Just Let Go

by Alessandra Thomas

  Ethan cleared his throat. “So, my little cyclone, I still don’t think this is dangerous enough to be one of your dates.”

  "It's dangerous because... I don't know." All I knew when I imagined this date with Ethan was that it was something he'd never do, something he'd hate. Something to prove to him that the stuff I loved could never be the stuff he loved. But maybe that wasn't the case. Maybe he loved the rush of dancing salsa in a place like this as much as I did. "Because... collision risks? High heels?"

  "I'm not wearing heels," he smirked, "And I really don't plan on it anytime soon."

  I arched an eyebrow at him.

  "Ever. I don't ever plan on wearing heels in my lifetime."

  "I'll give you that," I said, brushing my lips along the rim of my drink. "But you can't deny that you're definitely a victim of the collision risks."

  With that, Ethan gave an exaggerated wince. “True enough. Between those heels stepping on my toes and your bony elbows digging into my side, not sure my body is going to agree to go running for a few days. But I hope you don't mind taking me home anyway, even if I am damaged goods." He slid his big hand around my bottom, giving just enough pressure with his palm to tug me toward him. I went willingly. The familiarity of his gentle teasing, the intoxicating swirling heat of the small club, the bite of the rum I'd just tipped down my throat, and the hypnotic beat of the music all combined to make my head swim in the most pleasant of ways.

  "’Don't mind’ is a severe understatement," I murmured as I brushed my lips against his. "’Can't wait’ would be more accurate."

  "Natalia Ortiz," Ethan said, the hint of amusement coloring his voice, "You weren’t kidding about Antonio’s mixology. You're drunk."

  "No," I said, pulling back just the slightest bit before his hand moved up to my waist and pulled me tight to him. I practically purred at the feeling of our bodies pressed flush together. "Okay, a little tipsy. But nowhere near too drunk to let you take me home and have your way with me."

  He seemed to hesitate for a brief moment, and then nodded. “It’s not like this is our first time.”

  “Or our tenth time. You know that it’s okay with me if you fuck me,” I said, leaning into him as we crossed the floor.

  “Keep talking like that and you’re going to get it in the car again. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Blood rushed to the space between my legs, which clenched involuntarily at the memory of that night. It hadn’t been the best sex we’d had, or even the only car sex I’d ever had. But something about doing it in the car with Ethan that night had been… sweet. A memory that made my heart swell. I wondered if I’d ever have to savor it without Ethan.

  We’d just stepped out into the cool night when Ethan stopped in his tracks. “Ah, your phone’s buzzing.”

  My eyebrows drew in as I watched him dig into his pocket and wiggle my phone out of the tight space. “Nobody calls me,” I said, reaching for it and seeing a Philly number I didn’t recognize on the screen. “It’s probably just a telemarketer,” I said, trying to explain away the unknown reason for my stomach suddenly twisting itself into knots.

  Ethan peered at the screen, as if he somehow had caller ID in his brain and could better guess at the owner of the number than I could. “At ten thirty on a Wednesday?” he asked.

  “You’re right, I should –” I went to accept the call, and noticed my fingers inexplicably shaking. Probably a wrong number.

  “Yes?” I answered, holding the phone tight to my ear so that I didn’t drop it with my unsteady hands. What if it was Carol calling with another offer, from a different number? As content as I’d been with Ethan, I didn’t want to dismiss any future offers out of hand.

  “Yes, hello, I’m trying to reach a Miss Natalia Ortiz?”

  My heart lurched. The voice was not familiar, and carried a tinny, distracted quality.

  "Miss Ortiz?"

  "Yes. Y-Yes, it's me."

  Her voice was muffled and garbled against the background of the salsa band's trumpets and drums, which had seemed so bright and cheerful just minutes ago. I located the exit and marched toward it, dimly registering that Ethan was at my side, matching my pace step for step.

  "Miss Ortiz, I'm calling from Mercy Philadelphia Hospital. Your father has been stabilized and is in no immediate danger, but we do need you to get down here as soon as possible."

  I choked back a sob. "Is he - will he be? - oh, God." My thoughts broke on a wail.

