When It's Right

by Victoria Denault

  “Umm…I kind of deleted your number and your texts,” I admit.

  He looks stunned but grins cheekily as he lifts his hand to his chest like he’s been shot. I laugh and step forward and, pressed against him, reach into his back pocket and grab his phone. I hand it to him and try not to overheat at being this close. “Text me. I’ll text you back.”

  He does as he’s told.

  I start to walk away and hear my phone beep with his text. He’s watching me go; I can feel it, and it makes me way more excited than it should. I dig my phone out of my purse and open his text to respond. His two-word text makes me feel lighter than air.

  You’re beautiful

  I glance over my shoulder and see his car pull out of the parking lot. I didn’t expect to ever see him again except maybe in passing at another one of Jude’s games…if I couldn’t avoid him first. And now…I’m kissing him in my work parking lot. And going on a date with him. The universe is all about the U-turns right now.

  I float home, my cheeks still tingling from the feel of his scruff and my lips still plump from the intensity of our kiss. I take the stairs up the five floors to our penthouse unit because I’m feeling way too awake and I really have to get some sleep today after that shift, but these butterflies in my stomach are not snoozing anytime soon.

  I open the door to the sound of coughing—heavy, bad coughing. I drop my bag and my coat on the floor and rush into the dining room. My mom and my dad’s nurse, Maria, are there, bent over my father as he chokes on his breakfast. I run around the table to get a better look at the situation. His face isn’t blue, it’s red, which is a good sign.

  “Randy! Oh, my God!” My mom is freaking out, her voice high and quivering with anxiety.

  I don’t answer her. Neither does Maria, as she’s already got her arms under his armpits and is lifting him out of his chair. I hold his shoulders, to steady him as she wraps her arms around his center and gives him one quick upward thrust. Then two. A piece of bagel pops out of his mouth and lands with a wet splat on the edge of his plate. My mom quickly picks it up in a napkin and puts it aside.

  This is what ALS does—it takes away voluntary muscle control so things like walking, talking, and swallowing become harder and harder and eventually impossible. My dad looks simply horrified. My heart is breaking and pounding at the same time, which makes me feel weak and tired and on the verge of tears. But I give him a quick smile instead of showing it. “Well, that almost went down the wrong pipe.”

  I act like it’s no big deal. I casually walk around the table, grabbing a glass from the buffet and reaching for the orange juice pitcher. I pour myself a glass of juice, impressed that my hand isn’t shaking. My whole body wants to shudder, because even though I’m a nurse and deal with far worse than choking on a daily basis, this is my dad. My world.

  “No more,” my dad says firmly as my mom tries to give him another piece of his bagel and cream cheese. Mom looks stricken.

  “Dad, you have to eat,” I remind him calmly. “How about a smoothie instead?”

  “Okay,” he mutters.

  I start to stand, but my mom is already up. “I’ll make it. Orange and banana with vanilla protein powder?”

  My dad nods dejectedly. Mom heads off, and I glance at the nurse and wave at her. She stands up. “I’ll be in the den if you need me.”

  “Thanks, Maria,” my dad replies, but it comes out more like “tansk ma-wee-ah.” She smiles at him and heads out of the dining room and down the hall.

  Alone, he looks at me and smiles. “How was your night, Sadie?”

  “Long. Good. No major traumas,” I say and sip my OJ.

  “Is that why you were smiling when you walked in?” His body may be betraying him, but his mind is not. He’s still the most intuitive person I have ever met. Dixie and Jude have a little of that keen awareness Dad has, but still not as acute as his. My dad could always read moods and catch nonverbal cues like a boss, which made it really hard to be a sneaky teenager.

  “Yes, and…well, I had one particularly adorable patient,” I say vaguely.

  His bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows lift. “Oh…?”

  “A six-year-old with a raisin in her nose,” I add to throw him off track.

  He chuckles. “Jude used to use his nose for storage too.”

  It takes me a minute to understand what he says, with the slurring, but as soon as I understand I laugh. “I told her dad that—about Jude and the Lego—so she didn’t feel too embarrassed. And because ridiculing Jude is always enjoyable.”

