The door opens, and I swing my head toward the nurse who is now standing in the doorway. Jake is casually washing his hands, trying to pretend he didn’t just have his hand halfway up my thigh and his tongue all the way down my throat. I’m trying to catch my breath, but his hands and his kiss have left my already weak lungs aching for air. I’m practically gasping.
The nurse gives me another concerned, pitiful look. “You sure you’re okay?”
After my coughing fit earlier and now this, she probably thinks I’m near my deathbed. I nod quickly. “I’m fine. Just…shitty lungs. Side effect of CF.”
I hear Jake clear his throat, attempting to cover a laugh. He gives his full attention to the nurse.
“They need you in three,” she says. “Kind of urgent.”
Jake gives her a nod. “Thanks, Vicky. Be right there.”
When she closes the door, Jake covers his face with his hand. When he looks up at me, he’s grinning. He pushes off the counter and walks past but turns toward me. “Put your clothes back on, Maggie,” he says, backing toward the door. “I’ll come over tonight and take them right back off.”
I’m smiling so stupidly when he leaves the room. I hop off the table and walk over to the chair to retrieve my clothes. Feeling another coughing fit coming on, I cover my mouth, still unable to stop smiling. I’m so glad I showed up here.
I clear my throat, but it doesn’t help. Pressing my hand on the counter for more balance doesn’t do anything either because here it is. Hello, old friend. I can feel it about to happen before it actually happens. I always do.
As soon as the room begins to spin, I allow my knees to buckle so the impact isn’t as hard when I hit the floor.
My father took me to Puerto Vallarta when I was ten, just so I could jump out of an airplane.
I’d begged him to take me skydiving with him since I learned how to talk, but it’s not so easy in Texas to give your child legal permission to jump out of an airplane.
He was an adrenaline junkie, just like the child he had created. Because of that, I basically lived at the jump zone where he spent all of his free time. Most dads golf on Sundays. My dad jumped out of airplanes.
By the time I graduated high school, I had already completed four hundred fifty of the five hundred jumps it took to qualify as a tandem instructor. But because of the turn my life took during my senior year, it took me several years to finish those last fifty jumps. I finally became certified as a tandem instructor right out of med school. And even though Maggie was my five hundredth tandem jump, I’ve probably taken that leap at least three times that amount doing it solo since the age of ten.
Even with that much experience, that 500th tandem jump felt like the most terrifying jump I’d ever taken. I’d never been nervous to jump out of a plane before then. I’ve never worried that my chute wouldn’t open. I’ve never once been concerned for my life until that moment. Because if that particular jump didn’t end well, that meant dinner with Maggie was off the table. And I really wanted to take her to dinner. I’d planned to ask her out since the moment I laid eyes on her as I walked into the facility that day.
My immediate reaction to her surprised me. I can’t even remember the last time I was attracted to someone like that. But the second I saw her, something in me woke up. Something I knew was there, but had never been rattled until then. I hadn’t looked at a girl and felt that way in so long, I forgot how stupefying attraction could be.
She was standing at the counter, taking paperwork from Corey, who was on schedule to jump tandem with her. As soon as I realized she was there alone, I waited until she took a seat to fill out her paperwork, and then I begged Corey to let me take over and be the one to jump with her.
“Jake, you’re barely here once a month. This isn’t even your job,” he said. “I’m here every day because I actually need the money.”
“You can have the fee,” I said. “I’ll give you the credit. Just let me have this one.”
When I told him he could keep the money for none of the work, he made a face like I was an idiot and then waved his hand toward Maggie. “All yours,” he said, walking away.
I felt triumphant for a split-second until I looked back at her, sitting in the chair, all alone. Skydiving is such a monumental moment in the lives of most people who do it. Most first-timers never come alone. They almost always have people with them who are experiencing their own monumental moment by also jumping, or they have people with them waiting on the ground for when they survive the jump.
In all honesty, she was the first first-timer I’d ever seen show up completely alone, and her independence both intrigued me and intimidated me. Since the moment I walked up to her and asked if she needed help filling out the forms, nothing has changed when it comes to the situation inside my chest. It’s been days and I’m still filled with that same nervous energy. I’m still intrigued. Still intimidated.
And I have no idea how to move forward.
That’s why I’m stuck in this hallway, right outside the hospital room where they brought her two hours ago.
I was dealing with another patient when Vicky found Maggie and dealt with the entire situation without my even being aware. She didn’t tell me until I finished up with two more patients and Maggie had already been gone for an hour.