  Ethan's hand, firm on the small of my back, had guided me to where our car was parked, nearly a block away. I must have been moving fast.

  He opened the passenger side door and helped me inside, holding my seatbelt out to me and waiting ‘til my trembling hand took it. Seconds later, he was in his seat and taking the buckle from my frozen hand, clasping it into place before doing up his own.

  "Where is he, Tali?" Ethan asked, his voice calm and steady.

  “Mercy Philadelphia," I said. My voice broke. "They said he's stable. For now. Just -"

  "We're going to get there as soon as we can without getting a speeding ticket. Got it."

  Horrible images flashed through my mind of Papá pale and cold, lying silent in a hospital bed - Papá lying on a table, waiting for surgery - Papá groaning in pain, with nobody able to help him. My breathing quickened and my chest felt tight. My vision swam, the lights of the city blurring together before it like a neon watercolor.

  "Hey," Ethan said, grabbing my hand. "I'm here. We're going to do this. Together. Okay?"

  Somehow his words let me take in a long, deliberate breath through my nose. "Okay," I managed before needing to close my lips again. I was too afraid I'd throw up.

  When we pulled up to the doors of the Emergency Room, Ethan undid my seatbelt for me, then leaned over me and popped open the door handle. Even my face felt like it was shaking. I looked at him with wide eyes.

  "Go on in, I'll meet you."

  "But what if you can't get in? Because you're not - because we're not -" My voice broke again. "And what if I can't get reception, and you don't know how -"

  Ethan's eyes didn't leave mine, he just gave a quick nod and popped his own handle, shutting the door behind him. I watched as he bounded to the entrance, speaking to a guy just inside the tall glass door with a semi-official polo shirt on.

  Then he was pulling my door open, offering me a hand. "They’re going to call valet out."

  "Ethan, I'm sorry, I just -"

  "Don't. That was stupid, of course you want me to come with you. I'm not leaving your side ‘til you say so, okay?"

  Briefly, relief flooded my chest, and I felt the tiniest bit steadier. Ethan knew what I was worried about – that we weren’t married, so he wouldn’t be given access to Papá’s room unless he walked up with me now. Tears leaked from my eyes, like they couldn't keep themselves in a second later and my body had absolutely no interest in fighting them. I nodded, ignoring the salty streams slipping over my cheeks.

  Ethan expertly navigated us through the emergency room and all the way up to the floor where my dad had already been taken, only stopping to ask for directions a couple times. Once there, I heard him say my father's full name - Ernesto Julian Ortiz - and then, softly, "Yes, we're family. This is his daughter." He squeezed my hand and I stepped up to the desk beside him.

  "I'm sure my brothers and sisters in law are already here," I explained. "His should be the room packed full of loud annoying guys that look like me," I said in a lame attempt at humor. The nurse answered me with a tight smile and keyed Papá's name into the system. "Okay, you're Natalia, is that right? You're his first emergency contact, hon. You're the first one here."

  My eyes swam with tears now, flooding too quickly for them to flow out and make room for new ones. Ethan kept that same steady hand on the small of my back as we followed a nurse, who was moving way too quickly down the silent hallway, to a door, and then to the foot of a hospital bed.

  Papá was pale, and still, with a tube stuck in hi
s arm and in his nose. His body left a couple of feet of empty space at the end of the bed, and I found some small part of my brain frantically wondering if he was actually this short, if it was actually him. But once I swiped at my eyes, settled into a chair, and clasped his still, cold hand in both of mine, it was clear to me. This was unmistakably Papá.

  There were the laugh lines I'd seen working overtime at every stupid joke my brothers and I had ever told him. There was the strange one-inch patch of silver hair that had changed years before the rest of his jet-black head had even shown signs of peppering, right behind his left ear. There was his wedding ring, years of wear making the unique braided design on it standing out in relief.

  "Papá," I breathed. His head shifted to the side, but his eyes didn't open. Tears streamed down my face.

  "Do you want me to call your brothers?" Ethan asked.

  "Oh, Dios. Yes. Thank you," I said, patting my bra and then my pockets, wondering where on Earth I'd shoved my phone after I'd gotten the second worst call of my life.

