chapter twenty-five
WE’RE ON THE way there,” I tell Grandma.
The moment Scott left, Tara bolted down the stairs in tears after overhearing my confrontation with Scott. She and I contemplated going to Grandma Flo’s house immediately, but decided against it, in case Martin hadn’t told her yet. Luckily, Grandma called not long after to inform us she was going to the hospital to await the results.
While Tara and I are both angry about being kept in the dark, our feelings hardly seem to matter, given the circumstances. As badly as Martin handled the situation, his obnoxious, loud self has grown on me immensely in the past two months.
He and Scott are so much alike in some ways, it’s almost creepy. At family gatherings, they’re the last to take food, waiting for everyone else to serve themselves first. They’re both thoughtful, remembering small, seemingly innocuous details about everyone’s lives. They’ll both go to any lengths to protect their families, even if it means keeping secrets. The very thought of losing Martin, however strange and new he may be to the family, is something I can’t entertain in my head for longer than a fraction of a second without being overcome with dread.
Driving to the hospital, finding a parking spot, and locating them on the correct floor is a complicated, blurry endeavor. But I know we’re in the right place when I nearly collide with Grandma Flo and Mom as I enter a waiting area.
There are massive purple bags under Grandma’s weepy eyes. She’s slouched, pale, and overall worn. It reminds me of the long, difficult months when Grandpa was going through chemotherapy. She barely ate or slept. I’m pretty sure the awful experience prematurely aged her by years. It’s beyond cruel that she may have to go through this all over again.
“Patricia and Scotty are in the doctor’s office with him now,” Grandma says as Tara sorrowfully embraces her.
“How are you doing?” I ask as a group of nurses rushes past down the white, sterile hallway.
“Alright.” Her eyes are teary as she motions for us to sit in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs. Like most hospitals, it smells faintly of body odor and disinfectant. It’s relatively quiet on this floor, save for random distant beeping, hushed chatter, and the little girl giggling on her mom’s lap a couple chairs over.
“When did he tell you?” Tara asks as we take our seats.
“He came by earlier this morning and told me over coffee,” she says neutrally, making it difficult to determine how she’s feeling about it.
I give her a sympathetic gaze. “Are you mad he didn’t tell you until today?”
“I am. We’re meant to get married next month, move in together.” Grandma’s lips tighten as she fidgets with her gold charm bracelet. “But then I think, what’s the point? I don’t have time to be angry about stuff like this at my age. He had the best of intentions, even if he was wrong.”
I take in her words as the realization washes over me—Scott’s had to carry this burden for nearly two weeks. No wonder he’s been moody and distant. It isn’t his fault Martin asked him to lie on his behalf, wrong as it was. He was in an impossible position, forced to choose between his family and his new relationship. Had I been in the very same situation with Grandma Flo, I realistically would have made the same choice: family.
I cross and uncross my legs a million times as the minutes pass, eyes focused mindlessly on the local news reel on the TV. I’m barely digesting anything, because nothing else seems to matter right now.
Grandma and Mom are in and out of their seats, trying to busy themselves by pacing the hallway. Tara is reading quietly on her Kindle. I wonder if she’s even processing any words. From the way her knee is bouncing up and down, she appears as anxious as I am.
After over an hour, the fatigue from last night with Scott, combined with the emotional roller coaster that was this morning, finally begins to sink in. Despite the lack of comfortable seating, I fold my legs over the arm of the chair and manage to close my eyes.
• • •
“YOU LOT LOOK like you’re at a funeral.” Martin’s familiar, boisterous voice snaps me out of sleep.
As I rub my eyes, planting both feet back on the ground, his figure lumbers into the waiting area. He’s smiling like he’s merely here for an annual physical. One would think that would mean good news, but I get the feeling he’s the type who would smile either way. To delay everyone’s pain for as long as humanly possible.
Grandma Flo nearly knocks the coffee table over as she rushes into his arms. “Is it cancer?”
He embraces her wholeheartedly before giving her a soft kiss on the forehead. Then he shakes his head, casting a triumphant smile at Mom, Tara, and me. “It’s benign. The tumor isn’t cancerous.”
The entire room changes color. It’s no longer lifeless, blue, and void of hope. It’s vibrant, sunny, and full of light. The space that was so stuffy and depressing just seconds ago is suddenly alive, fueled by everyone’s relief. We’ve been given a priceless gift. The gift of more time with someone we love.
It’s a good thing Martin has his arms around her, because Grandma Flo would have otherwise hit the floor, face drenched with a blend of what I imagine are happy tears and the painful memories of losing Grandpa.
The tightness in my stomach releases when I stand to hug Martin. I don’t know if I’ve ever felt more thankful for anything in my life. “I’m sorry, Crystal,” he says.
“For what?”
Martin pulls back regretfully, squeezing my shoulders. “It’s my fault . . . what happened with Scotty. Please don’t blame him. I asked him to lie and it was an unfair request. I see that now.”
“I appreciate that,” I say, letting out a massive sigh, just as Patricia and Scott come around the corner.
Scott is still in his same clothes from this morning, which are technically the same ones from yesterday. His wavy hair looks like it’s been brushed five different ways, and his eyes are bloodshot.
He stops a couple feet in front of me, as if unsure of what to do next. “You came.”
I wait a few beats before practically lunging at him like a flying squirrel, desperate to be back in his arms. Just like Martin did with Flo, Scott wraps his arms around me, tighter than he ever has before. His entire body seems to relax in our embrace.
After this ordeal, after our family was quite literally granted a second chance, I never want to let him go. I don’t care that we got into a massive fight. I don’t care about the hurt feelings. And I don’t care that we’re in the middle of a hospital waiting room full of onlookers.
“Of course I did. I’m so sorry for being so mad at you,” I whisper into his neck.
He glosses his thumbs over my cheeks, pressing his forehead to mine. “I never should have kept that from you. It killed me to do it.”
“Scott, it’s okay. I know.”
“I swear to you, I will never keep something like that from you ever again. I care about you so much—I don’t even know what to do with myself. I can’t lose you.” He tugs my hand, holding it to his chest. The steady drum of his heart vibrates against my palm. It’s the most raw and honest moment of my life.
I practically melt into him, because I believe him wholeheartedly. “You won’t. Ever,” I whisper, tracing my finger over his stubbled jaw.
His eyes flicker to my lips as he drops his forehead to mine again, tightening his muscly arms around my lower back, securing me to him. He lets out a long sigh as I run my hands over his shoulders, up his neck, and through his hair.
There’s a heaviness to his gaze, and it isn’t just lust. It’s overwhelming affection. The intensity of the moment steals my breath, rendering me putty in his arms. I want to capture this look and keep it forever.
I give him a small nod to continue, watching as the incredible relief washes over him before he drops his mouth and presses his soft lips to mine.
Everything goes silent. The beeps of the hospital machines, the urgent voices around us, and all the broken rules and worries of the past fade into obscurity in the background. All I can hear is the gush of blood flowing to my ears as we struggle to pull ourselves closer, tongues melding in a mixture of gentle and rough. There is no twister unleashing havoc, tearing my heart apart. Instead, he grounds me into a calm state of being. And it makes all the difference.
I pull back momentarily to drink in his gorgeous eyes. “Screw August sixth?”
He gives me a wicked smile. “Screw August sixth,” he repeats before capturing my mouth again.