10. Layla
Chapter Ten
Layla
Coming back to consciousness after surgery was such a strange feeling.
You hear your name, but you don’t want to wake up.
You open your eyes, but can’t keep them open.
You feel a dull pain, but can’t remember why.
You see your family’s faces and hear their voices, but you can’t quite grasp what they’re saying.
The nurse floats in and out of your conscious, and the steady sound of machines reminds you you’re in the hospital.
But then there was him. Whether it was his voice or his presence, I couldn’t be certain, but the moment I opened both eyes, my focus went directly to his baby blues.
Kellan.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I croaked out, my lips and throat both dry.
My mother’s voice cut through. “She’s awake. How do you feel? Are you in any pain? It took closer to three hours, which went by quite slowly, especially in a waiting room full of people…”
I tuned her out. Maybe the aftereffects of the anesthesia gave me the ability, but I think it was just a straight-up survival instinct. At this point, I couldn’t bear to hear the details of how my surgery had affected her.
Luckily, the pretty blond nurse intervened. “Hi, honey. What’s your name?”
“Layla Olson.”
“Do you remember where you are?”
“Hospital.”
“Good. You’re in the recovery area, but we’ll take you up to your room in the next half hour. Dr. Gupta indicated he’d be by after to chat with you,” the nurse told me.
“Okay. Thanks.”
I endured the next twenty minutes of my mother before getting into my own room. Once there, I told everyone I wanted to get some rest. Thankfully, Dr. Gupta had come in to tell me the surgery had gone as planned, which gave me the justification to get rid of them.
My mother spoke first. “All right. We’ll be at the hotel. We’ll be back in the morning. Don’t worry, honey. I know you can get through this. There are plenty of beautiful women who have had implants. Very good ones.”
My eyes couldn’t roll any harder over her worry about my aesthetic well-being. “Bye, Mom.” As soon as I had the all clear, I’d escape the hospital and move to the sanctuary of my apartment where I could establish my own visiting hours.
My mother came closer to hug me, but I waved her off. My entire chest felt as though I had a forty-pound weight sitting upon it. “I can’t hug.”
“I forgot. Okay, dear. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
My father blew me a kiss. “See you tomorrow, kiddo.”
I sighed with relief the minute they were both out of the room, leaving me alone with Russell and Kellan.
“I’ll be by tomorrow, too,” Russ offered.
“You don’t have to.” I’d offered he could stay at my place while my parents opted for a hotel room, but I felt bad he’d spend his entire weekend down here.
He shook his head. “I was just telling Kellan how cute your blond nurse is, so I’m definitely coming back. I mean, thank goodness you’re in the hospital. Could improve my dating game. You don’t mind if I use your apartment as my bachelor pad, do you?”
“Oh, it hurts to laugh.” Russ as a player. As if that would ever happen. “Glad I’m here to help. But be sure to change the sheets.”
He chuckled. “See, this is why I love you so much. See you tomorrow.”
I watched him walk out of the room, leaving me alone with Kellan.
He moved toward the bed. “Any contraband you want me to sneak in for you?”
“I’m probably on clear liquids the rest of tonight, but thanks.” According to the nurse who’d earlier attended me, I’d be allowed broth and some Sprite if my stomach cooperated.
He shoved his hands in his pockets, clearly at a loss as to what to say or do next. Matters were officially getting messy.
“I’m about to pass out,” I said. “Okay if I text you tomorrow?” The nurse had been nice enough to plug in my phone. I only needed to ask her to bring it to me if I wanted to call or text anyone.
“Definitely. I’m heading to the jobsite, but it’s only a few miles from here.”
By now, he had to be watching the clock, hoping to get back to work. I wouldn’t hold it against him. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to spend half a day stuck in a waiting room. “Thanks.”
“You okay?”
“I’m not sure yet.” The drugs were numbing me, not only against the pain, but also to how I was feeling emotionally. Hell, I wasn’t even embarrassed about the pee bag hanging off the side of the bed. Must have been some good stuff they were pumping into me.
“I’d make you laugh, but as previously established, it hurts, so I’ll save the jokes.”
I doubted he had any. The stark truth was most likely hitting him, and he understood things wouldn’t be the same between us. “Appreciate it. Good night.”
“’Night.”
The moment the door shut behind his departure, I finally let myself cry. The beginning of my new reality had officially started.
The next morning, I woke up after a fitful night’s sleep, interrupted by both nurse’s visits and the need for pain pills.
My stomach was growling. This was a good sign, meaning I was ready for solid food, but nothing sounded good to me.
Whatever appetite I’d had disappeared when the nurse came in to empty my two surgical drains and instructed me on their care.
Until they could be removed next week, I needed to be cautious with the tubing.
The day only got worse when my mother came and told me all about her sleepless night. She still wasn’t happy I wouldn’t let her move in with me and take charge of my after-care.
This tired conversation was proof enough I shouldn’t let her do anything of the sort. “I’m not arguing with you about this, Mom. I have a nurse. Someone who is trained professionally and who knows what she’s doing.”
“I’m not arguing with you. I just don’t understand.”
No, she wouldn’t. She never had. From ballet, tap, and piano lessons to all of the pageants in which she’d entered me since I’d begun walking, my mother’s goal had been to take over my life.
She’d believed I was destined to follow in her footsteps.
I’d wanted soccer, guitar, and ice cream with friends on a Friday night.
Instead, I had to practice my interviewing skills for the next pageant competition.
By fifteen, I’d had enough of the teeth bleaching, watching what I ate, and dress fittings.
