Which Do You Want First?

I catch myself quickly, my mouth falling open for a second. “Wh—I just wanted to see mom.” My hand scrapes on the chair, but  dont feel the sting until a moment after.

He looks at me as if I just spoke in Japanese, then rolls his eyes, “What good will you do standing here? Go back to school.” 

My eyes lower. My hands ball into fists. I feel so tired, so fed up with this man.

Jotham slides between the two of us, “Leave him alone, Dad.” I'm surprised at his stance, protective. I don't remember a time my brother has ever defended me in front of him.

My father kisses his teeth, looking away from the two of us with something akin to disgust on his face. But he takes a single step back.

Jotham turns to me, a sad smile on his face as he asks, “Do you want to see her?” 

“Of course,” I say, and he leads me by the arm. I feel the ball in my stomach loosen just a little. 

~ 

Eucalyptus follows me once I pass through the double doors leading into the hallway of the ICU. 

The entire section is quiet, controlled in a way that immediately makes me feel calmer. Jotham walks in front of me silently, leading the way to a room on the far end of the hall. 

I almost ask about the other driver again, but he is walking too fast. 

He slides the door open and i follow him in. 

My mother lays as if dead, the sight of her just lying there making my breath catch in my throat for a minute. Her face is unblemished, peaceful, the only part of her body not showing how much she's been through.

I can’t stop thinking about what Jotham said—that her picture was in the other car. That can’t be a coincidence. 

Someone’s laid flowers by her bedside. I take her hand, and it is warm. Limp.

Jotham watches us from a corner of the room as i go to sit beside her. 

I let a few seconds pass silently before I finally ask the question I’ve been dreading, “Who was the person in the other car?”

“I don’t know,” he says, and his eyes slink away from mine, the way they always do when he’s lying. 

“You're lying,” I say it softly, not wanting to spoil this new almost-friendship with Jotham. 

Regardless, his jaw shifts, eyes hardening. “Why the fuck would I lie?” 

My eyes close for a second, and I literally swallow back the snide remark in my mind.

A nurse comes in as I’m about to ask the same question, phrased in a different way. She pokes around my mother, tapping buttons on the screen. 

My father enters just as she is leaving, further silencing anything I would say to Jotham. 

“You are returning to school tomorrow.” He looks at his phone while talking, like he doesn't even expect me to argue. 

“No,” I look at him while I speak, and I like how steady my voice is. 

His eyes cut to me, so cold, I almost backtrack. The way he places his phone on the table so calmly tells me how angry he is. 

My courage fails me, suddenly, and I say, “I'll go the day after.” 

He looks at me for a second, the lines around his mouth stretching to a thin line. Then he looks away.

Suddenly my mind flashes back. To another time, in another hospital. My mother lying in another ICU, my father contrite because he had put her there.

Everything in that other hospital seems cramped in comparison to this one. But she was fighting the same, much like this one. 

~ 

Our doctor comes in some minutes before midnight. He leads my father out of the room, and I want to eavesdrop on their conversation but I… can't move. 

My stomach grumbles, twisting in on itself, but I can't eat. The thought of food makes me nauseous.

~

“Dr. James just told me the result of the CT scan,” my father says as soon as he enters the room, looking at both of us accusingly, as if all of this is our fault. 

He sighs, then, “Two cracked ribs, neck strain and bruising. They’ll wait before surgery.” 

“Okay, okay.” I nod. It could be worse. 

I sit back down beside my mother, not realizing I stood up when he came in. 

Jotham goes out to get burgers for the three of us. There's something fragile about how quiet the room is. 

My phone rings. Timothy. I watch the name blink on the screen, and my fingers tap the green button before I can stop myself. 

His voice comes through the speaker, too high and yet so soft, “I miss you alrea—”

I press the red button so fast, my fingers trembling. 

My father coughs, a sharp sound that makes my blood run cold. Did he hear?