When I stop retching, everything’s silent except for motors in the distance and the twittering of birds who are clueless about what a rough day I’m having.
“Oh my god,” I groan. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Instead of answering, he snags the neck of my hoodie and uses it to wipe off my lips. “I have one flight of stairs between here and my guest bedroom. Can you make it?”
“I think so.”
Slinging my backpack over his shoulder, he slides one arm around my lower back and scoops me out of the car like I don’t weigh anything. I end up leaning against his chest with my face in his shoulder, his arms around me. “I’m sorry,” I mumble, half for puking on him and half for barging back into his life as inappropriately as when I stole a bottle of vodka and cried all over a complete stranger in the rain. The poor man’s just trying to live his life without a needy trans boy making a hot mess of everything.
“It’s fine,” he says quietly, stepping back but keeping a hand on my shoulder so I don’t lose my balance.
He supports me with one hand around my waist and the other on my arm as I hobble through the front door and right up the luxurious staircase. Out of the corner of my eye, I realize chaos has replaced the calm minimalism from last time we visited—dirty dishes and trash covering the kitchen counter, clothes all over the couch, a mountain of recycling in the middle of the dining room. Something feels wrong, but before I can get a second look, we’ve entered a chilly guest room with crisp white bedding that looks like no one has ever slept here. Heavy blinds block the floor to ceiling window, so Mallory’s father switches on the overhead light while I sit on the edge of the bed. “Is this acceptable for recovery?”
“Um…” I stare hazily at my knees, shivering a little. My pain is escalating by the second as my body starts to process the trauma I just put it through. “I need meds, and a cup with a straw, and I have to sleep sitting up. We bought a wedge pillow, but…” It’s at home, waiting for me along with everything else that made me feel safe.
“Oh, I apologize. I’ll find some spare pillows.” He walks out unceremoniously, leaving me alone in the silence. Keeping my elbows tucked against my sides, I chew on the edge of my fingernail and watch the carpet go in and out of focus. When I hear the padding of feet on carpet, I glance up to see that he’s not wearing his vomit-covered shoes anymore.
Dropping an armful of pillows on the bed, he arranges them into a backrest. He pulls it apart a few times and starts over before he’s satisfied, like he forgets that I’m sitting here waiting.
“What happened to Mallory?” I sound like a whiny little kid instead of a twenty-three-year-old man.
Sighing, he peels back the covers. “During your surgery, she received a call that her mother collapsed at work and was rushed to the emergency room. Mallory left for Spokane immediately. I know she’s devastated not to be here for you.”
“Oh my god, that’s awful.” The part of me that felt abandoned disappears into an overwhelming frustration that I couldn’t go with Mallory and support her.
“It is. I don’t speak with her mother often, but she’s a remarkable woman and a better parent than I could ever be.” He gestures to his handiwork, finally satisfied. “Lean back.” I can’t use my arms to lift myself, so he shifts my legs onto the bed and lets me push my feet against his hand to get scooted into place. Relief floods me as I lean back and realize I don’t have to get up again until I’ve slept as long as I want to.
“I have your medications,” he ventures, pulling a plastic bag out of my backpack and counting out a couple of pills. “There are a lot, and they all have different schedules. I’ll make a chart later.”
“Pain meds?” I murmur hopefully, my eyes already drooping shut again.
“Yes, here you go.” His warm hand startles me as it cups the back of my neck and a straw brushes my lips. “I’ll check on you every hour to make sure you don’t need anything, but I won’t wake you up until you need more medication.”
“Thank you, Mr. Watts.”
His fingers stay resting in the short hairs at the back of my neck. “Look at me for a second.”
Obediently, I tip my chin up and meet his eyes. The hazy irises flick between mine, giving even less away than his quiet voice. He looks concerned, but he always looks kind of concerned. I’m starting to suspect his face just works that way.
“First of all, call me Jamie. Secondly—” he hesitates so briefly it’s almost unnoticeable. “I recognize that this situation isn’t ideal. I’ll do my best to give you everything you need, but please tell me if I’m fucking up.”
My last remaining brainpower short circuited the second he saidJamie. It’s lovely, a softer name than I expected. “I, um, okay. Jamie. I will. But you won’t. I mean…thank you.”
He blinks, trying to parse that, then nods and walks out, shutting the door most of the way behind him. As the silence sinks in, I unzip my hoodie and stare down at the velcro binder, brushing my fingers along it. Part of me wants to tear it off, but I’m not ready to face whatever’s inside.
Before the medication hits, I pull my phone out of my gym shorts and dial Mallory, putting it on speaker so I don’t have to raise my arm.
“Oh Kota, I’m so, so sorry,” she sobs on the third ring. “I let you down. Are you okay?”
I had a fake cheerful voice prepared, but my best friend would see through it in a second and feel hurt that I tried to lie to her. “I feel…strange. But the surgery went great. What about your mom?”
“I’m still driving, but I got word that she’s conscious and able to talk.”
The tension in my shoulders eases. “I’m so glad. Just focus on her; I’ll be fine.”
“Did Dad pick you up?” The wry twist in her voice makes it clear that she knows exactly how awkward this is.
“Yes. Nothing’s going like we planned, but he’s trying. I’m ensconced in pillows and ready to sleep.”
