Chapter 40 - Noelle
FORTY
NOELLE
The waiting room is too bright.
Not the warm kind of bright—clinical and unforgiving, like the lights are designed to give you a headache.
And I have one. The chairs are arranged in neat rows that no one actually uses properly.
Everyone hovers instead, pacing or perching on the edges, afraid that sitting down means settling into the waiting.
I clutch the water that I haven’t touched and stare at the clock on the wall.
Matt went back twenty minutes ago.
The surgeon told us the transplant could take anywhere from four to six hours. That once they connect the kidney, they’ll know quickly whether it’s working—but that doesn’t mean they’ll be done. There are steps. Monitoring. Waiting. Always waiting.
Everyone is here except Paulina and J.D. She’s at the tennis academy with her best friend today, and for once I’m grateful. She’s too young for this kind of fear. Too young to sit in a room and wonder whether someone she loves will come back out alive. J.D. is picking up Matt’s sister.
We are that kind of family. One that drops everything when needed, and today is one of those days. The quiet celebration with a side dish of fear of the unknown.
Dad sits stiff-backed in a chair, hands folded like he’s bracing for bad news. Parker and Witt stand near the windows, talking quietly about nothing and everything. I’ve noticed they talk more since Parker said he wanted a relationship like Greyson’s and J.D.’s. It’s a start that both deserve.
Greyson paces, unable to stay still for more than thirty seconds at a time. Sutton rocks Witley gently in her carrier, murmuring to her like babies can absorb reassurance by osmosis.
When J.D. arrives with Matt’s sister, I run to her. I don’t even really know her. She’s breathless from travel and adrenaline; I don’t even say her name.
We just collapse into each other.
She sobs into my shoulder like she’s been holding it together for years. Like she’s finally letting go. I cling to her, our grief and hope tangling together until neither of us knows whose tears are whose.
“He taught me how to throw a spiral,” she says through tears. “I was ten. He refused to let me quit until I got it right.”
I smile weakly. “He’s stubborn like that.”
She laughs softly. “My feet are always cold, and we would sit at the kitchen table for dinner, and I would slide my toes under his thigh. At first he would jump, making some comment that he thinks I might be dead. My feet are like ice. I don’t know if you know, but we’re both sci-fi lovers.
After school and practices, we would lie on the floor on our stomachs watching television together. ”
Piquing Witt’s interest, he says, “Matt? Sci-fi?”
She grins. “He’s always loved television shows, but sci-fi and of course MTV were the staples during the week at our house, leaving the weekends for live sports. And Saved by the Bell. I almost forgot that one. You must be Witt. He said you were the youngest sibling.”
Witt’s eyebrows raise. I think he’s surprised that Matt would mention him.
Pointing to my belly, I say, “He still loves TV. We’ve been watching true crime lately, because we’ve had a lot of other things going on.”
After introductions, Birdie clears her throat gently. “Okay,” she says. “While we’re all here losing our minds…let’s talk about the baby shower.”
The shift is subtle but intentional. A lifeline.
“Where do you want to have it?” she asks. “Your place? A venue?”
“And who are we inviting?” Sutton adds. “Because this family alone is a crowd.”
“What about a theme?” Birdie presses. “Classic? Sports? Something neutral?”
I blink at them, startled—and then grateful. Matt’s sister chimes in, “Matt had a best friend growing up who was a girl, Steph. She’s already been blowing up my phone wanting details of the transplant. I know she would love to come celebrate the baby, and don’t forget about Mom.”
“I would never leave either of you out. We’re practically family.
” Mrs. Stricker is coming to stay with us during Matt’s recovery.
She’ll be here tomorrow. “Oh, and I’d like to invite my friend, Clara; she’s been checking out baby books and bringing them over.
And my producer and cameraman. That’s it. ”
The women lean in, voices overlapping as they debate colors, decorations, and whether a football theme is too on-the-nose. Dad and the boys huddle a few feet away, talking quietly, their low voices a constant murmur of support.