I wanted to be a normal teenager, not some human doll for her to dress up.
Throughout the rest of my high school years, she hadn’t let me forget how I’d blown my chance to become a model or Miss Whatever.
Her needling was one of the reasons I’d taken off for California as soon as I could.
I’m sure she hoped I’d take a chance on Hollywood and acting, but there was no way I was going to subject myself to more critical people.
I knew if I was told I wasn’t pretty enough for a part it would trigger old resentments.
No, thanks. But I’m sure a therapist would have a field day with me taking a job in an industry where looks still mattered.
Perhaps I’d gotten used to relying on them for my worth—probably more than I liked to admit.
So, having my mother take care of me while my self-esteem was already in shambles would be a very bad idea. She’d pick at me and remind me of my shortcomings. I’d lash out. She’d cry. Repeat.
“You’ve made your point about wanting to take care of me. Several times.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, noticing the machine tracking my heart rate reflected my rising irritation.
“Imagine what my friends say about a mom who isn’t helping her daughter after surgery.”
“Right. Because that’s what matters.” Lord grant me the patience to remember this woman truly loved me.
“Marie—” my father started, but she wouldn’t hear it.
“No. Don’t you ‘Marie’ me. This is ridiculous. As if having a daughter with cancer isn’t tough enough, I have her rejecting me.”
“It’s not all about you. I’m sorry you can’t see that I’m lying in this hospital bed in pain and with a fight ahead of me. This simply isn’t about you, Mom.”
Did I need this further reminder that people couldn’t be truly supportive in my time of crisis? Although I couldn’t fathom keeping my cancer a secret from my parents, doing so would’ve had its advantages.
She stood up, on the verge of tears. “Fine. I’ll leave. Obviously, that’s what you want.”
This. This was the part where the guilt trip typically started, but over the years, I’d become immune. Besides, having cancer fucking trumped her feelings. So I simply watched her go.
Russ came in as my mom was exiting. In one hand, he held a bouquet of flowers and in the other a large bag. “What did I miss?”
I heaved an exasperated sigh. “Me making Mom cry because she won’t let it go about taking care of me.”
“Ah. Just what you needed: a guilt trip less than twenty-four hours after surgery. Maybe this will cheer you up.” He put the gorgeous arrangement of lilies on the window ledge.
They did make me feel better. I hated that I was in a shit mood.
I told myself it was the emotions, the drugs, and my mother.
I figured I wouldn’t be the best patient because I was used to having control, but if I was this big of an emotional mess now, how the hell would I get through the next few months when I’d have chemotherapy drugs and radiation to contend with?
“Hey, hey, hey. I brought more gifts. No need to cry.” Russ pulled out a candy bar bouquet, comprised of every type of sweet imaginable.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled and tore open the Hershey bar he picked out and handed over. I was supposed to be cutting down on my sugar intake and maintaining a healthy lifestyle, but there had to be an unwritten rule that you didn’t start a healthy diet while in the hospital.
My dad stood up and crossed over. “Don’t apologize, pumpkin.
Your one and only job here is to get better, rest, and make the decisions which allow those first two things to happen.
Your mom has her way of coping, which may seem—for lack of a better word—shitty, but she does love you.
She’s scared and wants control. She can’t have it, so she lashes out. ”
That sounded more familiar than felt comfortable. Evidently, control freak-ism ran in the family. I felt the same way as my mom about the new situation. “Thanks, Dad.”
“I’m running down to the cafeteria to get some coffee. Your mother is probably downstairs getting flowers, reasoning that if her son broke the rules, she will, too.” He gave Russ an amused look before leaving the room.
I had, in fact, told everyone not to waste money on flowers. Frankly, I’d rather have food deliveries once I was home. But now that the lilies were here, they did lift my spirits.
“It was very thoughtful,” I told him.
My brother gave me a rueful smile. “I’d love to take the credit, and hey, I was tempted to get you flowers, but you said not to. These are from Kellan. He met me outside to drop them off along with the candy bar bouquet. I think he made that himself.”
I was thankful Kellan hadn’t come in. He, at least, had listened to my request that I’d need some time. “He’s crazy,” I murmured.
“Perhaps. Then again, I’ve never yet seen him act insane.”
Now that it was only the two of us, I confessed my fear.
“I don’t want him to do these things because he feels trapped by guilt over learning I now have cancer.
” It would be terrible to have him pity me.
And I couldn’t take a chance at falling head over heels for him.
Not now. Not when he could pull away at some critical moment.
I didn’t do needy, I didn’t do desperate, but I could feel myself vulnerable to both emotions if I were to let him all the way in.
Russ took a chair by my bed and looked me in the eye.
“These are not the actions of someone who is trapped. They are the actions of a man who cares about you. I’m aware it won’t be easy to navigate a new relationship while going through cancer treatments, but don’t think I didn’t see the way you lit up at the mention of his name.
I’m not sure, nor do I wish to know, the details of how you spent this last week together, but I say give it a chance.
He’s a good guy, and you’re the best sister I’ve ever known. ”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m your only sister.”
“Makes it easy for you, I’ll admit.”
We shared a toothy grin before I sighed. “I don’t want him seeing me like this.”
“I can’t blame you. Your hair is a nightmare, and you have chocolate on your face.”
I winced when the laughter bubbled up because it hurt my incisions. “You really won’t let me feel sorry for myself, will you?”
“As if you wouldn’t do the same for me. A year from now, you’ll be thankful you gave it a chance. You don’t have to see him right away. But wipe your face and at least text him.”
How could I argue with that?