Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Raya
No. Way.
All I heard was “time off.”
Correction. I heard other things, too. Phrases like “extreme stress” and “significant changes” weave around in my mind, along with another phrase—
No way.
There is no way I can back off. There is too much to do. Besides, my job is my life. I wouldn’t even know what to do with free time.
I can hear my family coming down the hall before I see them. They’re loud, and they have a way of making their presence known.
It’s embarrassing sometimes, but not right now. Right now I’m just glad they’re here.
I inhale a sharp breath and put my brave face on.
Twice the staff asked if I wanted someone back here with me, but I said no, half out of embarrassment and half because I know they’re going to make this into a much bigger deal than it is, especially Mom.
The scene the paramedics made at work was humiliating enough.
Besides, I’m fine.
Eloise snaps the curtain back with extreme force, revealing my entire family. She and Poppy rush toward me, coming around each side of the bed, wrapping their arms around me and squeezing.
“Are you okay? What happened?” The questions from my sisters overlap.
Mom is signing for my dad, and when I meet her eyes, I see deep concern. I hate being the reason for it.
We have a silent agreement that I will never give her cause to worry. That she can always count on me to jump in when anyone in the family needs me.
That’s my role as the oldest daughter. And I’m good at it.
“I’m okay,” I say, looking at my mother. “I’m okay, Mom.”
She nods, and I see a wave of relief wash over her. My dad wraps his arm around her, and she moves a little closer to him—and a pang of sadness hits me in the chest.
I’ve accepted the fact that the kind of love they have isn’t in the cards for me.
It’s a classic kind of love. Untarnished by modern things. A deep adoration for one another that’s so simple, yet so complex that it becomes almost an anomaly.
Maybe it’s because they had to learn to communicate in a way that was innately intimate—one that most people often don’t know what they’re saying. There’s a frustration in that, I’m sure, but also a privacy that keeps their love pure.
It stings to be reminded that I’ll never have that. My sisters have both found great guys, and I’m so happy for them. But sometimes—when I see the way my people are paired off in such perfect ways, it makes me feel sad.
And left out.
Great. Now I’m feeling sorry for myself on top of everything else.
I close my eyes for a quick moment, squeeze my sisters back, and assure everyone that I’m okay. When I open them, I see Finn standing in the doorway, looking slightly out of place and a little unsure.
But also—why didn’t he leave? And more importantly, why am I glad he’s still here?
When I make eye contact, he smiles, but there are several emotions on his face. Relief, pity, and—
Care.
The faint, seven-year-old memory skitters through my mind.
One that’s proven impossible to forget despite many efforts.
I remember how he came to my house the next day to return my card and how he ended up making me cinnamon toast because, as he said, “my momma used to make this for us when we were sick.”
He cared then. He cares now.
I shake the memory off and focus on my family and the big job ahead of me—convincing them I’m fine.
“Okay, okay, you can all go home now,” I tell them. “The doctor said all my tests are clear.”
“So, it was a migraine,” Poppy says, signing.
“Yeah, the mother of all headaches,” I say with a nonchalance that I absolutely do not feel.
My eyes catch on Finn’s, and his narrow ever so slightly.
I look at my parents, signing as I say, “They did an MRI and an echo to check my heart. They want me to follow up with my doctor, but otherwise, they’ve prescribed some migraine meds and are sending me home. ”
I hope that proves I’m good. I’ve got all my faculties. My numb hand is working again.
“Do they want you to do anything else?” Finn asks. “To make sure it doesn’t happen again?”
I hold eye contact for a three-count, jaw slack, then look at my parents. “No. That’s pretty much it. I told them I’m exercising daily, and I eat well. I’m going to be better about my multivitamin and try to sleep more, but—” I shrug— “that’s it.”
Again, I notice Finn watching me, almost like he’s trying to sort something out.
“What about work?” he asks.
I shrug. “Good to go. Might take a day, you know, to let things calm down, but yeah. Everything’s fine.”
He makes a face.
“Okay, well, can we take you home?” Mom asks.
“Actually, my car is back at the office,” I say.
“Well, you can’t drive yourself,” Poppy says. “You need to rest. Raya, this was a major episode.”
“It wasn’t,” I say, even though it felt just south of “major” to me. “I’m fine. I don’t even really have a headache anymore.”
“Okay, but still,” Eloise says. “You need rest. Do you want to come to my place?”
I shake my head, trying not to let on that I still have work to do. My brain starts running through the list. Contracts for Brian. Details for press seminar. Coordinate with venue for Denim and Diamonds, then report back to caterer.
Poppy takes a step closer to my bed. “Oh my gosh.”
I frown. “What?”
“You’re going to go back to work.”
“No, I’m not,” I lie.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Mom says, signing. Dad points at me enthusiastically and shakes his head slowly back and forth.
“Okay, so, I have a couple of things that have to get done today,” I argue, signing. “But it’s not even work, it’s like emails.”
“Raya!”
They all start chattering over each other, hands moving as they also sign their objections. Finn looks unfazed, watching the chaos, eyes steady, landing on me. There’s a question there, but I don’t know what it is.
I want to tell them to take their opinions right out the door, but we Harts are passionate about getting in each others’ business.
To be fair, I’m the worst offender. I take my big sister role very seriously, and I sometimes stick my nose where it doesn’t belong.
