Yet, here we were. And it felt... large. All-encompassing. Unmatchable. Terrifying.
Like some part of me wanted to push against it, just to see how much it could withstand.
Ethan returned twenty-five minutes later with a phone charger, a pullover sweatshirt with the hospital’s logo on the front, and the thickest, softest sweats I'd ever seen, branded gaudily with PHILADELPHIA. They were a full size too big, and I managed a laugh as I cinched the drawstring waist to its tightest setting. "I think you overestimated the size of my booty," I teased gently as I tugged the sweatshirt over my head, and Ethan blushed.
"I just wanted to get back here to you. I don't know, 'medium' sounds like 'one size fits all'. Or at least, it did down there.” He stifled a yawn. “Geez, I should have gotten some coffee."
“Mmm, these are so soft,” I practically moaned.
"To be fair, even if I overestimated the size of your booty, it's because I fully admire it. For its size, and... other things."
I gave a small shake of my head, then curled back up in the chair right beside Papá. "I'll take it. I'm just glad I'm finally getting warm. Thank you."
Suddenly, my eyelids were so heavy I could barely even fathom lifting them.
"Okay, cyclone. You might as well sleep while your dad sleeps, right? Let's get you onto this couch. I'll sit there, call the family, and wake you if anything happens, okay? If all your brothers are going to be in this room in the next several hours, you're going to need to be alert."
"But what if -"
"If he wakes up, I'll wake you up. Promise." Then he was there, helping me up, tugging my hair out of the back of my sweatshirt, and bringing me some of the thick socks from the hospital room's cabinet. We didn’t even bother to pull the couch out into its sleeper configuration - I slumped right back on to its pleather cushion and sighed at the feeling of Ethan draping a blanket over me. With a kiss to my forehead, and feeling safe and secure, I was dead to the world.
Chapter 25
Ethan
It was absolute hell, watching Natalia go through the past few hours. I loved her, even more than I had allowed myself to admit until tonight. Seeing her go through so much pain and feeling it like a knife straight to my heart - well, that really forced me to realize it. Watching her cry in disbelief, watching her body shake as her brain struggled to process every piece of awful information coming at her, being beside her as she saw her father lying so still, so pale, attached to wires and tubes, really hammered it home. Love meant more than just hot nights at a salsa club, spontaneous sex in the car, and following someone as they literally jumped out of an airplane.
Love meant sitting with someone at the worst times, shouldering their pain, trying to be everything and anything they needed.
Love meant begging the hospital staff to open up the gift shop and spending way too much on sweats so that the woman you loved didn't have to worry about her father dying and be freezing cold while she did it.
Love meant calling her brothers, who didn't even know you were together, and explaining to them why you were the one who drove their sister to their father's hospital room in the middle of the night.
Love meant sitting there, guzzling green tea from the vending machine hoping to get a mega hit of caffeine, after you'd tucked that woman in, and waiting for the return calls to trickle in.
The first to return my call was Sebastian. He just swore under his breath as I listened to him stumbling around apartment, then heard him wake Mariana and ask her to sit with Camila while he came into the hospital, since his wife was working an overnight shift at another hospital. Next was Amalia, who sobbed into the phone with wet, gulping breaths to rival Natalia's panicked short ones in intensity. She vowed I would see her in fifteen minutes, and asked that I speak to the nurses at the front desk about letting her come up to the room. I promised her I would, even if I didn’t know if it would do any good.
As dawn broke over the city, which we had a gorgeous view of through the hospital room window - maybe the only good thing to come out of this whole night - I heard from Natalia's other two brothers. They'd be in as soon as they could, they said, but assumed Natalia had things under control. I said she did, but that she had asked for them. Alejandro was the only one who took an extra second of convincing to come in from New York, but soon, I was rubbing Natalia's shoulder, gently telling her to wake up, since her family would be here soon.
She groaned as she fought to drag her eyes open, and I gently brushed her long, tangled hair from her forehead, wishing I'd had the skill to pull her hair down from its half-up style and pull the whole wavy mass off her face in a top knot. Natalia hated messiness, especially when it came to her body, and having out of control hair would only make this situation more unbearable for her.
