39. Connor
“There he is!” Chris’ 6’2” frame appears through the curtain, his voice upbeat, but his color more pale than usual. I know he’s worried, but he’s trying to cover it up. He walks in and sits down in the chair Jess just vacated. Right after she took my heart and lit it on fire. “How are you—Jesus Christ, this chair is like a bed of nails, what the hell?” He opts to stand next to me instead. “How are you doing? Can I get you anything?”
I shake my head. “Just waiting on the doctor.”
“Okay. Where’s Jess, is she?—”
“Mr. Price.” The doctor’s deep voice interrupts as he walks in the room, and I almost start applauding him for his perfect timing. “I’m Dr. McNally, how is your pain right now?”
I feel like I just got kicked in the chest and the nuts simultaneously.
“Better.” It isn’t a total lie. My headache is mostly gone.
“And the nausea?”
“That, too.” Again, gray area. The nausea’s still there but not related to the migraine, so I don’t think it counts.
He sits down and logs in to the computer next to the bed. “Good, good,” he says absently as he clicks on the keyboard. “It looks like your last episode was back in November, have you had any incidents between then and tonight?”
“No, sir.”
“Good, good,” he repeats. Apparently satisfied with whatever he sees on the screen, he turns in the small stool to face me. “Did you see your primary physician after your last episode?”
“I did,” I reply. “He gave me some options on stress reduction and dietary changes. He suggested some medication, but I haven’t taken it yet. It’s sitting on my kitchen counter.”
Chris swears something under his breath.
The doctor keeps his gaze on me. “Do you remember what the prescription was for?”
“I can’t think of it, no.”
“Hey, doc, I’m his brother. Listen, our mom passed away pretty young from a massive stroke. She was in her mid-50’s. Do these migraines he’s getting put him at an increased risk for that?”
And in that moment, I am grateful that my older brother has the balls to ask what I’m too afraid to.
“People with chronic migraines are at a slightly higher risk for stroke, but a lot of it is just mitigating your risk factors. You look like you’re already in pretty good shape, you don’t smoke. Keep your drinking down and your blood pressure in check, and that goes a long way. The role genetics plays is more closely linked to passing on the risk factors for stroke instead of the stroke itself.”
I don’t hear much of what he and my brother discuss after that, I just try to process the doctor’s input along with everything that’s taken place over the last three hours.
“Connor?” Chris’ voice cuts through my thoughts. “Do you have any other questions?”
“Uh, no. No, I think that’s good for now, thanks.”
The doctor nods. “The nurse will be in shortly with your discharge paperwork and instructions.”
“I bet you’re ready to get out of here,” Chris says once the doctor leaves. “Have you eaten yet? Are you hungry?”
“I’m good, can I catch a ride home from you?”
He cocks his head. “Yeah, man, absolutely. Did Jess have to leave or something?”
I swing my legs around the bed and move to get up so I can change back into my clothes. “She’s not here.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “Anything you want to talk about?”
“Nope.”
At least he’s smart enough to leave it alone.
Of course, by “leave it alone,” I mean he decides not to talk about anything at all. Which would normally be welcome, but I could use at least a minor distraction. So I grasp at whatever straw I can think of to start a conversation on this drive that feels like it’s five days long.
“Why didn’t you ever date anyone after Sabrina? You were, like, so gung-ho on marriage and kids, what happened? Did that change?”
His eyes stay on the road, and I watch his eyebrows shift as he contemplates his answer. “I mean, no, it didn’t change. But sometimes things just aren’t in the cards, I guess. I’ve got the girls, though, so I’m happy to get to be the cool uncle for them.”
That makes no sense to me. If you want something, you figure out how to get it. There are no cards.
“You don’t like that answer,” he correctly guesses.
“I just don’t understand it,” I reply. “I get why you wouldn’t want those things with Sabrina after what she did, but why would you let that take away a dream you’ve had since we were kids? You helped Mom like it was your job when Dad was away, you were the only boy in the neighborhood who made his extra money by babysitting. Sabrina’s been out of the picture for years, why didn’t you ever find someone else?”
“Yeah, well, I caught her fucking some other dude in our bed, so I guess I have trust issues. That shit stays with you.”
“No wonder you get along so well with Jess,” I mumble.
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
We’re thankfully pulling up to my condo, but Chris isn’t letting me off the hook so easily.
He throws his truck in park and turns to face me. “Dude, what the hell is going on?”
“Nothing! I told you, it’s nothing.”
“Are you jealous of me and Jess or something?”
“What? No!”
Yes.
Not because I think they were ever together—that makes my stomach heave—but because he can share with her something I can’t. The person they were going to spend their life with kicked them in the teeth. Before Jess, the longest-term relationship I had was with my coffee maker.
“Connor.” Chris looks at me with a seriousness I’ve seen more of in the last six months from him than in the last six years. “Whatever is going on with the two of you, you guys’ll fix it, okay?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” I say as I get out of the truck. “Thanks for the ride.”
He doesn’t argue with me and we both know that we’re keeping things from each other. But now isn’t the time to get into it.
The condo feels emptier than it did before somehow. Jess had grabbed my keys on the way out so I could get back in, but she’d left my cellphone on the kitchen counter. I hold my breath when I pick it up, half hoping that there are text messages from her waiting for me and half hoping that there aren’t, because I know I won’t like what they say.
The blank screen fills me with more disappointment than I’d anticipated. Maybe a hostile text would’ve been better after all.
I know I was a dick to her, I hated seeing the way she looked at me in the hospital. But I wasn’t wrong; at the end of the day, we’re too different to be compatible. It doesn’t matter how much I love her. If she’s anything like my brother, she’s going to hold on to that pain forever and I’ll never be able to have a real life with her.
I ignore the knot in my chest and the lump in my throat as I wipe the counters down. I take a shower and get shampoo in my eyes, so at least there’s a reasonable excuse for any stray tears. And I pretend I can’t smell her perfume on the sheets when I crawl into bed.
I’m not going to settle like my brother. With enough time and enough bluffing, I will get back to my pre-Jess self. And that starts with finally closing this damn Kensington deal.