by Tiffany Snow
Breakfast was the best food I’d ever eaten. Well, actually not. But I was so hungry, I didn’t care. The nurses were smiling and didn’t mind that I asked for an antibacterial wipe for my hands before I ate.
“How’s that oatmeal?” Dr. Morris asked, walking into the room. He was in slacks and a tie, his white coat pristine.
“Best thing ever,” I replied.
“Good, I’m glad to hear it. How are you feeling?”
“Okay. A bit of an ache in my head, but it’s dulled. Probably from the pain medication.”
“True,” he said with a smile.
“Other than that, I feel much better than I did yesterday.”
“I’m sure you do,” he said. “Let’s take a look at the site, shall we?”
A nurse assisted in removing the bandages, and he inspected my head.
“Um, how much hair did you have to shave off?” I asked. I didn’t consider myself a vain person, but I found I had an uncomfortably high level of anxiety about how much of my hair had been removed to access the injury.
“Only a small patch,” the doctor said. “Less than an inch square. You’ll be able to cover it with the rest of your hair, once it’s healed.”
I let out a small sigh of relief, somewhat chagrined that I’d been so worried. If it had been worse, they’d have had to shave half my head. I couldn’t imagine that, as much as it struck me how ridiculous I was being about my appearance.
“Everything looks good. No signs of infection. We’re going to continue with the antibiotics, of course, but there was no swelling of the brain, so that’s very good news.”
“Will I recover okay? Or will I have brain . . . damage?”
“It’s soon, but from what I’ve seen so far, you don’t seem to be experiencing any of the more serious complications.”
Oh thank God.
“You’re young and healthy. I don’t see any reason why you wouldn’t experience a full recovery,” he continued. “I’ll be back to check on you in a few hours, but I do think you have some visitors wanting to see you, so let’s get you moved to the patients’ ward.”
An hour later, I’d finally been moved to a regular room and out of the ICU. I was anxious to see a friendly face, so when Grams came bursting through the door, I was smiling so hard that my cheeks hurt.
“Grams!”
“Oh my China-girl!” she exclaimed, rushing over to me. Her eyes were watering as she took in my bandages and machines. “What on earth happened to you?”
“Just a car accident,” I explained. “Thanks to Dr. Morris, I’m better now. How did you get here?”
“Why, Jackson sent his plane for me,” she said, pulling up a chair. “Terribly thoughtful of him, bless his heart.” She’d been wearing a matching egg-yolk-yellow crocheted shawl and hat, which she took off. “I was in such a state, but he was all calm and collected. Had everything all arranged to get me to you.”
“I’m so glad you could come,” I said.
“Don’t be silly, girl.” She pooh-poohed me. “As if I could stay away, knowing you’re in trouble.”
The door opened again, and I was shocked to see Oslo and Bill walk in, followed by Mia.
“What are you two doing here?” I blurted.
“Um, sis, you had brain surgery. It’s kind of a big deal,” Bill said, approaching the bed. He gingerly hugged me. “It’s good to see you, Chi.”
“Yeah, it’s been a while,” I said. He was several years older than I was, and at the moment, he looked it. I wondered how much of a toll taking care of Dad and the farm had been on him.
“The doctor says you’re going to be okay, little sis,” Oslo said, rounding the other side of the bed. He pressed a chaste kiss to my cheek and squeezed my shoulder. He and Oslo hugged Grams, too.
“Yeah, I think so. So far, so good, at least. Where’s Dad? Did he come, too?” I hadn’t seen my dad since I’d gone home for Christmas two years ago. The thought of him coming to the hospital to see me made me both hopeful and nervous.
Oslo didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced at Bill, who shifted from one foot to another.
“Dad couldn’t come,” Bill said at last. “But he said he’d call once you were feeling better.”
The pain those words caused was unexpected, which was ridiculous. I’d gotten over expecting any kind of close relationship with my father years ago.
“Um, yeah, of course,” I said. “The surgery went well, so there was really no cause for him to make the trip, especially overnight.”