"Hey, Love," I said, gripping her arm with gentle pressure, then leaning in to brush a light kiss on her cheek. She was a disaster - swollen eyes, stale breath, smudged mascara - but when she looked at me and I saw relief in her eyes, I thought that I'd never seen anything more beautiful. “Sebastian should be here in a few minutes. I'm going to go find some toothpaste and a hair brush, okay?"
"And some coffee, maybe?" Natalia croaked.
"On it," I said.
By the time I arrived back with the supplies, Sebastian, Rodrigo, and Amalia were there. Amalia sat in the chair where Natalia had been perched last night, in the exact same pose - hands clasped around Mr. Ortiz's, eyes anxiously flicking from his face to the monitor and back again. Instead of the tears that had streaked Natalia's cheeks, she was rocking gently back and forth, her expression desperate, her face pale. She sat on the couch, eyes closed, her lips moving almost imperceptibly as she clutched a string of beads with a metal cross dangling between her hands.
"Mamá's rosary," Sebastian explained when he saw me watching her. “Natalia hadn't wanted to take it out of Philly when she went back to LA. Was worried she'd lose it on the plane or something. When I heard your message, though, it was the first thing I threw in my bag.”
My chest tightened, and I strode to the corner, where Sebastian leaned against the wall, and clasped his hand in mine. When he leaned in and put an arm around me, clapping my back in a half-bear hug, I had to fight to keep my tears back.
I would have given anything for this many people around me, hell, for one person sitting next to me in support when Mom died. Would have given the world for her monitor to still be beeping like Mr. Ortiz's was.
"That was a great idea," I said. "That, uh -" I cleared my throat against the lump that had formed there, "that means a lot to Tali, I'm sure."
"She’s always loved that thing. Maybe... I don't know. Maybe I thought bringing my mom's rosary would make it feel like she was here, too." His voice broke at the end.
I clasped his shoulder, and gave him a nod. "If it feels that way to you, man, then she is. I lost my mom, too. This shit is rough."
He pressed his lips together and nodded his thanks. "Hey, they have any coffee down there?" Sebastian asked. "I'm running on empty."
I held up the cup I’d found for Natalia. "Sure do. Want me to head back down there?"
"Nah, I think I need to walk."
I nodded my understanding, and once he'd left, I sat next to Amalia.
"Who was with him?" she asked, her voice cold and silent. She was talking to me, but wouldn't break eye contact with Mr. Ortiz.
"His buddies," I said. "They were playing cards, having a beer."
Her jaw clenched. "He promised me he'd given up drinking. That he was going to bed every night after Jeopardy. Now I come to find out he's been out with these guys all these nights every week... dammit, Ethan."
"I know," I said quietly. "I know. Natalia felt bad, too."
“But I was the one who was taking care of him," Amalia ground out. "He - God, my own dad died of this shit. Heart disease. And I didn't take care of him like I should have, so I thought -" She blew out a long, labored breath, and then touched her forehead to where her hands gripp
ed Mr. Ortiz's.
There wasn't anything to say that would help. I knew that. I didn't know what Amalia needed to hear, so I knew it was best to say nothing. To just be there. Still, watching the process of fear and tentative, impending mourning was very different from going through it myself. The silence was heavy. Natalia's occasional punctuating whispers and the beep of the machines were the only thing breaking up the stretch of nothingness that filled the room.
At exactly 7:00 in the morning, as the sun was sending brilliant hues careening off the Philly skyscrapers, Sebastian made it back, four coffees in hand, followed closely by Dr. Kippins.
By now, Natalia had finished with the Rosary, and gave me a soft smile when I sat beside her and rubbed her back. We still hadn't talked about what her family thought our relationship was, about whether and when to tell them about us, but right now, it seemed like the least important thing on the planet.
