Chapter 22
22
EVE CASSIDY
The aroma of freshly brewed coffee drifts through the halls, mixing with the antiseptic and sterile scents of the hospital.
‘My darling sweet Eve, there you are!’ Adam says, already scribbling my name on a clear cup. ‘I have bad news.’
‘Oh?’
He nods, his lips pressed into a straight regretful line. ‘I have bitten the forbidden fruit, and it has bitten back.’
I chuckle awkwardly. He’s laying it on thick this morning.
‘While I do appreciate you staying in character for this… what on earth are you talking about?’
Suddenly, Adam is twenty-four again. ‘Heard you were taking care of your injured husband.’ He glances at Genevieve who is standing at my side.
When I look at her, she looks away.
‘ Ex -husband,’ I correct him, glaring at Gen when she finally makes eye contact.
‘OK,’ she heaves. ‘So I missed one word.’
‘You and I are not meant to be if you’re married. It’s one of the Ten Commandments,’ Adam says, his voice disappointed.
Was he serious all this time? Oops.
‘Or because one of us was never feeling it?’ I suggest, making him frown.
The silence is heavy as we wait for our drinks to be ready.
‘Warn me now. How many people did you miss one word to?’ I ask Gen as we exit the coffee shop with our drinks in hand.
Before she can answer, Dr Sully is walking toward us, a blue Superman surgeon’s cap on his head.
‘Nurse Eve! How’s Foster?’
‘Still alive, thanks to you!’ I chirp, waving a hand back at him like all is OK.
Him asking about Foster, I get. He did the surgery and has been his primary doctor since. Everyone else, that’s gossip, probably spurred on by my bestie. Dang it.
‘I dunno,’ Gen answers my question, sipping her Frappuccino. ‘You know how boring slow moments here can get. I may have mentioned it a time or two, but only because people were asking. It’s not a big deal.’
‘Eve!’ Dale says, spotting me many feet away. ‘Glad to have you back. How’s your husband?’
‘ Ex -husband, and he’s doing fine.’
‘Hey,’ Pam, a nurse I’m friends with only at work, stops Gen and me, resting a hand on my shoulder. ‘I’ve been thinking of you. How is he? What’s his name? I didn’t even know you were married!’
‘Ha ha, me neither…’ I shoot Gen another glare. ‘Foster and I are past tense. That said, he’s doing fine.’
Pam frowns, glancing at Gen, the likely source of her misinformation. Genevieve only shrugs, but the coy smile on her face says she’s not sorry at all – she’s enjoying this.
We walk a few more feet only to be stopped again. This time, it's the ER Hispanic beauty, Catalina.
'Evie,' she says with a slight accent. 'Darling, I'm so sorry. How you holding up? Taking care of yourself, yes?' she asks, wrapping me in a big hug. 'Remind me later, I've got a gift certificate for a romantic restaurant Harry and me discovered a few years back. You two will need a date night after this chaos.' When she finally releases me, she does her two-handed duck-beak wave and backs down the hall, turning just in time to make the corner.
Twenty minutes, $100 in donations, one request for an autographed poster (that the young X-ray tech supplied), and one slightly unhinged ‘what if’ daydream about going back in time, and I'm clocked in at my workstation.
'You're back,' Chris, a fellow nurse, greets me. 'How's your little stuntman of a husband? BTW – my invitation to that wedding was rescinded because it "fell through." What's up with that?'
'That wedding did fall through,' I say.
'Different guy,' Gen tells him.
Chris's jaw drops open, so I turn in my chair not to see it.
'Apparently, chaos is my color now?' I ask, turning to Gen and glaring with an intensity that she can hopefully feel. 'This is not the morning back I was expecting and because you are behind that, no more talking, please,' I instruct, causing her to nurse her drink again.
After a few more questions, I stand in the middle of our nurses' station, with mostly empty patient rooms all around the big rectangular desk.
'Attention, co-workers!' I say, clapping my hands. Since I seem to be the talk of the ER, I feel like I should kill this rumor now. 'Please, keep your gifts.' I toss the cash donated onto the counter before me. 'Genevieve here' – I ‘accidentally’ whack her on the back of her head, causing her coffee to drip from her mouth and dribble down her front – 'forgot one teeny tiny word when discussing my situation without my permission: ex . Foster is my ex -husband.'
'Your ex? Why you taking care of him then?' Catalina asks, clearly confused.
'Yeah, Eve, why not kick him to the curb?' Gen asks, getting back at me for the slight violence.
'Because at one time, I loved this man enough to marry him, and that seems important,' I huff.
'Do you still love him?' Chris asks, as if any of this is any of their business.
'I—'
Do I?
Noooo.
'She hesitated!' Catalina exclaims, pointing my way. 'You love him.'
‘I don’t know what I feel for him, but it’s not love.’
‘You sure about that?’ Gen asks, looking up at me with puppy dog eyes, insinuating love is my exact emotion. ‘You did just take off weeks to pamper him.’
‘There has been no pampering. And yes, I’m crystal clear in how I feel about Foster. We are just friends. So, can we move on now?’