  My father rolls his eyes at that last comment, but he chuckles. Then his face gets serious. “Thank you for helping Maria with the choking.”

  “You didn’t need me. Maria had it under control,” I reply, blowing it off because I don’t want to get into it. Talking about choking will lead to a bigger conversation about what it means, and the next steps.

  “It’s happening too much,” he says, and my heart constricts like it’s been shoved into a pair of Spanx. It suddenly can’t expand to beat properly.

  I stare at the oak table between us and the half-eaten bagel on his plate. “We are managing it.”

  “Barely,” he counters.

  My mom walks in with a big glass filled with yummy-looking orange smoothie. She puts it down in front of my dad and pops a straw in. He doesn’t take a sip, instead staring at me, clearly insistent on continuing the conversation. But I won’t—can’t—do it.

  I stand up. “I love you, Daddy, but I need to catch up on my beauty sleep now.” He looks like he’s going to insist we continue talking about his choking, which means he wants to talk about the next step, which is a feeding tube, which he has already told us he does not want…which means the end is closer than it would be with a feeding tube…And I can’t talk about that. Not now. Maybe never. So I throw out a piece of information I didn’t intend to share but that I know will change the subject. “I have a date tonight.”

  If I could pick a sound effect for my parents’ reaction, it would be a record needle being ripped off a turning record player. I actually even laugh at it.

  “That’s unexpected,” my mom says with a curious grin. “With who? The doctor from the diner?”

  “Miss Raisin Nose’s dad?” Really, truly, my dad should have been a private detective. “Your face lit up when you told me that story.”

  “Drink your smoothie and I’ll tell you more,” I say as I stand and walk around the table.

  “You’re my baby, I’m not yours, pumpkin,” my dad warns with a wink. He’s jovial about it, but he hates that all his kids are nurturing him now. I nod and he picks up the drink again and takes a long, easy sip. No choking, thank God.

  “Yes, with the dad. He’s divorced, by the way,” I add.

  “I assumed that,” my dad says, and I lean down and kiss his cheek. He reaches up and rubs my head lovingly as I do it.

  I lean down again to kiss my mom’s cheek. “I have got to get some rest. Bags under my eyes are not a good accessory on a first date.”

  I leave them in the dining room and head down the hall, stopping to let Maria know I’m heading for a nap, but to come and get me if she needs help. I also remind her to double-check on his ribs later, to make sure they’re not bruised. She nods. God bless the woman, because even I know I’m kind of micromanaging, but she never gets annoyed.

  When I get to my room, I’m still a bit panicky and emotionally raw from what just happened and the conversation I skillfully sidestepped that I know is still coming. I strip down to my underwear, leaving my scrubs in a heap, and as I crawl under the covers, I text Griffin with an address. He responds with an emoji of a flower. I smile, turn my phone off, and replay that parking lot kiss in my head until I drift off.

  12

  Sadie

  I toss Dixie’s pale pink shirt on her bed and grab a black one with sheer sleeves and a V-neck that’s a little deeper than I’m comfortable with. I hold it up to my frame and hesitate. Dixie eyes me from the
bed in the corner, stretched out like a cat on top of the pile of colorful throw pillows she insists on covering the bed with.

  “Since when are you into shirts like this?” I ask.

  “Since always,” Dixie replies with a smile as she pulls all her wheat blond hair into a high ponytail and wraps it with the elastic from her wrist. A piece escapes and hangs down the back of her neck, but she doesn’t seem to care. “I just never wore stuff like that to work…and I was always working, so you never saw it. Try it on. It’s hella flattering.”

  Despite my initial judgment, I slip it over my head. I stare at my reflection. She’s right. It’s hot. The neckline shows just enough cleavage but not too much, the material is soft and clingy and cuts in at the waist just right. And the jet black color makes my blue eyes icy and bright and my blond hair look more luminous.

  “This one it is,” I announce and turn from the mirror to face Dixie. I smooth my hands down my dark jeans. “It’s good, right?”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Dixie replies, and I feel instantly more at ease. My sisters and I made a pact long ago not to blow smoke up each other’s asses. If she says it looks good, it definitely does. “So do you want to borrow some condoms too?”