There was a silence after I spoke. Bill and Oslo exchanged another glance, but I didn’t know what it meant.
“Harrumph,” Grams said, shifting in her chair. Before I could question what that meant, Mia approached the foot of the bed.
“I brought you some fresh clothes,” she said. “For when they let you out of here. And some of your own toiletries.” She handed me a bag.
“Thanks.” I smiled. “I appreciate that. Did you get any sleep?” I opened up the bag, hoping she’d remembered to bring my razor.
“Yeah. Jackson made me.”
“Who’s Jackson?” Oslo asked.
“He’s my fiancé,” I answered, pawing through the bag. Yes, she had my razor and my hairbrush. That was going to be a trial, trying to fix my hair—
Grams let out a whoop as Oslo and Bill spoke in unison, with equal amounts of surprise in their voices. “Fiancé?”
I glanced up from the bag. “Um, yeah,” I said. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
Grams jumped to her feet and hugged me. “Aw, honey, I’m glad you made your decision. Have you set a date?”
“Um, no, not yet,” I replied.
“Wait a second,” Bill interrupted. “There is no way in hell that you’re getting married to some guy that we haven’t even met.”
“Excuse me?” I couldn’t have heard him correctly.
“You’re only twenty-four years old,” Oslo said, using his Big Brother Voice. “Marriage is a big step, Chi. And I agree with Bill. What if this guy is taking advantage of you?”
“Taking advantage of me?” I was confused. “How could he possibly—”
“You’re not . . . used to dating and men and the shitty things they can do,” Bill said. “You make decent money, you’re too trusting, you’re young. Basically, every con artist’s dream mark.”
Grams laughed outright and Mia snickered. Both Bill and Oslo looked at them askance.
“You should be on our side, Grams,” Oslo scolded. “You know how China is. I’d think you of all people would want to help us protect her.”
“You’re talking about me as if I’m naive and stupid,” I said, looking from Oslo to Bill, then back. “Is that what you think of me? That I’d just let some random guy sweep me off my feet and be so . . . so flattered by the attention that I’d agree to marry him?”
By their silence and mutual glances, I knew I was right. Everyone was quiet.
“Wow.” I didn’t know if I should be angry, or flattered that they’d taken such a protective stance toward me. I was saved from deciding by another visitor. This time, the very man of whom they spoke.
“Jackson,” I said. “Perfect timing. Please meet my brothers, Bill and Oslo.”
He’d showered and shaved, changed into jeans that I was sure cost more than $500, and a similarly priced designer shirt. Before I’d begun dating Jackson, I’d noticed he dressed well. I just hadn’t known the price tag before. I was biased, but I thought he looked every inch the successful technocrat billionaire.
“Nice to meet you,” Jackson said, shaking their hands.
Oslo and Bill stared. Oslo found his voice first.
“Um, I don’t mean to sound rude—”
“Then don’t,” Jackson interrupted, leaning down to give Grams a hug. “How was your flight?”
“Wonderful,” she said. “That little flight attendant, what was her name?”
“You mean Dana?”
“Yes, that’s her. She wa
s so sweet! Why, she made me two mint juleps, and they were perfect. That plane was just lovely. I felt like a queen.” She laughed and patted his arm like a flirtatious girl.
“I’m glad I could help,” Jackson said, moving to my side. “And how are you, sweetheart?” His eyes were soft and his smile genuine. “You look more awake, that’s for sure.” His hand cupped my cheek.
“Yes, I’m much better than last night,” I said, covering his hand with mine and squeezing. A knot in my stomach eased at seeing him.
He poked at the remains of my breakfast on the tray and made a face. “Ugh. Hospital food. No way is my girl eating that. I’m friends with the head chef at Niche. They have a restaurant that does brunch. Let me have him whip you up something.”
I began, “It’s okay, you don’t have—”
“You mean Brasserie,” Oslo interrupted. “I’ve heard of that place. I thought fancy restaurants only did brunch on Sundays.”
Jackson looked at him. “So?”