I glance back at the clock.
Time hasn’t moved nearly enough.
But for the first time since the doors closed behind Matt, I feel something steady settle into my chest.
We are not alone.
And when he comes back to us—because he will—I want him to know that his life is already surrounded by love, laughter, and plans for the future.
I press a hand to my belly and whisper silently, Your daddy is coming back.
Hours pass, gallons of coffee consumed. We’ve all taken turns grabbing lunch or a snack. There’s no need for everyone to be here, but I’m glad they are.
Finally, the surgeon appears in his blue scrubs and takes off his paper hat, holding it in his hands. “Noelle,” he calls out, and I stand up.
“Is he okay?”
“The surgery was flawless,” he says confidently.
Matt would like his cockiness. I know my family does.
They want to be around people that are sure of themselves.
“He’ll be under sedation for another couple of hours so we can monitor him, and if anything changes, we can go back in without starting all over. ”
“What are the chances of something going wrong?” I hear the crack in my voice and try to stuff it down. He’ll be fine.
“It just takes a while to see if his body is accepting the kidney. It’s early. Don't worry. So far, it’s been perfect.”
Emotion overwhelms me, and I dive straight into his stomach, hugging him. “Thank you.”
Tears fall. Right now, we can breathe.
Finally, the operating nurse comes out and says, “Noelle, you can see him now. He’s very groggy, but he said your name, so I’ll give you fifteen minutes. Then someone else can go in for a few minutes. I’m sorry everyone can’t go in. His immune system will be really compromised for a while.”
I can tell that Greyson really wants to go in, so I say, “You should go. I think his sister should be the one.”
He shakes his head in agreement. “I’ll get Witley and Sutton home. Tell him we were here, and if either of you needs us, call. Promise?”
“How about I tell him you love him?” I laugh as a happy tear slips down my cheek.
As I walk down the hallway, nurses and technicians are everywhere. What a difference from five in the morning until three in the afternoon. The nurse says, “He’s in here. Here’s a mask. Sanitize your hands. Fifteen minutes. I’ll be back.”
I take a deep breath and peek my head inside.
Matt is lying flat on his back, eyes closed, and his head is raised just a smidge.
As I get closer, he moves his head toward me like he hears something but isn’t fully aware yet.
I survey the room and him. Every monitor beeping, tracking.
A pillow placed under his knees. And the gown he’s wearing is different from the one he went into surgery with—it’s blue with little ditties on it instead of the gray one he had on earlier.
It makes me wonder why they changed him. Blood?
Pushing the thought from my head, I sit in the teal-green faux-leather chair with wooden arms. I caress his hand until his eyes flutter open. The smallest grin appears. “Hey.”
“Hey. Don’t talk. Just rest.”
“I…”
“Shh… let me talk. The doctor said it went swimmingly. He was cocky.”
Matt murmurs, “I… like… that.”
“I knew you would. That’s why you picked him, right?” His head moves minutely up and down.
“Greyson and his family just left, and he wanted me to tell you he loves you.” Matt grins again.
“In fact, everyone was here. Even Witt. Parker said something about getting a tutor who he hates. The girls want to plan a baby shower. And your sister told me that you always kept her feet warm and that you’re a secret nerd who loves sci-fi.” Another grin.
Is he still drugged? No comebacks?
“Are you in pain?”
“Not yet. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. You just had a transplant. Don’t worry about me.”
“Worrying about you is my job. A job I want. I applied for it, remember?” he asks, his voice weak and frail.
“When you became my coach?”
“Yeah, and then I fell in love with a girl who sits on the counter and swings her feet, who loves milkshakes and deviled eggs.” He laughs and yelps in pain.
“No joking right now. I’m not sure how many stitches you have, but for now, you just lie there.”
“I love you, Butterfly.”
“I love you, Coach.” I lean down and kiss his forehead through the paper mask. “Your sister is champing at the bit to see you, so I’m going to let her come in before the nurse kicks me out.”