47. Keeley
KEELEY
W hen my eyes open, I’m in a recovery room, and Graham is beside me, his face planted on the mattress next to our linked fingers.
“Hey,” I whisper. My throat feels raw which I assume means I was on a vent. So I didn’t die, but I was perhaps not all that far from it.
He raises his head, pale and stone-faced, and my stomach drops. I was knocked out from the second I got into the OR and I have no idea what happened.
“The baby?” I whisper.
“She was in the NICU,” he says. His smile is wooden and forced. “But she’s fine.”
Our baby is fine, but he is not. He picks up the phone and calls the nurse, but even inches away I know he’s retreated somewhere I can’t reach him again. I don’t understand.
The nurse comes in and places our daughter in my arms. She has a head full of dark hair like Graham’s, and a sweet, pursed mouth that begins moving in her sleep.
I’ve waited forever for this little girl.
I didn’t even know I was waiting, but I know it now.
I blink back tears as I press my lips to the top of her head.
She is half of me and half of Graham and more perfect than I ever dreamed she could be.
“You’ve got friends waiting outside to see you when you’re ready,” the nurse says.
I glance at Graham. “Not just yet, okay?”
She nods and walks out. I pull my gown down and our little girl latches on like a champ. It’s all so perfect. All of it but Graham. I thought he’d be happy .
I trace the pad of my index finger over her soft cheek. “It can’t even taste that good,” I coo to her. “Just wait until I get ahold of some Hot Tamales.”
Graham’s head falls into his hands, his shoulders shaking, and for a moment I think he’s laughing until I realize he’s not.
“Hey.” I reach over and run my hand over his head. “ Hey . Everything’s fine. What’s wrong?”
It takes him a second to answer. “You really scared me, Keeley,” he says, his voice rough. “You really fucking scared me.”
I find his hand. I worried I was too weak to do this. To be with someone, to be a mother. But he’ll keep me on course, and every once in a while, I’ll keep him on course too.
“It’s all okay now, Graham.”
He nods. “I know. I just…you weren’t waking up, and I…I’m just having a hard time shaking it off.”
He likes to be the practical one, the one who sees the world as it really is, and I like to be the dreamer, seeing the world as it could be.
But today got a little too real for him, and I know exactly how to get us back to normal.
“I want a wedding,” I tell him. “A big one. With a carriage. And doves.”
He scrubs his face and looks up at me, astonished for a moment, but then his mouth softens. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. And a parade. Like they have in New Orleans.”
His smile grows. “I’m not sure they could do that in LA.”
“I thought we could do it in Santorini. And then we’ll do our honeymoon on a murder mystery train.”
He laughs. “You’re just throwing in as much crazy shit as possible right now because you know I’ll agree. I guess that means you’re going to name her Kalamity too?”
“I was thinking about Delilah—”
“You realize that’s in the Bible—”
“Please don’t ruin this for me. Anyway, we’ll name her Delilah but we’ll call her Daisy.”
He winces. “Or we could, you know, just call her by her actual name.”
“I nearly died, Graham.”
“Daisy it is, then,” he replies.
Her tiny moving mouth slows, then stops.
“She’s sound asleep already,” I whisper. “She got that from you.”
He lowers the side of the bed and sits beside me. I place her in his arms and he swallows hard as he takes her in, his eyes bright once more.
“Hello, Daisy,” he whispers. Her tiny hand wraps tight around his pinky and I rest my head against his arm. There’s no one alive I trust more. I’m so glad she’ll have him to lean on.
I’m so glad we both will.
Our daughter remains in the hospital for four days, and after pulling some strings, we’re allowed to stay with her. Just before she’s released, Graham goes to install the car seat in the back of the Volvo. Daisy’s asleep in the nursery, so I roam the halls, catching up with people.
Dr. Patel is not supposed to be one of them.
“Do you have a minute?” he asks.
“Do you have another case of Mycobacterium marinum you want me to diagnose?” I ask with a small laugh.
He smiles. “Still resentful over that, I see. Come along. I need coffee.”
I guess I can hear him out. I’ve been realizing this week how much I missed a lot of things about working in the hospital.
“I saw your segment on Mindy and Mills ,” he says as he pours coffee into his cup.
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me I was amazing.”
He raises a brow. “You did actually attend medical school. It would be sad if you couldn’t do those things.”
Which is exactly what I said, but he could have humored me.
“You did, however, remain commendably composed,” he continues. “I assume you asked the surfer if he had a tetanus shot?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course I did.”
“And the newborn—you felt for the cord as you pulled him out? And you cleared his nose right away?”
He’s really pissing me off now. “ Yes .”
“Do you know why I’m asking you these questions, Keeley?”
“I assume it’s because you think I’m incompetent.”
“No.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “It’s because every doctor misses things at some point, and it’s learning from those misses that turns you into a better doctor. You didn’t ask a patient with fish handlers’ disease what he did for a living, but I bet you never do it again.”
I frown. I suppose he’s right. “It still felt like you singled me out. You gave me a patient with a rare disorder and then described in detail how I messed up.”
“I absolutely did single you out,” he agrees, setting his coffee down. “Has it ever occurred to you, though, that I perhaps did that because I knew you could figure it out, and suspected the others wouldn’t?”
I grin. “So you’re saying I’m actually the greatest resident you ever had?”
He laughs. “No, far from it. But you could become a very good doctor. And if you ever tire of telling rich women which retinol to use, I’d be happy to find a place for you here.”
He’s a pain in the ass, but I’ll probably become a better doctor because of him, and the idea of working here excites me in a way Beverly Hills Skin never could.
“I want to stay home with my daughter for a while first,” I warn. “She hasn’t seen the first two seasons of Bridgerton yet.”
He sighs and shakes his head. “Yes, yes, of course. But for your daughter’s sake, I hope her father is good at telling you no .”
I smile. Our daughter is named Delilah Kalamity Tate.
He’s not that good at it.