Vicky said she noticed it was taking Maggie a while to get dressed and exit the room, so she went to check on her. Maggie was on the floor, just recovering from a blackout. Vicky tested her sugar levels immediately and then sent staff with her over to the hospital. The clinic I work at is adjacent to our hospital, so we’re used to having to transport patients. I’m just not used to the medical emergencies also feeling like a personal emergency.
Since the moment Vicky informed me of what happened, I haven’t been able to concentrate. I finally had a colleague take over so I could come check on Maggie. Now that I’m in the hallway, standing in front of her room, I’m not sure how to feel or what to do or how to approach this entire situation. We’ve been on one date with the potential of another. But now she’s in the hospital and in the exact vulnerable situation she was scared she’d be in when it came to us.
Her being constrained by her illness. Me being here to witness it.
I step aside when the door to her hospital room opens. A nurse walks out, heading for the nurse’s station. I follow her. “Excuse me,” I say, touching her shoulder. She pauses and I point at Maggie’s room. “Have you notified this patient’s family yet?”
The nurse glances at the name on my coat and says, “Yes. Left a voicemail as soon as she was brought in.” She looks down at the file. “I thought she was Doctor Kastner’s patient.”
“She is. I’m her cardiologist. She was at my clinic when her condition worsened, so I’m just checking in.”
“You’re from cardiology?” she asks without looking up from the file. “We’re aware of the CFRD, but have nothing on file about heart issues.”
“It was just a preventative check-up,” I say, backing away before she gets too nosy about my nosiness. “I just wanted to make sure her family was notified. Is the patient alert?”
The nurse nods, but also makes a face like she’s annoyed that I’m questioning her ability to do her job. I turn and walk back toward Maggie’s room, pausing just outside the door. Once again, I fail to walk in because I don’t know her well enough to know what kind of reaction she would prefer from me right now. If I walk in and try to pretend her passing out in my office wasn’t a big deal, she might be put off by my casualness. If I walk in and act like I’m concerned, she might use that concern as a weapon against us.
I think if we were more than just one overnight date in, the next few minutes might not matter as much. But since we’ve only been on one date, I’m almost positive she’s in there right now, regretting showing up at my office and regretting that I’ll see her in such a vulnerable state, and possibly even regretting that she even walked into my life on Tuesday. I feel like my next moves are extre
mely crucial to how all of this will turn out.
I don’t think I’ve ever worried this much about how to act in front of someone. I normally have the attitude that if someone doesn’t like me, that’s not going to matter to me or my life, so I’ve always just done and said what I feel like doing and saying. But right now, with Maggie, I’d give anything to have a handbook.
I need to know what she needs from me in order for her not to push me away again.
I put my hand on the door, but my phone begins to ring as soon as I start to push it open. I quickly back up so she isn’t aware I’m right outside her door. I walk a few feet down the hallway and pull my phone out of my pocket.
I smile when I see that it’s Justice, trying to FaceTime me. I’m relieved to have a few minutes more to prepare before walking in to see Maggie.
I accept the call and wait the several seconds it usually takes for the FaceTime to connect us. When it finally does, it’s not Justice’s face I see on his phone. His screen is covered by a piece of paper. I squint to see it, but the grade is too blurry.
“It’s too close to your phone,” I tell him.
He pulls the paper back a few inches, and I can see the number eighty-five circled in the top right-hand corner.
“That’s not too bad for a night of horror movies,” I say.
Justice’s face is on the screen now. He looks at me like I’m the child and he’s the parent. “Dad, it’s a B. My first B all year. You’re supposed to yell at me so I’ll never make another B again.”
I laugh. He’s looking at me so seriously, like he’s more disappointed that I’m not furious with him than he is disappointed in getting his first B. “Listen,” I tell him as I lean against the wall. “We both know you know the material. I’d be mad if you didn’t study, but you did. The reason you got a B is because you went to bed too late. And I already yelled at you for that.”
I woke up at three o’clock this morning and heard the television on in my living room. When I went to turn it off, Justice was on the couch with a bowl of popcorn, watching The Visit. He’s obsessed with M. Night Shyamalan. His obsession is mostly my fault. It started when I let him watch The Sixth Sense when he was five. He’s eleven now, and the obsession has only gotten worse.
What can I say? He takes after his father. But as much of me as he has in him, he’s also very much his mother’s child. She stressed over every paper and every homework assignment throughout high school and college. I once had to console her because she was crying over receiving a ninety-nine on a paper when she was aiming for a perfect score.