“Yeah, it’s Wednesday,” Bill quietly added. I didn’t think he’d blinked since Jackson had walked in.
“He won’t mind,” Jackson said. He kissed my forehead. “I’ll be back shortly. Let me give him a quick call.” He turned to the room at large. “Everyone’s probably hungry, right?”
Mia and Grams agreed, but Bill and Oslo were still staring, jaws slightly agape.
“Okay, then. Brunch for everyone.” He smiled and left the room.
Bill and Oslo looked at each other, then at me.
“Was that—?” Bill asked.
“No,” Oslo said. “No . . . really?”
“What was that you were saying about her fiancé taking advantage of her?” Mia piped up.
Grams just cackled.
15
Jackson was as good as his word, a full table setup with real plates, heavy silverware, and dishes such as eggs benedict, quiche, hazelnut waffles, French toast, beignets, the works. The smells in the room made my mouth water.
The chef was really nice, serving me first in the bed while his two assistants served everyone else. Soon, the room was filled with the sounds of cutlery and clinking glass. Bill and Oslo weren’t too starstruck to eat, each of them polishing off two full plates of food, with Mia not far behind.
Jackson sat next to me on the bed, making sure I ate. It wasn’t necessary. The food was amazing. Dr. Morris even appeared in the middle of brunch, looked around in some amazement, asked me a few questions, then said he’d be back again in a few hours.
By the time brunch was cleared away, I could barely keep my eyes open. A full stomach and all the visitors had worn me out. Jackson fluffed the pillows behind my head and remained behind when Grams shooed everyone else out. The pain medication had beeped into my IV again.
“Thanks for the food,” I said, “and for taking care of Mia and Grams. I really ’preciate it.”
“That’s why I’m here,” he said softly, slotting his fingers with mine. “I don’t want you to worry about anything. I’ll take care of everything, I just need you to get better.”
He closed the blinds on the windows, dimming the room, then returned to my side. Pulling up the chair Grams had been using, he sat down.
“My dad didn’t come.”
“I know.”
My eyes started to leak, though I didn’t know why. “I shouldn’t have expected him to.”
“He’s your father. Of course you should have. I’m sorry he didn’t.”
“Yeah. Well.” Putting emotions into words was hard when I was healthy. At the moment, trying to put what I was feeling about my dad into cogent sentences was completely beyond me.
Jackson leaned forward, wiping away the wet tracks from my cheeks.
“You’re just gonna watch me sleep?” I murmured, my eyes heavy.
“Maybe. Is that okay?”
“Why?”
“Because I can,” he said softly. “The thought of losing you . . . I don’t ever want to feel like that again. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.”
“You helped,” I argued. “With Grams and Mia . . .”
“Shh,” he said. “Get some rest.”
I pried my eyes open one more time. “’kay, but don’t stay in that awful chair the whole time. It doesn’t look at all ergonomic.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
He held my hand until I feel into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When next I opened my eyes, Oslo was sitting in the chair, messing with his phone.
“Hey,” I said, my voice raspy, “where’s Jackson?”
“You mean your billionaire boyfriend that you haven’t ever mentioned to your family?” he asked.
“It was all over Twitter,” I muttered, adjusting the controls on the bed to sit up. Someone had left a glass of water within reach, and I gratefully swallowed some.
“Yeah. I’m a social-media addict,” Oslo said drily. “I . . . Twitter all the time.”
“Tweet.”
“Whatever. The point is, you haven’t breathed a word of this to us. And now you’re engaged to him?”
“I was bringing him home to meet everyone,” I said. “This just happened first.”
“This?” he echoed. “This is you nearly dying, China.” His voice cracked on dying, and I stared at him, wide-eyed. Oslo was the calm, steady, oldest sibling who had taken more care of me than he should’ve had to after Mom died. Dad had been in such shock, and I’d been so young . . . Oslo had been the one to step up and make sure Bill and I got fed and had clean clothes.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “It wasn’t something I did intentionally.”
