She narrows her eyes at me before dropping her shoulders a little. “Fine, but please don’t make me regret this,” she says standing and stretching to hold the door open for me.
I duck under her arm, but the top of my drip stand catches her and she glares at me like I’ve just tried to hurt her on purpose. “Sorry,” I utter, feeling the need to apologize, even though she’s the one that positioned herself so precariously. I make my way down the long barren corridor before coming to the bank of elevators. I study the enormous blue sign above the call buttons until I see that there’s a coffee shop on the ground floor. I’m wearing my spare glasses that I keep loose in my purse; my regular ones were lost in the accident. I busy myself rubbing the lenses with the hem of my shirt as I rock back and forth on my toes waiting for the elevator to descend. The glass is covered in tiny scratches where it’s scuffed against my keys and heaven knows what else lurking in the depths of my bag. The doors finally open, and I’m rapidly assaulted by the smell of freshly ground coffee. I inhale as much as my lungs can take and hold the bitter, rich aroma for a few seconds before breathing it out slowly. I hate the smell of hospitals; I have since the day Em was diagnosed. The coffee scent is masking the clinical bleach smell that the rest of the building holds, and I find myself wondering if they’ll let me sleep down here tonight. I join the back of the line and wait to place my order as some guy wearing sunglasses trips over the base of my drip stand. It teeters a little before he manages to grab hold of it and stop it toppling over completely.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he rushes to apologize as I look up and realize everyone in the line is staring.
“Blair!” Moira, Ethan’s mom, shouts from the front where she’s being served and ushers people out of the way as she makes her way back through the ten or so people in front of me.
“No worries, I’m fine,” I say, shooing the guy away and turning my attention back to my boyfriend’s mom.
“Moira, how…how’s Ethan?” I stammer as my mouth suddenly feels like it's been stuffed to capacity with cotton balls. I have an overwhelmingly unexpected urge to cry, and my throat constricts as I wait for her reply.
“Madam! Madam, excuse me. You’ve forgotten your drink,” the barista shouts and Moira holds her finger up to me, and then rushes back to the front of the line to collect her coffee. She’s back moments later and guides me to a window seat and sits down.
“He woke up a few hours ago,” she says with a small smile on her face that doesn’t look quite right; it’s a sad smile.
My stomach knots as I wait for her to continue. I can hear the blood rushing about in my ears, and I feel a chill run down my spine in anticipation of her next sentence. She looks down at her coffee before meeting my gaze and then lets out a small sigh. Shit, that can’t be a good sign. The coffee shop is painted a deep red and fitted out with rich eggplant and cherry-colored fabric seating and oak bistro tables. It has a warm and cozy atmosphere; or at least it did, until Moira’s expression gives me chills. I shiver involuntary and fold my arms across my chest in dreaded anticipation.
“He’s still very confused, and he doesn’t remember anything about the accident. He’s drifting in and out of consciousness, but the doctors have assured me that it’s a normal response,” she says softly.
I let out the breath I was holding and allow my shoulders to drop. “Thank god he’s awake,” I tell her, moving my glasses to rub my eyes in an effort to try and disperse the tears that are gathering in tiny pools. “I’m so relieved; the doctors wouldn’t tell me anything about his condition and refused to let me come see him because I’m not family.”
“You poor thing. I’m so sorry I didn’t come to find you and update you. It just didn’t cross my mind.” She reaches across the table and rubs my arm calmly in apology. I attempt to smile but it’s strained and weak as she places her hand over mine.
“He’s bruised and sore; he’d dislocated his shoulder, sprained one of his wrists, and he must have hit his head pretty hard in the accident. He had swelling around his brain, and they had to do a procedure to alleviate some of the pressure.” My eyes widen in horror as she squeezes my hand slightly. “No, no, he’s okay now—he’s stable. He’s just a little dazed and confused. Hopefully, he’ll be feeling a little better when he wakes up. He’s been given some pretty heavy-duty pain medication that’s got him slipping in and out of sleep.”
“I need to see him,” I tell her through a sob as I reach forward and steal the napkin from under her drink to wipe my eyes.
“Come with me, sweetheart,” she says, standing up and letting her chair scrape against the floor. A young couple swoops in like vultures, takeaway cups and pastries in hand, waiting to descend on the table in the busy shop. “Let’s see what we can do.”