Dr. Kippins took up the same seat as she had done last night, holding the same chart, and had the same talk with Amalia that she had with Natalia and I last night. Instead of getting progressively sadder, and displaying obvious feelings of guilt, though, Amalia sat up straighter with every sentence, her eyes getting narrower, her hands withdrawing from Mr. Ortiz's and eventually squeezing so tight that her knuckles were white.
Natalia saw, and pulled up a chair beside Amalia, just like I'd done for her last night. She didn't dare touch her sister-in-law, though - Amalia looked like a grenade whose pin had been pulled, ready to go off with the slightest extra bit of pressure.
"Why didn't they call me?" Amalia asked.
"Pardon?" asked Dr. Kippins.
"Why. Didn't the hospital. Call me? I'm the one who takes care of him. Checks in after all his appointments. Makes sure he's filling his prescriptions. Checks the bottles to see if he's taking them. Goes with him to the market."
"So, you are the primary caregiver?"
"I... I mean, not officially, but..." Amalia blew out a breath. "Look. It's just my husband and me. I don't have any kids... yet. I’m sort of in between jobs. And I went through all this with my dad a few years back, so... I've been the one checking in with them."
"I'm so sorry, Mrs...."
"Ortiz," Amalia confirmed. "I'm married to his son." She jerked her head over to the wall, where Rodrigo stood, whispering something to Sebastian. Her jaw stayed tight, her words barely finding the space to make it out.
"Well, Miss Ortiz – his daughter - she is the one who's listed on his forms. I didn't know he had any other children."
"Five," Amalia interjected. "Five sons. God, why isn't that on there?"
"Well, you're here now. Maybe you can help me understand some of the information we've been missing..."
A few moments later, Amalia had revealed that she'd been taking Mr. Ortiz to the hospital for every appointment, dropping him off, waiting for him in a nearby cafe or running an errand, and then picking him up when it was over.
"He's a very private man," she'd explained. "He didn't even want to move in with us when - when his wife – well, anyway. He certainly didn’t want me to hear the doctor talking about his health.”
"And have you actually spoken to any of the doctors after his appointments?"
Amalia's brow furrowed in confusion. “One, a few weeks back. He asked me to come up to meet him, said the doctor had good news for me. Other than that…no.”
"What I'm getting at, Mrs. Ortiz, is that the hospital system shows no record of Mr. Ortiz actually seeing any of the doctors he was scheduled to see after the cardiac event he suffered a few months back. So, we're trying to get to the bottom of that. Did you accompany him to any appointments? Or speak to any of the doctors or nurses afterwards?"
"No, I - he told me after the appointments that he needed to keep taking meds, restricting activity... a few weeks ago, he said he'd gone and the report from the doctor was good, that he could get back into some exercise..." Her hand flew over her mouth. "Do you think -?"
"I'm wondering if he was skipping appointments, yes," Doctor Kippins explained. "Now, about the medication... his labs indicate that he may not have been as diligent about that as he should of them. What arrangement did you two have for him remembering to take those?"
Natalia and I watched as Amalia's face grew increasingly horrified, and her voice shakier with every second, as she explained to the doctor how she'd gone into the house weekly and methodically set out Mr. Ortiz's pills in a 28-sectioned container, that had an alarm attached, and checked in with him every couple of days to make sure he'd stayed on schedule.
“But you didn’t actually look at the organizer?” Doctor Kippins confirmed. “No judgment,” she rushed to explain, “but it will help me get a clearer picture of what’s going on here. That’s all.”
"Oh, God," Amalia repeated. "I can't believe - I just thought he'd be taking them. Taking care of himself, especially after -"
At that moment, a deep grumble came from Mr. Ortiz's chest, then a light cough. Dr. Kippins pressed the nurse button, then placed her hand on Mr. Ortiz's and stood to raise the bed a bit. Slowly, his eyes opened, and the corners crinkled with a soft smile when he saw his daughter and daughter-in-law.
"Girls," he said. "Lo siento," he managed before starting to cough again. Amalia burst into tears, throwing herself onto Mr. Ortiz's lap and weeping. Natalia sat, calmer than I would have expected, and watched for several long minutes. The nurses came in and took vitals, adjusted his nose cannula, and conferred with the doctor.
