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“Well, are you?”
“No,” I pause. “There was an accident—”
“What! Where are you? Is Nandy okay? Why isn’t he calling me himself?”
I wait for him to stop long enough for me to address the barrage of questions. When the line goes quiet, I wait a moment longer.
“Are you ready for me to answer now?”
TJ exhales loudly enough for me to hear it through the phone. I can imagine his hand raking through his thick hair, likely wet from a post-game shower. He exhales again. “Sorry, please.”
“We are in New York. Someone ran a red light and hit the cab we were in. He hit Nandy’s side. He has a broken wrist and finger, and mild concussion, but the surgeon says he will be fine. He’s in surgery right now.”
“Which one?”
“What?”
“Which arm?”
“Oh, the left.”
“Fuck, that seems worse than the right for him.”
I raise my eyebrows, even though he can’t see me. I thought the same thing. “Maybe,” I say. “The surgeon doesn’t seem too worried, and he is a fan of Nandy’s so, I feel like that means he’s in excellent hands.”
“Is Nandy worried?”
“I can’t tell.”
“So, that means he is.”
I laugh. “Probably.” I pause for a moment. I have TJ on the phone and his voice feels so good in my ear. “So, how was the game? We tried watching but could only get New York teams on the TV in the room.”
“Why are you in New York?”
“A concert.” I try not to sound like that should be obvious.
“I know, but why are you there?” Ah. This question seems just shy of accusatory. Is he jealous? I suppose it’s a logical question. I rarely travel with Nandy. Haven’t in a while.
“I wanted to do some shopping.” Completely true. I hear some voices and noise in the background on the other end of the phone and I can tell I’ve lost TJ’s attention.
“Fynn, I have to get going. Update me after the surgery, please, and make him call me when he can.”
I nod again into the phone. “Of course,” I say. I’m reluctant to end the call. Hearing TJ’s voice is nice, even if talking to me isn’t what he wants. Even if I feel invisible at the moment. I’m a vessel of information. That’s it. He never answered my question about the game. Of course I can look up the score. But I want to hear the results from him. I want to hear how he felt about it. Not just a score. I want to tell him we watched the New York game just so we could see highlights from his game whenever they showed them. I want to tell him congrats, good game, all the things I think you are supposed to say to an athlete after an event. The Grizzlies won. TJ knocked a bunch of people over throughout the game.
Before I can say any of that. Before I can even say goodbye, TJ has said it and disconnected the call before waiting for me to respond.
I stand, my phone in my hand, and look around the stark hospital room they moved Nandy to. The nurse brings in a plastic bag containing Nandy’s things and sets it on the faded yellow chair. I smile and she retreats. I’m alone.
Alone in a New York City hospital. The man I love is in surgery. The man he loves is across the country. That man…I have feelings for him too, don’t I? Feelings I don’t know how to define. Feelings I don’t know what to do with. But feelings that caused my heart to sink when our phone call ended abruptly.
I’m here. Alone. Wearing clothes covered in blood from Nandy’s head. I’m unscathed. And restless.
I wander down to the gift shop to find something not blood spattered to put on. I’m deciding between a sweatshirt with the Statue of Liberty on it or NYPD when my phone buzzes in my pocket.
TJ.
“Hey,” I say.
