I want to cry.
But I don’t cry. I never have. And I don’t want to imagine the circumstances that might cause me to cry now.
“I know, hon,” the nurse says soothingly. “That fever is wretched, but it just means your body’s doing a really good job fighting this virus.”
It’s hard to see exactly what the nurse is doing, but she’s adjusting things and tenderly handling Ava. I wish I could be doing that, but I can’t, so I just marinate in silent gratitude that somebody is. I leave the kitchen and go sit at the piano in the front room, just to wait for something. I don’t know what I’m waiting for, but I’ll do it anyway.
The nurse continues to talk to Ava while she pokes, prods, and checks things. I want to butt in and demand an explanation for everything, but I’m not Ava’s husband, blood relative, or anything real that matters—just the guy who’s in love with her, that’s all—so I know the nurse isn’t obligated or probably even allowed to tell me a damn thing.
After a few minutes, the nurse appears to be finished going through all her tasks before directing Ava’s fleeting attention to me.
“You’ve got a friend on your iPad, Ava,” she says. “Want to say hi to him?”
Ava slides her eyes toward the screen, her head following slowly thereafter. She doesn’t react beyond a subtle knit of her dark, elegant brows.
I quietly clear my throat of the small lump that’s been partially blocking my airway. “Hey there, sweetie.”
“Hi,” she says, her voice like a little mouse.
“He’s been on that iPad all day long,” the nurse goes on casually with a hint of mischief in her voice. “So, we’ve all gotten a good look at him. He’s pretty cute, so you knowwe’re all curious about him.”
Ava exhales a small puff of air through her nose like she’s trying to laugh, but it just causes her to cough and struggle to inhale. “That’s Lucky,” she says weakly, speaking to the nurse and not to me, but I’m just relieved she’s awake and talking to anyone. “He’s a famous piano player.”
I don’t really like that answer, but again, I’m not about to get mad. I don’t have any right after the way I treated her.
“Is he really?” the nurse says in a teasing tone. “You mean to tell me you got a famous boyfriend or something?”
“Not my boyfriend,” Ava mumbles, fixing her gaze on me. “He’s just really good with his fans and probably feels pity for me because I landed myself in the hospital like an idiot.”
“Ava,” I can’t help piping up.
“What,” she snaps, albeit in the same weak voice.
“Now, try not to get too worked up. Okay, Ava?” the nurse says from somewhere in the room. Her tone is less teasing. “Anything extra is going to wear you out.”
“Sorry,” Ava says, then pauses to inhale and exhale with great effort. “What do you want, Lucky? Are you on there just so you can watch me slowly die and celebrate the fact that you were right?”
“I’m on here because I owe you every single apology imaginable,” I say earnestly. The lump is crawling back up into my throat and threatening to make my voice crack. “I never shoulda said or done any of the things I did. I have never regretted anything as much as what I—”
“I don’tcare,” she wails and then quietly sobs, which only causes her to start breathing all too raggedly. “I don’t feel up to doing this stupid shit with you, so just shut up already.”
“Okay...okay...okay…” I relent. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I just wish I could do something right now and—”
“Then just play the fucking piano so I can go back to sleep,” she mumbles breathlessly.
Now, why the fuck didn’t I think of that?
“Okay, honey. I’ll do that,” I say gently. “You just rest.”
I take two seconds to go grab the tripod, and then return to the piano, setting up the phone and pointing it at myself. I start at the very top of my repertoire of thousands upon thousands of songs and am fully prepared to play all of them on repeat without stopping to do anything until she feels better.
While I’m playing, I keep my eyes glued to the phone. Ava simply stares ahead for the most part, but every once in a while, she glances at me. She seems to be more relaxed now, and that makes me feel better.
In between the sixth and seventh songs, she looks at me again. “I love that one.”
“I know you do,” I say quietly, resting my hands for a second and meeting her gaze. “You told me so when I put up the video. I remember that like it was yesterday.”
And I do. The more time I have to think about everything, the more I’m continuously hit over the head by how Ava has been there as an utterly devoted fan since almost the very, very beginning. Couple that with how magnificently we connected when she was here, and how well she took care of me during that same time—even afterI treated her like shit—and I’m fucking ruined.
