Sweet Babysitter (A Virgin Single Dad Romance)
Page 7
“I’m looking for Irina Ellis,” I tell him, steeling myself for a snide remark or hateful gaze.
His face twitches in recognition, but he doesn’t say anything at least.
“Third floor,” he says. “Room 321.”
“Thanks,” I say, and leave quickly.
I keep my head ducked down as I walk down the hallways toward the elevators, using my long dark hair to shield people from seeing me. I did it all through high school, and though it didn’t do much then, it seems like nobody recognizes me today. The intercom buzzes as it calls doctors to various places, and the smell of disinfectant is strong enough to knock someone over. I fall in behind the crowd waiting at the elevators, and when the doors open, I squeeze myself into the corner.
We arrive at the third floor, and I’m not the only one who steps out. I think this must be the intensive care unit, because all I see are serious faces and hardly any activity. It’s as if bad news has dampened any noise on the floor. I turn right, following the signs on the wall. Room 321 is the second room, and I pause, peeking in through the window.
My mother lies on a bed, her eyes closed. Her skin is yellowish, her hair tangled up on the pillow. I try to look for signs of the woman that she used to be, vividly alive and beautiful, but I find nothing. She told me in her text message that she was dying, but I chalked it up to her being dramatic. Now I feel awful for putting off this visit. I knock on the door twice, before I push it open and step inside. The machine she’s hooked up to beeps serenely. I walk closer to her, seeing how dry her skin is, how frail she looks under the plain white sheets. She’s set up pictures on the bedstand, mostly of herself, I notice.
“Serena?” my mom asks, stirring. “Is that you?”
“Hi mom,” I say, swallowing hard. “How are you?”
She sits up, and I rush forward to help her.
“You came,” she said happily. “I’m so glad.”
“Sorry it took me so long,” I mumble. “Work’s kind of getting crazy. People want their big projects done before the holidays.”
“Of course,” she says. “I’m just happy you could make it. How long are you staying?”
“What’s going on with you?” I say, dodging around her question. “Your text made it sound pretty serious.”
She looks down at her sheets, smooths them with both hands.
“Cirrhosis of the liver. They won’t put me on the transplant list because I drink.”
Oh. Maybe that is something I should have expected. When my father ditched us with all the money he still had, my mother definitely did not find the light in the darkness. Unless the light was at the bottom of a vodka bottle. It wasn’t gradual either, because as soon as everyone found out what my father did, they basically shunned us. Whatever money we had went straight to alcohol. The only reason I had food was because I had a job at McDonald’s and ate there. Sure I put on like fifty pounds, and crazy acne, but it beat going hungry.
And my mom, who was used to being the darling of society, the one everyone envied, couldn’t seem to understand why nobody wanted anything to do with us, or refused to. So she found attention at the bar. Pretty soon she was bring back three or four different guys a week back home. And that’s when our reputation got worse. I was called all kinds of names at school, by guys who thought I would be as easy as my mom. And even though I never did, it didn’t stop the girls from thinking otherwise. My father might have made my life miserable with what he did, but my mom kept that misery going. She never once asked me about how I was. My only use to her was as a sympathetic ear to how unfair her life was. How horrible my dad was for putting us in this situation. Oh, and she found plenty of time to criticize me for not looking as beautiful as she did in high school.
“So there’s nothing that can be done?” I ask, sitting down heavily on the chair beside my mom’s bed. “You’re really going to die?”
She hesitates.
“I have to receive a directed donation. From family most likely.”
It hits me suddenly, why my mom has reached out after all this time. When I first told her I got a scholarship to an out of state college, she was devastated. As if she had been mother of the year and I was leaving her all by herself. She almost convinced me to stay too, but I knew for my own sake I had to get out of Herman Springs. I had to get out from my mom’s toxicity before it poisoned me completely. In return, I was given the cold shoulder treatment. I might as well have skipped out on her just like dad did.
“You want me to donate my liver,” I say, my voice flat.
“It grows back,” she snaps. “I’m not asking for much, considering all that I’ve done for you all these years.”
“Are you going to AA meetings? It’s not like donating a liver’s going to do anything if you still have a drinking problem.”
“I don’t have a problem.”
My eyes widen.
“I had to clean you up every day when I got home from school! There were nights when I would lie awake because I had no idea if you were going to come home or if you had choked on your own vomit in a ditch somewhere. I was your kid, and I should have been the one worrying you, not the other way around.” I’m so pissed. “And what, now you want me to give you half my liver so you can go out and trash that one too?”
I shove my purse up onto my shoulder and get up. Somehow I manage to put one foot in front of the other, making my way to the door.
“Wait,” she calls out, and stupid me, I pause.
I’m not sure what I expect. An apology? An explanation? Some responsibility taken for the fact that I basically lost two parents instead of one? Maybe even a ‘Please sit back down and tell me how your life is’ plea?
Nope.
“If you leave, you can forget calling yourself my daughter.”
“Don’t worry,” I say witheringly. “You’d have to actually act like my mother for that to happen.”
And with that I slam her door shut behind me. One of the nurses at the station looks up and gives me a dirty look. I don’t care. It’s momentarily satisfying, but then all the anger drains out of me and I’m just sad. We used to braid each other’s hair before bedtime, and shop, and talk about everything under the sun. I want to be her daughter again, more than anything, but it seems impossible. But maybe if I give her my liver…?
The thought torments me all the way on my trip back out of the hospital and across the street to the parking garage. I can’t make a decision now, not like this. But I know what I need to do. I need to call Carol. She was my one friend. Her parents homeschooled her and her brother, and we bonded over how crappy our manager was at McDonald’s. That’s what I’ll do, I decide. I’ll talk to Carol, and she’ll be levelheaded enough to help me figure out if I should do this. I walk into the elevator and punch the ‘3’ button. Pulling out my phone, I start writing a message.
I’m not sure what it is that makes me look up when the elevator doors open. A sixth sense maybe, or something else. Whatever the case, I lift my eyes up from the screen, and the hairs on my back stand up. Hazel eyes, square jaw, broad shoulders that fill out the suit jacket perfectly, a magnetic smile that sends an ache rippling through my body... Seriously I could go on and on. The years have been good to him. He’s got a little bit of silver in his hair, but that only makes him look more distinguished. A few frown lines, and I wonder how hard it must be to have to be head of a company and people’s livelihoods, as if I could have done something about that too. It’s absolute nonsense, but that’s what he’s always done to me. I thought I’d gotten over my crush, but suddenly it’s like the years have disappeared. He sucks all the air out of the tiny elevator, making me dizzy.
It’s Matthew, my dad’s best friend.
The only one who I’ve ever wanted, and whose abandonment hurt more than anyone else’s.
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Other books by Lila Younger
What Her Dad Doesn’t Know
Boss of Me
Her Vir
gin Secret
Filthy Professor
Yes Sir
Bossing the Virgin
His Virgin Babysitter
Taking his Virgin
Buying his Virgin
His Virgin Ward
Loving My Best Friend’s Dad
Daddy’s Boss
Sold to the Billionaire
Falling for my Neighbor
His Virgin Bride
Dirty Secret
About Lila Younger
Lila has spent her whole life in the PNW, where rainy days kept her inside with a book. A lover of the written word, she can’t believe that it’s taken her over twenty years to get around to writing a book. She’s always believed in love at first sight and happily ever afters. When she isn’t working on her stories, Lila likes to bake and hike in the mountains that make up her backyard.