  "I've got it. But shit, it's almost dead. I'll just run downstairs for a charger, they've got to have one in the gift shop -"

  But that sent a flash of panic through me. "Please. Just stay until the doctor comes in."

  Ethan nodded, then squeezed my knee and reached over to pull another chair from the wall.

  Thankfully, there were only a few awful minutes filled with my sniffling and the slow, steady beep of the machines hooked up to Papá before a doctor came in. She crossed to the other side of his bed and pulled a chair from the corner, then sat down in it to face us from across Papá's thighs.

  "Hi there, you two. I'm Doctor Kippins, and I’m overseeing your father's care tonight."

  "Thank you," I said, my heart twisting. "I'm Natalia, and this is Ethan."

  "Okay," Doctor Kippins said gently. "I'm glad your husband was with you, Natalia. It's very important for you to have someone to take care of you in a situation like this." She gave me a warm, cautious smile.

  "Oh, I'm -" Ethan stuttered. But I just squeezed his hand hard and interrupted.

  "I'm glad, too." I had a feeling Ethan wouldn't be allowed back here at this late an hour if he wasn't directly related to my dad or to me, and I couldn't let him go now. He was the only reason I'd made it to the hospital so quickly, the only reason I still had some semblance of clear thought. I couldn't afford to risk him getting kicked out now.

  "Okay," started Dr. Kippins, "Your dad had a heart attack.”

  “He had an almost-heart attack a few months back,” I said, weariness seeping into every word. He’d just told us that things were turning around. What in the world had happened between then and now?

  "That's right," Dr. Kippins said. "His doctor put him on some medication, some things to lower his blood pressure and make sure his blood could run smoothly through his veins. He - Dr. Campbell at the practice on Sansom, it looks like - also prescribed him a nutritional plan and exercise regimen, as well as instructing him to get enough sleep and abstain from rigorous activity. Now... I assume that you are his primary caregiver?"

  "His care - no, ma'am, I'm sorry, but my dad doesn't really have a caregiver. He's been doing okay on his own at home."

  Dr. Kippins mashed her lips together and frowned, nodding as she glanced at my dad. "Whatever he's told you about how well he's doing on his own is clearly... not the best representation of how he was actually doing, I'm afraid. He lives alone?"

  Tears welled up in my eyes again. "Yeah. My mom passed away a few months ago and ever since then it's just been him in the house. But... he's been going to his appointments, getting blood drawn, everything. We just got an update from his doctor, saying he was doing well. Is that - can you not - I mean, is that not in his files?"

  Dr. Kippins frowned at her tablet, scrolling through screens with practiced speed. "It's possible that the system is experiencing some issues, though it's rare.... but I do see that he signed this release for his doctor to share any and all appointment info with our hospital system. Nothing's showing up here."

  "What are you saying?" I asked, aware of my own voice rising in pitch. "That he - I mean, do you think he wasn't - could he have been lying to us? About what his doctor said?" I hiccupped out the sentence fragments, barely able to grasp the concept myself. "I know he's been filling his prescriptions - at least, I've seen him with bags from the pharmacy. Oh, man," I moaned, running my palm across my forehead, "What if he hasn’t been taking his medication? Can you see that on there?"

  "Okay, Ms. Ortiz.” The doctor's voice lowered and softened noticeably - a trick to get me to lower mine, I knew. "We can't know for sure until we can speak to your dad, or at least call his doctor in the morning. Computers aren't perfect, just like people."

  "Okay. Right," I said, forcing myself to suck in a breath.

  "I can see that the prescriptions were filled by his pharmacy on a 90-day supply three months ago. Unfortunately, I can't see whether or when he was taking that medication."

  I blew out that big breath. "Okay, maybe - are there ways to make sure of that? I mean, going forward?"

  "One step at a time, okay?" Dr. Kippins leaned forward and placed her hand gently over mine, where it covered Papá's. Her nails were curved and perfectly kept. That comforted me, for some reason. Like if this doctor had her shit together enough to make sure her nails were well kept, maybe she really did know what she was doing. I nodded. "We're going to monitor him. For now, we've placed him on some anti-clotting medication, as well as run a heart catheter into his arteries to remove the blockage that caused the heart attack."