My co-workers all watch me momentarily, and then just like a flip was switched, they go about their business, pretending none of it happened. Thank God.
‘Honey, I’m ho—’ I stop midway through the door, smelling something far better than the tuna melt I had for lunch in the hospital cafeteria.
When I spot Foster, he’s standing in my kitchen, unbagging Chinese food containers onto the counter with one hand. Phil’s hot pink floral print leggings on Foster make me laugh. I bet he’ll be glad to be home and wearing his own clothes.
‘What’s this?’ I ask, confused.
‘It’s your first day back at work and I didn’t want you to have to worry about feeding me. So I ordered in.’
‘You ordered in?’ I repeat his words, setting my bag near the front door and meandering into the kitchen. ‘Dinner?’
He nods proudly. ‘And dessert.’ He points to the pink bakery box, still unopened. ‘And wine.’ His gaze moves to my sink that he’s filled with ice currently chilling two bottles of rosé. ‘That Instacart makes life too easy.’
‘Wow,’ I say, legitimately surprised. ‘No one ever does this for me. Usually, I walk into an empty apartment.’
He nods, a frown on his face. ‘I figured as much, but after what you’ve done for me, this is the least I can do.’
Is this what just friends do? Sure, I’ve had dinner at Kait’s or Phil’s dozens of times, but they’ve never shown up at my apartment while I’m at work to make my night easier. I don’t really know what to say about this.
‘You kept up on your meds today?’ I ask.
‘I did. Actually, I missed the first dose ’cause I slept through my alarm, but I realized my pain wasn’t as bad even being late, so I’m dialing back the morphine because I feel pretty good. Obviously, not good as new’ – he motions to his arm still strapped to his chest in the sling – ‘but better.’
With my help, we get the takeout boxes, a bottle of wine (and a single glass for me), and the box of doughnuts to the coffee table where we each grab a set of chopsticks and choose an entrée of the many he ordered.
‘How was your day?’ he asks.
‘ My day?’ I ask, like there’s anyone else in the room he could be talking to. I heave a sigh. ‘Long, chaotic and annoying.’
He raises a single eyebrow curiously. ‘Is that normal?’
I shake my head. ‘My friend Genevieve – you guys have never met – “accidentally” told everyone I’ve been home taking care of my injured husband.’
Foster laughs. ‘And that’s bad because…?’
‘Imagine the gossip mill running wild with that one,’ I continue, poking at my lo mein absent-mindedly. ‘I had colleagues coming up to me all day offering condolences and well wishes for your “speedy recovery”. Some even felt the need to remind me that they thought the wedding had been canceled.’
Foster is holding a Chinese takeout box in his injured hand, and his chopsticks drop to the floor, a potsticker falling with them.
‘Shit. Because of the canceled engagement?’ he asks, leaving the chopsticks and potsticker where they are and picking up the next one with his fingers.
‘Yep. Honestly, I’d rather not talk about it, but today reminded me of all the drama and gossip that that chaos created.’
‘I’m sorry I accidentally ruined your day,’ he says.
‘You didn’t,’ I say. ‘That was all Genevieve.’
Foster sits back on the couch, his eyes fixed on me, contemplating my previous words. I can see the gears turning in his head, trying to process this new information about my past – a piece of me he doesn’t know. After a moment of silence, he leans forward, places his takeout container on the coffee table and then reaches out to gently hold my hand.
I can’t help but be taken aback by his kindness and understanding. Most people hear about a broken engagement and want all the details. Foster isn’t just any friend who happened to come over for dinner. There’s a warmth between us that feels different, comforting in a way I hadn’t expected.
‘Honestly, Fost, you’re the one who has made my day better,’ I point out, offering him a warm smile. ‘This’ – I gesture to the Chinese takeout spread out on the coffee table between us – ‘is a hundred times better than anything Cayden ever did for me. And your company is an added bonus.’
Foster’s face lights up at my words, a genuine grin breaking through his initial concern. ‘You know me, I aim to please.’ He winks playfully, grabbing a potsticker with his fingers and popping it into his mouth. ‘Happy to be the better ex over Cayden, any day.’
I laugh, not realizing he’d deemed him a competitor he needed to beat. Why does he want to be better? We haven’t been together for five years. Our conversation dies down a bit and one question is running through my head. The same one I thought of when Chris asked if I still loved him.
‘Do you ever wonder “what if”?’ I ask.
‘About what?’
‘Us?’
He pauses mid-chew, his eyes meeting mine with a mix of surprise and contemplation. It’s as if my question has struck a chord, unlocking a flood of emotions within him. I know because I’ve been feeling it since I woke up this morning.
He sets down the next potsticker, his expression serious yet tender. ‘I’ve thought about it more times than I can count,’ he admits softly, his gaze never leaving mine. ‘I mean, who wouldn’t wonder “what if” when it comes to someone like you? We were perfect together – you can’t deny that.’
My heart skips a beat at his words as I can feel the raw honesty behind them. The weight of half-spoken truths hangs heavy in the air, and there’s a vulnerability in Foster’s eyes that draws me in like a magnet. I’d like to deny I’ve done the same but the dream that awoke me this morning says otherwise.
