Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
TATUM
I’ve never had surgery before, unless wisdom tooth removal counts, but even then, that was nothing compared to this.
Standing in the bland hospital room, so cold that I’m practically shivering, dressed in nothing but a hospital gown, a cap, and even some weird paper slippers as the nurse places a hospital band around my wrist, has to be up there on the list of things that have made me so anxious, I could pass out.
But I’ve been feeling like that since I woke up at four o’clock this morning.
The tight chest, the feeling of not quite being able to take a deep breath, like I’m holding it almost and waiting for something bad to happen.
My anxiety riddles me in a way it hasn’t before, and it makes me feel on the cusp of a panic attack.
I’d fall right into one if it wasn’t for Maeve, standing off to the side, just enough to give the nurse space, but her hand is on my back—rubbing it back and forth, over and over again.
It’s the only thing grounding me.
“Dr. Hammond says you can talk with your mother before we take you back,” the nurse says to me, pulling me from my thoughts, “if you’d like.”
And there goes the floor underneath my feet.
“No,” I rush out before clearing my throat, and Maeve’s hand stills on my back. “No, I just want to get this over with.”
If there’s a look in the nurse’s eye, I don’t catch it before she gives me a friendly smile. Maeve is too far back in my peripheral to really gauge a reaction from, and that makes a thick ball of dread form in my throat.
“That’s alright. Confirm your full name and birthday for me, please.”
I swallow. “Tatum Emery Brooks. September 2nd, 1999.”
“Perfect. Now, I’ll ask you to lay up here for me,” she says, patting the hospital bed. “I’m going to insert your IV, and then we’ll take your vitals before surgery.”
My shoulders rise and fall shakily at my attempt at a deep breath, but then Maeve’s hand on my back nudges me gently forward before sliding up to the back of my neck, scratching in a comforting way.
A way that has the reassurance shuddering through my body.
The first wave of warmth I’ve gotten since arriving here this morning.
Peering over at her briefly, the soft smile she sends me is enough to make me climb into the bed with a little more confidence.
Maeve takes a spot on one side of the bed while the nurse takes the other, wiping at the back of my hand with an alcohol swab.
Knowing what’s coming next, I quickly look up at Maeve, who’s already staring down at me.
Putting both of her hands on my arm, she squeezes gently.
I don’t look away from her, not when the needle pricks my skin, not when the pressure makes nausea roll in my stomach, and not even when the nurse starts to take my vitals.
My gaze doesn’t waver, and neither does hers.
I try to pass a million words through my eyes, hoping she understands, hoping that magically, she can read my mind.
Saying everything I want to say, but can’t.
That as I look at her, watching every twitch between her brow as she contemplates what this feeling that we’re sharing right now might be, every purse of her lips as she goes to gnaw at them from the inside, every bat of her lashes against her cheekbones, I’m certain that I love her.
I’m certain because her presence is calming, even now, when I want to fall into a full-blown panic.
I’m certain because I crave all the tiny, little things about her that wouldn’t matter to anyone else, but they matter to me—how she has to sleep in a freezing cold room with true crime on the TV every night, how she’ll get frustrated with the way her hair is sitting so she’ll put a hat on in that cute, grumpy way she does, or how she’ll play with her ear, twisting her earring when she’s anxious.
I’m certain because just existing with her the past few weeks has been the easiest thing I’ve ever done. Because going back to Pennsylvania, home, won’t feel the same now, not when I feel like I found a home in her.
I don’t care where I am, I just know that I want her there.
I love her, and I don’t know how to tell her without sending her running for the hills.
She’s like a lost puppy, sometimes, ready to run at the slightest inconvenience because she’s scared, and rightfully so.
How can I blame her for being so scared of something good with everything she’s gone through?
She’s used to everything in her life going up in flames and being treated like her thoughts and feelings are too much, like she’s too much. But she could never be too much to me.
“Alright, I’ll be back in a minute,” the nurse says, breaking the spell I was under as I stared up at Maeve, “then we’ll roll you back to the OR and prep you for anesthesia.”
“Thank you,” I croak, giving my best attempt at a normal smile before the nurse leaves us alone in the quiet room.
I’m still staring at the open doorway when Maeve’s hand cups my cheek, pulling my attention back to her as I twist my head to look up at her. Her thumb brushes over my cheekbone a few times, and I lean into it, the warmth of her palm exploding over my cold skin.
“You know everything is going to be okay, don’t you?”
“You think so?” I rasp, my voice faltering just slightly as the doubt seeps into my tone. “You think it’ll be okay?”
Her brows furrow as she takes a shaky breath, bringing her other hand up to cup my face in both of her palms now. “Of course I do, Tate. You’re going to be okay. The surgery is going to go smoothly and then you’ll recover and everything will be all right.”
It feels nearly impossible to swallow back the anxiety that seems to be festering in my throat at the moment. “N-not just the surgery, Mae. Do you think everything will be okay a-after? I mean, my mom is going to wanna talk to me, and I don’t know… I don’t know what to think or say or…”
“Tatum,” she cuts me off firmly, “you do not have to speak to anyone you don’t feel comfortable talking to. You don’t have to do anything. Do you understand?”
“But I’m doing all of this…” I trail off.
“Exactly,” Maeve says, “you’re doing all of this, and that’s more than enough, wouldn’t you say? You’re doing more than enough for her, and you didn’t even have to. So, after it’s all said and done, if you don’t want to talk to her, don’t.”
“You don’t think I’d be awful for that?” I ask weakly, and I silently curse the tears that well in the corners of my eyes.
“Clark,” she whispers, “I don’t think you could be awful even if you tried.”
My lips are parted to speak again, but the nurse and a few other doctors are entering the room, ready to wheel me away.
Maeve’s hands leave my face as we try to keep up with the overwhelming rush going on around us; some of the doctors are messing with the bed, some are standing off to the side, waiting.
“Unfortunately, you won’t be able to be in the OR with him,” the nurse tells Maeve, placing a friendly hand on her arm, “so we’ll give you a moment before we take him back.”
Maeve turns to me with a small smile, small but warm, and I grasp at her wrist like I might crumble if I don’t. I’m afraid that once I’m alone, the ground under my feet will give way, and the panic will fully take over.
“You’re gonna do great,” she tells me, her hand resting on mine and squeezing. “It’ll be over before you know it.”
“Maeve, I…”
I love you.
She peers down at me expectantly, waiting for me to finish speaking, but I don’t know how to get the words out, so I opt for something easier instead. A cop out.
“Will you be here…when I’m done?”
A soft laugh escapes her lips before she’s leaning down, making my heart flip with the movement, and pressing her lips to my forehead.
My entire body relaxes into the bed further, my heart rate slowing a bit as I finally am able to take a deep breath.
When she pulls back, she cocks her head in that sweet way she does, her nose scrunching playfully before it disappears.
“Where else would I go?”