  I freeze. “First of all, it’s not borrowing unless you want them back.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Okay. Revising that statement. Do you want to have some condoms?”

  “I have some in my purse. I bought them on the way over,” I admit. She grins and actually claps her hands excitedly like her older sister potentially getting laid is some kind of extraordinary feat, like a Super Bowl touchdown. I should be annoyed, but she’s kind of right. “I’m not saying it’s definitely going to happen.”

  “But you want it to,” Dixie adds, still smiling, and she pulls herself to a sitting position. “And that’s good. That’s great, actually. You deserve some fun.”

  I nod. “I just…don’t want to make this a big deal. We’ll just see what happens. But we’re both consenting adults, and I think we’re both willing and able, so…”

  I shrug and Dixie nods emphatically, making more hair fall from her ponytail. “I’m so glad he didn’t turn out to be a married, cheating dick. I would have had to death-stare him every time I saw him at a Thunder game, and that would’ve been exhausting.”

  I grab my purse off the sofa and take my lipstick out of it. “Speaking of the Thunder, you haven’t told anyone I’m going on this date with the goalie coach, have you? And by anyone I mean Jude or Eli?”

  She shakes her head. “You told me not to, but Mom and Dad might spill it.”

  “They don’t know who the date is with,” I say and pause to apply my lipstick. “Which is also why I’m having him pick me up here. I don’t want them to meet him or anything.”

  “Why did you tell them at all?”

  “Because they were about to try and discuss a feeding tube,” I reply, and Dixie’s whole face sinks into darkness. “He choked. Again. And we needed to Heimlich him. He’s fine so don’t freak out. But next steps are in his thoughts now more than ever.”

  “What are we going to do?” Dixie lets out a heavy breath and keeps talking before I can answer her. “Sadie, you’re a nurse. He’ll listen to you. You have to convince him to get a tube.”

  Why did I bring this up right now? My father wants me to be the buffer, that’s why. And I have to talk about this gradually, so they aren’t overwhelmed when the time comes. But I realize this isn’t putting me in the best head space for a date.

  “The next step after that will be a respirator,” I murmur softly, as if it will somehow lessen the painful impact of that realization. Dixie and I stare at each other, our expressions mirroring each other’s despair. “He won’t do that. And I don’t want him to.”

  “But then…he’ll die,” Dixie argues and pauses. I see her inner battle, and I feel it too, like it’s a jagged knife entering my heart, tearing it in two, because it is. We both want him here as long as possible, by any measure, but we both also don’t want him suffering, unable to move or breath or talk, with no quality of life. “That’s a long way off. Right?”

  “It’s not going to happen tomorrow,” I reply, hoping the vagueness of that answer will give her some relief.

  There’s a knock at the door, and the lock turns, and it’s cracked open slightly. “Everyone decent?”

  Eli has learned, in the time he’s been living with my sister, that it’s not a good idea to burst into their apartment. Winnie and I are often here, borrowing clothes and half naked. “Come on in!”

  His giant frame fills the entry. He gives me a friendly smile as he pulls down the hood to his jacket. Everything is wet, and I realize it must be raining. “Shit. I didn’t bring an umbrella.”

  “You can borrow one of mine.” Dixie walks over to her giant closet, the only storage space in their minuscule studio, and disappears inside. “Give me a second.”

  Eli hangs his jacket on a hook by the door and toes out of his shoes. He walks into the kitchen and pulls a Gatorade out of the fridge. “You look hot, Sadie. Girls’ night with Winnie?”

  “Something like that,” I reply. My phone beeps, and I pull it out of my purse. It’s a text from Griffin. He says he should be at my place in a couple minutes.

  “Hey, are you still on night shifts?” Eli asks me.

  “I’m switching to days soon for a couple weeks. Why?”

  “Is Winnie home every night?” he asks, without answering my question.

  I glance back to see if Dixie is emerging from the closet yet. She isn’t. “She tutors until nine two nights a week. Monday and Wednesday.”

