were just having dinner,” Oliver says.
“He was at Mom’s?”
“Yeah, we hadn’t even touched a forkful of food.” Oliver offers me the bag of chips in his hand.
“Er, no, thanks. So do we have a prognosis? Is he going to be okay?”
“He’s going to be fine,” Mom says, putting her arm around my waist. “They fitted a stent and did various scans and tests. They’re going to monitor him for the next few days, but the doctors seem very relaxed about the entire thing.”
They probably see it every day.
“Where’s Noah?”
“In with Dad. I just needed to eat something,” Oliver says. “Wanna go in together?”
I glance around and behind me. “No one else is here?”
“They’re on their way,” Mom says. “I didn’t have contact details before today. Once your father could have visitors, Noah called… Rita.”
I rest my head on her shoulder. “Mom.”
“It’s fine, sweetheart. Don’t worry about me. Worry about you. And your dad. In that order.”
“I figure I can hate him all I want when he’s better,” Oliver says, stuffing the empty chips bag into the trash and wiping his hands down his jeans. “Shall we all go in?”
“You two go,” Mom says. “I’m okay out here.”
My heart pinches at the shift in our family dynamic. But maybe there hasn’t been a shift for my mom. Her situation hasn’t really changed—she’s been coping with this for more than two decades. She’s at the hospital for us. She’s stayed in a broken marriage for us. What sacrifices she’s made. I wonder if she regrets any of them.
“I love you so much, Mom.”
Her voice catches. “I love you too, Sophia.”
It’s like I’m fighting against gravity as I walk toward my dad’s room, like I’m wading through mud or something. Oliver goes first.
“Brought you a visitor,” he says, holding the door open for me.
“Sophia! I thought you were in New York.” Dad looks so damn pleased to see me, it makes me happy and sad at the same time. Why can’t we just rewind to a time when he could make different decisions? He could not have an affair, not get her pregnant, not tell a thousand lies to his wife and kids. Why can’t he love me the way I thought he did?