Not sometimes. Often.
I have strong opinions, and I’m not afraid to voice them, which is probably why everyone feels like they should have a say in what happens to me.
Payback. How fun.
A nurse walks into the room. “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” she says. “What is going on in here?” She scans the room. “Everyone needs to vacate this room.”
“Can we really call it a room when the walls are made of fabric?” Finn grabs onto the curtain as the nurse peers at him, brow quirked. He quickly turns sheepish and flashes her that smile—the one he uses like a Get Out of Jail Free card.
She is not impressed and turns to me. “Would you like any of these people to stay with you until we get your paperwork finished?”
I look around. “I’m fine, you guys. I promise. I just need someone to take me back to the office to get my car.”
“You’re not driving yourself home, though, right?” Finn asks.
My dad shifts, then signs, “No, I’ll drive her. Mom can follow us.”
Before he leaves, Dad hugs me. When he pulls back, he signs, “You don’t have to be a hero. Take care of yourself.” He places a well-worn hand on my forehead.
“I know,” I say quietly, signing. “I will.” I then hold up a pinky, and he takes it with his. A silly childhood thing that’s stuck all our lives.
Poppy and Eloise both hug me, their moods melancholy and somber.
“Hey. It’s not my funeral,” I say.
Eloise turns over her shoulder and sticks her tongue out at me, making a face. Poppy starts to push her out of the room, and gives me a weak smile.
“Oh, Justin called.” Eloise stops and pulls my phone from her pocket. “He said he hopes you’re okay and to call him when you feel better.”
My eyes dart from her to Poppy to Finn and then to my hands, folded over my stomach. “Thanks.”
“Raya, he didn’t even ask what happened,” Eloise says.
I take the phone. “It’s—really new. And we’re still figuring things out.”
Note to self: Explain to Justin that he needs to crank up the concern if I end up in the emergency room again.
Eloise draws in a breath, and I can practically hear the words she’s not saying. Thankfully, she must think better of launching into her speech on why this man is all wrong for me.
“Okay, Ray,” she says. “Go home and rest.”
Before she walks out, she looks at Finn, who is still standing in the same spot in the corner. “Coming?”
He nods. “Yeah, I’ll be there in a second. Maybe you could drive me back?”
She looks at me, then back to Finn, a strange expression on her face. “Okay, lover boy.”
He rolls his eyes as they leave, then looks at me, throws a thumb in her direction, and makes a face like getta load of her, huh?
I try to sit a little straighter in the bed.
“So . . .?” He moves into the space where my parents had been standing moments before.
“So . . .?” I look at him. “What?”
He cocks his head. “You’re not seriously going to pretend that everything’s fine.”
“Everything is fine,” I say. “It was a really bad migraine. It started off ocular, then, you know—did what it did.”
“Because of stress.”
“I mean, yeah, but that’s normal.”
“Raya.” He scoffs. “That is not normal.”
“Are you a doctor now?”
“I’m quoting him.”
“They blow things out of proportion all the time.”
“No, they don’t. Your doctor wasn’t exaggerating. But I have a feeling you’re not going to listen to him either.” He huffs out a frustrated breath.
I go still. “What are you talking about?”
“I heard the doctor tell you that you need to, you know, make some changes.”
“You heard the doctor . . .?” I’m confused. I cock my head and look at him. “Like, you were eavesdropping?”
“Yes, okay.” He straightens. “I know it was a crap thing to do, but I was in the hall, and I heard him say your name, and . . . it’s not like the curtains keep the noise out.
” He says this quickly, like he knows it’s a lame excuse.
But then he says, “I did it because I was worried about you.” He puts his hands on his hips and glares at me.
My chest is a gong and someone just hit it square in the center.
“You don’t worry about anything,” I say. “You’re the guy who doesn’t have a care in the world.”
His eyes narrow like he wants to object, but when he doesn’t, he validates my assessment.
Still, he’s not backing down. “He said you need some time off.”
“Yeah, well, doesn’t everybody?”
“Everybody didn’t just have a severe . . . health . . . episode—” he stumbles over the words, like he’s not sure what to call it.
“It wasn’t a ‘severe health—’”
“Stop being so stubborn! You know what I mean.” He moves closer. “You need to go easy on yourself.”
Ha. Like I have time.
“Raya. Please. It was . . . scary seeing that happen.”
Tears prick my eyes, and I’m horrified they might give me away. Because the idea of “going easy on myself” is so tempting and so foreign, it starts a battle in my brain.
I draw in a slow breath, then bring my eyes to his. The concern is so clear, it catches me off-guard. What is happening? This is Finn.
“Why do you even care?” I ask. “It’s not like we’re friends.”
It isn’t until I see the words register on his face that I realize how cold they sound. This man just rode in the back of an ambulance through Chicago traffic, then sat in the waiting room for almost two hours to make sure I’m okay—if we’re not friends, then what are we?
I want to apologize, but the words stick in my throat.
“I . . . Finn, I didn’t—”
“Yeah, no. You’re right.” He cuts me off. “That’s a fair point. We’re not, really. I’m sure your real estate boyfriend will make sure you do what you need to do for yourself.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets.
“If he ever shows up.”
And with that, he walks out of the room.