“I know, I know,” he said, rubbing his forehead. “I’m not mad at you. You were just . . . being you.”
As always, I felt that stab of guilt for not being more . . . normal. If I was normal, I’d know the right things to say to make him not look at me as though I was a science experiment he liked but didn’t quite understand.
“Do you like Jackson?” I asked, changing the subject.
“He seems nice,” Oslo said. “Bill’s been giving him the third degree. I don’t think he’s stopped asking him questions for the past two hours.”
“Why?”
He gave me a funny look. “Because despite his money, we’re not about to let some playboy toy with you if he’s not for real. If he wants to marry you, he’s going to have to pass muster.”
I didn’t know what to say. Oslo and Bill were performing the age-old ritual of hazing my suitor to ensure he was worthy of my affections. Considering how often I’d fended for myself, this was unexpected. But unlike most surprises, this one wasn’t unwelcome. It made me feel . . . valued. Which wasn’t a feeling I often associated with my testosterone-laden family.
“He’s taking everyone to dinner,” Oslo continued. “Some fancy restaurant. I think a limo is coming to pick us up.” He snorted.
“What’s wrong with that?” I asked.
“He’s not going to buy our approval,” he groused. “He can throw his money around all he wants. At least Grams seems to appreciate it.”
I laughed. “Grams thinks he’s the cat’s meow.” My memory still provided idioms on demand, which was a good sign.
Speak of the devil . . . Jackson walked in then. When he saw me sitting up, he smiled.
“You are looking better every time I see you,” he said, wrapping me in a gentle hug. He glanced at Oslo. “Thanks for keeping her company.”
“She’s my sister,” Oslo said archly. “Thanks are unnecessary.”
“Yes, I see by how often you call and visit China that she’s near and dear to your heart.” Not even I could miss the edge in Jackson’s voice.
“Dating my sister doesn’t give you the right to judge our family.” Oslo got to his feet, and I recognized the angry line of his jaw.
“Please don’t fight,” I said. “This really isn’t the time or place for all that.”
“You’re right,” Jackson said. “I’m sorry, s
weetheart.”
“I’m going to find Bill,” Oslo said. “I’d like to grab a shower. I’m sure he does, too.”
“The car will pick you up from the hotel in an hour,” Jackson said. “Grams and Mia are coming, too, of course.”
“Of course they are.”
There was a bit of a staring contest between them, then Oslo left.
I rested my head against the pillow. “He doesn’t like you.”
“Nonsense. He’s just under a lot of emotional stress because his sister is in the hospital and just underwent brain surgery. We’ll all go to dinner tonight, have a pleasant time, and they’ll relax.”
“I don’t know why they’re being so weird about this,” I said. “It’s not as if it’s unheard of for a girl to bring home a boyfriend.”
“Yes. They just didn’t expect it of you.”
That hurt, but I also knew it was true.
“Chef Rafe is going to bring by your dinner shortly,” Jackson said. “I hope you don’t mind me taking this opportunity to schmooze with your family.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I appreciate you doing all of this. You’ve gone above and beyond.”
“You’re worth much more,” he said with a soft smile. “I have to admit, I carry some animosity toward your brothers for how they’ve treated you in the past, but I’m willing to put that aside in favor of an amiable relationship that puts you at ease.”
“I really want to get out of here,” I said. “We have work to do. Have you and Clark found anything out from the file Mia and I got?”
“Clark is working on it,” he said. “We’ve divvied up duties.”
There was a knock on the door, and Dr. Morris came in. “And how’s my patient doing?” he asked.
“Impatient to leave your care,” I said.
He laughed. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that.” A nurse walked in behind him with fresh bandages.
“I’ll check in on you later,” Jackson said.
“Okay. Have a good dinner. Don’t let Grams have too many mint juleps. She’ll start hitting on the waiter.”
“Got it.”
The doctor examined me after Jackson left. “You’re doing very well,” he said. “Tomorrow morning we’ll do a CT scan and make sure everything is healing as it should. If it is, then you can go home. How’s your pain level?”