It wasn’t until I tagged open the double doors into the ICU that I realized that I had left out one crucial step. Somehow, in my order of operations, I’d forgotten to call Ricky.
The apprehension that I’d managed to stem came flooding back like a tidal wave. What the hell was I doing? When Shae said that Ricky would want to talk to me, they didn’t necessarily mean about one of the most private, stressful aspects of his life. He probably didn’t know that I knew that his dad was in the ICU. How would he react when he realized that the girl who’d dumped him after he’d confessed his love had shown up uninvited to stick her nose in his family’s business? Would I get in trouble with the attending for wandering into ICU territory? Was it technically breaking HIPAA* if I’d seen Gabriel Gutiérrez’s room number listed on a staffing board and not in his chart?
Numbly, I walked through the ICU entrance, trying to figure out how to fix my mess. Straight ahead, I could see the medical team gathering near the nursing station, COWs* in tow. They would be rounding soon. If I wanted to listen in, I would have to get his grandmother’s permission before they started—
Fuck it. I pulled out my phone, scrolled to Ricky’s recently reinstated number, and hit “call.” It rang once, and I swallowed against the cannonball in my throat—
“Angie?”
It took me a second to realize that I’d heard his voice in real life and not through my phone. In the weeks since I’d last seen Ricky, my mind had convinced itself that I’d dreamed him up. Seeing him in the flesh felt like an impossibility, like I was staring down a specter made solid. And now he was walking toward me, his jaw set in a way it never was in any of my renditions of this moment, his steps stilted. He was lowering his phone from his ear, and I found myself rooted to the spot, cataloging all the ways he had changed from the Ricky I had last known. His hair looked longer than I remembered it. His shoulders a bit broader, somehow—
“What are you doing here?” Ricky said. His expression was indecipherable, and I felt my heart sink. What did you expect, Angie, for him to swoop you up Notebook style in the middle of the ICU?
“Shae told me about your dad.” I interlaced my fingers, all the bravado rushing out of me at once. I steeled myself. “I want to help.”
I could sense Ricky’s resistance before he could voice it. He’d stopped a good six feet in front of me, just close enough for us to communicate without shouting, but far enough for me to know that the distance was intentional. Of course it was. I would be foolish to think that I was welcome.
“If you don’t want me to be here,” I added hurriedly, “I’ll leave. I understand if you never want to see me again. I promise I’m not coming here with any expectations. I just . . . want to help. I can ask questions, I can try to explain concepts that you and your grandma might not understand, I can swipe into all the nutrition rooms and sneak you snacks—”
Ricky stared at me incredulously for a second, and then let out a huff of laughter.
“Jesus Christ, Shae,” he said under his breath. He laughed again, and I realized that his eyes were misty. He wiped them quickly with the back of his free hand, and I followed the motion, stunned. Then, to my relief, he gave me a sheepish smile.
“I like your hair,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. “I like yours, too.”
“You’re into the three-days-unwashed look?” Ricky said automatically. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Then his smile faltered. “Not that we . . . I mean . . .” He sighed, then pushed his hair out of his face. “Angie, you can appreciate that you being here is really fucking confusing for me, right?”
Ricky must have been exhausted, to let his guard down so freely like that. Something like hope twinged in my chest.
“Let me help,” I said, closing the space he’d left between us. “Then, after, we can talk?” I reached for his free hand, hanging limply at his side. “Please?”
He didn’t look at me, but his fingers twitched in mine. I smiled to myself.
“Okay,” he said, and then he turned, heading toward his father’s room. I followed, watching his back as he walked, entranced by the way his shirt shifted with the subtle movements of his shoulder blades. I had a sudden, irresponsible urge to rest my head between them.
No expectations, Angie, I reminded myself. An impossible task.
*
Over the next ten minutes, Ricky did his best to update me on his father’s condition. I listened in silence, knowing that none of it was good. Ricky seemed to know this too, judging by the way his jaw clenched and unclenched in between sentences.