  “Cool,” Eli says. I’m about to ask him what’s with the third degree, but then there’s a loud thump, followed by a curse word from Dixie, and then she emerges from the closet with a long teal umbrella with a wooden handle carved with daisies.

  She hands it to me and leans in to whisper in my ear. “You know if you were wearing a white shirt I wouldn’t even give you an umbrella. I’d let you get soaked so you could give him a preview of the merchandise.”

  “Hysterical, Dix.” I use the nickname she doesn’t like, and she sticks out her tongue at me while I swipe the umbrella from her.

  “So where you going?” Eli asks again.

  “Book club,” I lie and grin. “Thanks for the top, little D.”

  “Have fun!” Dixie calls as I fling open her front door and head down the stairs. “I insist!”

  I blow her a kiss and push open the door at the bottom of the stairs. It’s not raining too badly, more of a mist right now, but I open the umbrella anyway as I stand against the brick wall and wait, since my hair tends to curl when it’s wet, and that’s not the look I’m going for tonight. It doesn’t take long before his Range Rover pulls up at the curb. I see him through the rain-splattered window, and I instantly feel warm. I walk to the passenger door, closing the umbrella as I go. He jumps out and opens my door for me. As I slip by him, he leans in, his full lips grazing my cheek along with his delicious stubble. “God, it’s good to see you again.”

  “You too,” I whisper back, and a warm blush blooms from the exact spot he touched with those sexy lips. Thankfully, it’s dark enough that he won’t see. Jesus, I’ve dated before—a lot—so why does Griffin make me so loopy?

  He gets in the car and eases away from the curb. “You look incredible.”

  I smile and glance at him. He’s wearing a black cashmere sweater with a blue patterned button-down underneath, the cuffs and tails out. “So do you,” I reply, which is true, but my other thought is that he has too many layers on. I want to able to feel him when I touch him, and I definitely intend to touch him.

  “So…” he starts hesitantly. “I have a plan for tonight but, I’ll be honest, this dating stuff isn’t like riding a bike. I don’t remember the right etiquette, and I probably wasn’t very good at it when I was doing it anyway.”

  “Let me guess…you were either in college or in the juniors,”
I say. He nods, his expression slightly guarded but still sexy as the raindrops on the windshield catch the street lights and send pretty prisms of light across his rugged features. “You met girls after games, at bars and parties, and they always came up to you sweeter than stevia, and you never even really had to ask them out, it just happened.”

  “I-I plead the fifth,” he stutters, visibly uncomfortable. My stomach drops, because that wasn’t my intention.

  I reach over and gently touch his biceps, which is solid and wide. He may be retired but his hockey body is still there. “Hey. I’m not judging. If you dated a bunny or two, or even ten, it’s not a big deal. I get that there’s little time in the world of a pro athlete to meet anyone outside of that life. In case you forgot, my brother used to score more off the ice than on, and I don’t hold it against him. I ribbed him to death about it, but I didn’t judge him. My sisters and I used to call him the Bunny Wrangler. For like four years the only gifts he got were bunny related. Shirts with bunnies on them, a coffee cup, pajama bottoms, slippers. You name it.”

  He chuffs out a laugh at that, and I join him. “God, it must have been hell for Jude growing up with the two of you.”

  “Three of us, the sorority, with my other sister, Winnie. We like to think we keep Jude grounded and humble,” I reply in our defense. “So, Mr. Not Great at Dating, where are we headed?”

  His expression grows serious again. “I have a couple ideas, but my first…and tell me if this makes you uncomfortable or it’s too forward…but my first thought was a charcuterie board and some delicious wine overlooking the ocean.”

  “That sounds magical,” I reply, and I’m truly excited, but he still looks a little concerned as he turns toward the Golden Gate Bridge.

  “Great, but the thing is…” He steals a glance at me. “The place I have in mind is my place.”

  Oh.

  “No inappropriate intentions, I swear on my mama,” he says, quickly lifting his right hand off the steering wheel to make a cross over his heart to prove his honesty. “It’s just I live on the water and have a terrific covered deck on the first floor. It’s great to just sit out there and watch the rain on the water. It was the best place I could think of to just hang out and get to know each other.”