"Listen, Ms. Ortiz, Mrs. Ortiz -" Doctor Kippins started as she turned to leave. "Regardless of what happened in the last few months, it's in our best interests to focus on how we can help your dad going forward. See what you can find out from him about how he’s been managing his care. I'm going to have the next attending doctor on shift speak with you on her rounds, in a few hours. Can both of you stay that long?
Both women nodded.
"Great. Remember, focus on going forward, okay?" And then she was gone.
Amalia settled back down in her seat as the doctor left and I went to grab my coat. Natalia had pulled it over herself while she slept on the couch, and now it smelled like her perfume.
"Where are you going?" Natalia asked, following me to the couch. She looked so different, here in the pale fluorescent light of the hospital room. Empty. Lost.
"I just thought I'd give you some time alone with your family. You know?"
"Oh." Her eyes turned down, and I noticed her lips tremble just a bit. "Sure, and you probably have stuff you need to take care of, so...."
"No, Tali, really, it's -"
"So I'll try to call you when we fix all this up, keep you posted, if you -"
"Hey," I interrupted, gently tipping her chin up with my fingers. "I have nothing more important to do than whatever you want or need me to do, right this minute. For the rest of the day, and until your dad leaves the hospital. Later, even. We're in this together."
She could have taken that opportunity to make a comment about how, yes, I worked for her dad and the gym. She could have refused. But my heart soared when, instead of either of those things, she looked me steadily in the eye and whispered, "Thank you."
"So, you want me to stay?" I asked, keeping my coat slung over my arm.
"Just until we figure out this doctor shit," she said. "If you could. I have a feeling this is not going to go well. At all. And you always… make things better. Calmer."
I settled in on the couch while Natalia went back to the seat beside Amalia's. I couldn’t ignore the happy swell of my heart at her words.
Chapter 26
Natalia
"What about the doctor, Papá?" Amalia was asking, her brows knit together, her tone imploring. "You've been going to all those appointments, haven't you? The computer must be wrong, sí?"
I knew the answer already, deep in my gut. I hadn't prayed the rosary in a long time. Too long. Since Mamá died and I was trying to pray for my soul to quiet, for my path to sort it
self out before me. Then I'd gone to LA, left her beads behind, hadn't bought my own. Today, in the hospital, I'd stumbled over the prayers, but I'd been grateful for the habit of it all, the rhythm, the way I didn't have to think about the words but I was still able to say them, the way they opened up the floodgates for peace to trickle in, for me to feel a little more grounded.
"Ah," Papá replied, his face the picture of contrition. "You know I was feeling pretty good a week or two after the hospital, Mali. And all these appointments they had set up for me… it seemed like a lot of appointments."
"Yes, they were to help you, Papá. Make sure your care was going well, that you were on track.”
“Listen, querida. El doctor. You go, tell them what feels bad. They send you to another guy. Then that guy sends you to another guy, no? And that's how they get you. You go here, you go there, and in the end, you pay seven doctors and you still don't know what you have."
“Papá,” Amalia replied, clearly trying to keep her voice steady. She wasn’t succeeding. In fact, in that moment, she reminded me of my mother, who hated yelling but managed to let us know when she was enraged anyway. It turned out that a low, almost-too-quiet-to-hear voice terrified us more than any screaming fit from any of our friends’ moms ever could. Amalia’s rage gave her voice the same quiet trembling that Mami had always employed to let us know that we were in a world of trouble, and we were about to hear all about it. “We knew what you had. You had an almost-heart attack. You had the beginnings of heart disease, and you had chest pain, and then next thing that happens after that if you don’t take care of yourself, if you don’t relax and eat right and take your medicine and go to the doctor –" she ground out that last word through tight teeth – “is that you have an actual heart attack. Ataque al corazon. Which has now happened. Which was beyond serious. Which very nearly killed you.” Finally, her voice broke, and her tears started up again. I put my arm around her, gripping her upper arm lightly, and was surprised with the shock of feedback when she stiffened instead of leaning into my hug, as I would have expected her to do.
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