“So when is he coming?”
“He’s a very busy man.” She lifted up my untouched tray from breakfast. “Now finish eating your lunch.”
Did that mean he wasn’t coming at all? What the hell? But before I could ask, she hurried out of the room. I was starting to hate that woman more than I hated my father. And that was really saying something.
I stared at the ceiling and tried to practice what I’d say to my father if he did end up coming today. Or if I ever saw him again. I needed to remember to stay calm and composed even though I could feel rage pulsing through my veins. It was easy to stay calm though. Because my anger eventually boiled over to sadness. An endless loop of anger and despair.
It was Saturday. Which meant my fight with Matt happened nine days ago.Nine.And as far as I could tell, he’d just let me go. I rolled over and stared at the blank wall. I willed myself tonot look at my left hand, where my engagement ring once sat. Because every time I looked at it, I started to cry.
The last voicemail I’d left Matt had been horrible. I’d called him a hypocrite. I’d said awful things. And I played those hateful words on repeat as I lay here in this hospital bed. I missed him. Desperately. And each day that passed made it seem like he didn’t miss me at all. How could I be reduced to so little in his mind when he was still my everything?
I quickly wiped away the tears on my cheeks. Maybe I did need to talk to a therapist. These mood swings made me feel like I was insane. It reminded me of when I went to the nurse at Empire High and she suggested I go see the school counselor. My uncle had just died and I was struggling. Honestly, I wasstillstruggling. Some days it felt hard to breathe. It was like every time I thought my life was going to be okay again…something terrible happened. Something awful and irreversible. And I was so tired of waking up all alone in my misery.
There was a knock on the door.
I quickly sat up. It was definitely too early for dinner. Which meant…
“Princess,” my dad said. He was in one of his normal suits, and if it wasn’t for the cane he was leaning on…there would be no way to know he’d just had surgery. He looked healthy and the smile on his face made it appear that he was happy too. Great. He was the exact opposite of me. And just like that…I got angry again.
“Please don’t call me that,” I said. “That’s your nickname for Isabella. And I’m not Isabella.”
His smile faltered. “Of course you’re not. You’re my angel.” He sat down on the edge of my bed.
“An angel would have willingly given you a kidney. You had to steal mine.”
His smile disappeared completely. “Brooklyn, you have to understand…I thought you knew. I never would have…”
“Bullshit.”
“Language,” he warned.
He wasn’t allowed to be a kidney thief one minute and a good parent the next. “Fuck you!” Wow, this conversation was not going at all how I’d planned.
For just a second he looked ghostly pale. But he quickly recovered. “We’ve already been over this. You signed the contract and…”
“Dad! How can you not see my side on this? You gave me the world’s longest contract to sign. I couldn’t possibly have read all the fine print. And we never talked about it.”
“We did discuss it. I tried to talk to you about it at the diner that day I picked you up during lunch. Remember?”
What?I shook my head. “We were talking about me getting on birth control. Which was super awkward and I wish you’dstop…”Oh. Wait.I tried to remember the conversation. It had been super weird. And it had ended with him talking about staying in front of the issue. About getting it over with as soon as possible. Had he switched the conversation halfway through to talking about the weird kidney thing without me realizing it? “Wait…were you worried I would get pregnant and wouldn’t be able to do the surgery? Is that why you kept talking about it?”
“Yes, I told you that.”
“You didn’t tell me that! I had no idea what you were talking about!”
“Brooklyn, I even gave you an out. I told you if you weren’t comfortable talking about it with me, then maybe you weren’t ready to do the transplant.”
“I thought you were talking about birth control and sex the entire time!”
“Oh. What a misunderstanding.” He patted my shin.
“You even said I could see Dr. Wilson about getting on birth control. I know you did. I…”
“Good heavens no. Dr. Wilson is a specialist dealing with my kidney problems. He’s not an OBGYN.”
How could I have misunderstood everything so horribly?
“But I do appreciate you going through with it.”
