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“Well why not? You like him and I think it’s pretty obvious,” she gestures to the flowers before continuing, “that he likes you, too.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Complicated how?”
“Can we talk about this later?” I plead. I really don’t know what to say to her right now. It’s not like I can tell my mom that I made a stupid bet with a womanizing playboy and now we happen to be sleeping together. I’m sure that would go over really well.
As if my father knew I needed saving, he appears in the doorway, his wheelchair being guided by a nurse I would guess close to my age.
“There’s my baby.” He gives me the proud papa smile that I get every time I see him. “Come here.” He holds his arms up to me and I immediately go to him, leaning down to wrap my arms around his broad shoulders.
“You scared us,” I speak into his ear.
“I scared myself.” He chuckles. “But you know me. It’ll take more than a little heart attack to keep me down.”
“Well how about we don’t test fate.” Standing back up, I get my first good look at him since I arrived yesterday evening.
He looks tired. His dark hair has more gray in it since I saw him last and he has bags under his eyes. All things considered, he looks pretty good. Though it is weird to see my six foot, two-hundred-pound father, sitting in a wheelchair dressed in a hospital gown. Growing up he always seemed invincible. This is a sobering reminder that no one is invincible, not even Evan Daniels.
The rest of the morning is like a blur. Doctors and nurses are in and out of my father’s room every few minutes and right after two o’clock they roll him back to place his stents. Mom and I are both nervous wrecks, but less than two hours later he’s back in his room, sitting up and talking like nothing had happened.
It is such a relief and because he’s doing so well I felt okay about going to my parents’ house to shower and change out of my two-day old clothes.
I had purposely avoided my phone for most of the day. I know Harris meant well when he sent the flowers, but he shouldn’t have done it. In a way I almost feel like he knew it would spark a conversation. Maybe he was hoping I’d tell my parents about him. Or maybe he really was just trying to do something nice for me. Either way, it’s left me with this weird feeling in my gut and I can’t seem to get rid of it.
Once I’m clean and feel halfway human again, I head into the kitchen. Spotting my purse on the table, I decide it’s time to bite the bullet and check my phone. Pulling it out, I scroll through a couple messages from people at work checking in, and two from Hannah, before finding only one message from Harris that simply readsI miss you.
He misses me?
I’ve only been gone a day. Why would he miss me? But then I’m hit with a thought that’s even harder to swallow.
I miss him, too...