  "Wait, you did what?"

  "It's a fairly common procedure for this kind of heart attack. There's a large artery that runs directly from the groin to the heart, and our team simply went in at that entry point to scrub out the arteries a little. Then we placed a stent, which is just a little piece of plastic, in there to prevent any more blockage from accumulating quickly. But it won't do all the work. He really is going to have to follow doctor's orders if he wants to keep himself out of the hospital.”

  Guilt twisted my stomach. "I should have been taking better care of him," I murmured, and at that, Ethan moved his hand from covering mine to lacing his fingers together with mine. He squeezed it.

  "Natalia," he said softly. I heard everything in the way he said my name. Sympathy, understanding of what I was thinking and feeling, a gentle reprimand for thinking this was my fault.

  "The good news," Dr. Kippins continued, "is that he was not alone when this happened. He was with his friends, playing cards, and they called 911. The EMTs got to him quickly and our ER wasn't very busy this evening. All told, his brain was barely deprived of oxygen. We expect him to wake up soon, and not to suffer any lasting damage. Except maybe to whatever mindset that led him to think that he didn't have to follow doctor's orders." She gave me another gentle smile, and a gentle parting squeeze on my hand, as she stood up. "I'm going to be on call here for the next nine hours or so, if you have any questions about your dad's condition or his treatment plan. The nurses will be in and out to re-run his EKG and check his vitals, but it shouldn't wake him up. I expect him to open his eyes around breakfast time. The sleep will do him good, allow his brain and body a bit of time to seriously recover. I'd recommend that you two get some sleep, if you can. He'll be fine if you go home, but if you don't want to do that, this couch folds out into a very narrow version of a full bed. The nurses can bring you some blankets."

  I nodded, swallowing down the lump in my throat. "Thank you, Dr. Kippins."

  She stood at the door now, poised to leave. "Miss Ortiz? I can tell that you love him very much. He's going to be okay. And we can only go forward. Looking backward on his care won't help us too much at this point. And guilt certainly doesn't. Okay?"

  Tears were dripping from my eyes again like rain sliding off a tin rooftop. I just nodded, swiping under my eyes with my sleeve. "Thank you," I repeated. When she was gone, I collapsed back in my c
hair, rubbing my palm against my forehead. My brain felt full of static, and the shaking that had run through all my limbs from the moment the hospital had called was now a bone-deep exhaustion.

  "You going to be okay here while I find a charger for you?" Ethan asked gently.

  I looked over at him and a quick flash of warmth spread from my chest down through my stomach. He was just here, beside me, ready to help - like a strong, steady constant in my life, sure as anything. I was certain I looked disgusting - puffy eyes, snot collecting at the corners of my nostrils - and ridiculous here in this little black dress and dancing heels. I was suddenly aware of just how much of my skin was showing, and on cue, goose bumps pebbled my arms, chest, and thighs. I shivered.

  "I'm sure they have something more comfortable for you to wear, too. Until I can get Amalia to bring you something."

  "Why are you so good to me?" I asked, sniffling.

  Ethan chuckled as if I'd asked something rhetorical, or ridiculous. He stood and kissed the top of my head, and right before he stepped out the door, said, "Because I love you. Obviously."

  His words filled the close space of the hospital room, punctuated by the steady beep of the heart monitor. He loved me. He'd said it so many times since the first time, but this was the first time he was really showing up to prove it.

  I'd said it, too. I'd dated plenty of guys, but never, ever gotten to the "I love you" stage. It had never bothered me, either. I had enough excitement to fill my life - I didn't need to hear that someone loved me to feel passionate about something or someone. Love was what happened on telenovelas, what prompted jewelry and flower delivery commercials, what pulp romance novels on grocery store shelves were about. Sitting through a hospital visit? If you had asked me for a definition of what it meant for someone to be in love with me four months ago, "holding my hand after my dad had a heart attack and buying me sweats as I sat in the hospital" wouldn't have been part of it.