‘We wer—’ I try to answer, but a sharp rap echoes through the room, cutting through my sentence mid-word and causing us to look toward the door.
I glance at Foster with confusion. ‘Who is it?’ I call out in a sweet and gentle voice.
‘Matty.’ His voice booms through the heavy wooden door. ‘I brought Foster’s shit.’
‘Now?’ Foster asks, as if the timing is just wrong.
‘He brought your shit?’ I ask.
‘Oh, right, I meant to tell you, Matty’s stopping by tonight so I can return Phil’s wardrobe. I didn’t realize it would be in the middle of that conversation, but here we are.’
‘It’s not ideal, but when has anything about us been? Also, I’m going to be sad to see the floral prints go,’ I say, setting my Chinese container on the table and answering the door.
‘Ha ha,’ Foster retorts with a heavy dose of sarcasm. ‘We’re continuing this conversation later…’
‘Maybe…’ I say, pulling open the door and allowing Matty in.
‘Hello, Eve.’ He halts just inside, a smile growing on his face when he spots Foster. ‘Whoa, those leggings are stunning, sweetie,’ he exclaims with a laugh. ‘You look like a combination of The Flash and a rose petal princess.’
Foster rolls his eyes. ‘Now, do you see why I called him? I’m not a floral guy.’
‘I dunno,’ Matty says. ‘I think maybe we should do a floral print on your next set of riding gear. You wear it well,’ he remarks with a laugh.
‘No thank you,’ Foster replies.
Matty glances at the coffee table, laden with food and drinks. ‘Did I interrupt something, or not get my invitation?’ he teases, raising his eyebrows and glancing at us.
‘You could join us, of course,’ I say, moving to the chair across the coffee table.
How am I supposed to say no? He flew across the country to bring Foster his things. Obviously he’s staying for dinner, and Foster and I will try to continue our lingering – yet never finished – conversation later.
‘We’re just eating dinner, as all humans do, and I’m not sure there’s enough for three?’ Foster says, shooting me a look that reads I’m so sorry.
‘Don’t mind if I do,’ Matty says, heaving Foster’s massive travel duffel bag off his shoulder, the weight of it causing him to stagger as he drops it to the floor with a thud. He grabs a container of chicken and a plastic fork from the pile of cutlery that came with the takeout.
‘I’ve delivered everything that was requested,’ he announces wearily. ‘All the way from the other side of the country.’ He fills his face with a forkful of chicken, nodding as he chews. ‘This is excellent kung pao. Also, Jeff sends his regards, although they come with a less than friendly sentiment.’ He flashes Foster the finger, fork still in hand.
‘Tell Jeff to fuck off,’ Foster says with a smirk.
I look at the giant bag, then at Foster. ‘Exactly how long do you think you’re staying?’ I kid.
‘Until he’s healed enough to take care of himself because I got shit to do and competing athletes to train,’ Matty responds on Foster’s behalf, still munching on the chicken.
‘I’ll be back at comps in six months, man. In fact, Eve’s got me walking blocks a day, and I started physical therapy this week, so I’ll be back better than ever before you know it.’
I shake my head. ‘No. You’ll be able to start riding again in six months, but no competing.’ My words echo the doctor’s instructions.
Foster rolls his eyes. ‘He’s a surgeon, he doesn’t grasp the lifestyle of professional athletes,’ he rebukes. ‘We heal quickly.’
Matty agrees and the conversation moves on to how good a shape athletes are in and I’d deny it, but the proof is sitting next to me and I ogled it just recently to the point of needing a cold shower.
‘Well, this was amazing.’ Matty sets the now empty Chinese takeout box back onto the table. He just ate an entire container of kung pao chicken and he’s not even breaking a sweat. I’d be sniffling after one portion. That’s Foster’s favorite and he didn’t get any.
‘I’ve only got a couple of hours between flights,’ Matty says. He glances my way. ‘Either take good care of him or bury him deep so I don’t end up with more problems,’ he says to me with a hint of laughter.
‘Cross my heart and hope to die,’ I say with a sly smile.
Foster shakes his head. ‘Thanks, Matty. I’ll call you in a couple days.’
As soon as the door closes behind him, I fix my gaze on Foster’s bag, dropping to the floor to unzip and unpack it for him.
‘I’m sorry about that, he was supposed to text to make sure the timing was OK. Not show up and eat all my kung pao chicken?’ He grabs the container from the table, disappointed as he walks it to the garbage, stomping on the pedal to open the lid and tossing it in. ‘I didn’t even get one piece.’
‘Sorry, Fost. We can order another box, on me since you were nice enough to put all this together?’
‘Alright,’ he says, grabbing his phone and tapping the screen as he sits back down in front of the coffee table. ‘You don’t need to unpack for me,’ he insists after sitting his phone down.
‘I don’t mind.’
One by one I pull out an array of items. Toiletries. A pillow. Clothes. Shoes. Underwear. Not one thing in a floral or neon-colored print. However, I am confused by the blue heavily taped shoebox.
‘“Never Open”.’ I read the words on the top aloud. ‘What is this?’
Foster clears his throat. ‘Um… that is my Eve box.’