Like a Love Story(78)

I run home, ready to beg my parents’ forgiveness. They love Annabel, so it should be easy to come up with some excuse of what we were doing. My mom’s just so happy I have a girlfriend. When I walk in, my parents are awake, just as I expected. And they look livid.

“Where have you been?” my mother asks. Tears well in her eyes.

“It’s almost eleven,” my dad says. He’s wearing a watch that Annabel’s dad gave him for his birthday last month. Seriously, all my best friends’ parents give my parents absurdly extravagant gifts.

“Annabel and I were just watching a movie,” I say. “We lost track of time.” My mom shakes her head, still crying. I move closer to her. “Mom, it’s okay. I’m sorry I worried you.”

“We were about to leave,” she says.

“Leave?” I ask. “To go look for me? You guys, I’m not a child anymore. I can—”

“To go to the hospital,” my dad says, and my heart sinks. If the bottle of water didn’t sober me up, this did.

We rush out to the hospital together, and we’re greeted by Jimmy, who is in the waiting room, sweating anxiously.

“Jimmy, is he okay?” my mom asks.

“I don’t know,” Jimmy says. “They won’t let me go back and see him. I told them I’m his health care proxy, and they say I’m not family. It’s BULLSHIT.” The front desk nurse cringes a little as Jimmy glares at her.

“Jesus Christ,” my mom says, and my mom never takes the Lord’s name in vain.

“He was asleep next to me,” Jimmy says. “Then I heard him gasping for breath. Like he was fighting just to get enough air. And he was drenched. The whole bed was wet. I got him here as fast as I could, but . . . I just . . . I’m so worried.” Jimmy sobs. It’s like he’s been holding all the anxiety in until someone else showed up to help. My mom lets him cry into her cardigan.

“It’s okay,” my mom says. “You did the right thing. Let’s go see him.”

My mom heads to the front desk nurse, explains that she is Stephen’s sister, and tells the nurse that Jimmy is family to us, and that he will be coming to see Stephen as well. She doesn’t even give the nurse a moment to respond or defend herself.

“Hey,” Stephen says when we enter his room. He has so many tubes and wires and beeping machines around him, but he smiles like he’s lounging in a palace or something.

“Uncle Stephen,” I say. I try hard to hold it together. I want to transmit strength to him, but seeing him like this is tearing me up inside.

My mom immediately goes to him and holds him, tears in her eyes. I know she doesn’t like crying in front of him, but she can’t help it. She’s not as strong as her brother.

“Don’t worry so much,” Stephen says. “It’s just a touch of toxoplasmosis.”

“I was so scared,” my mom says.

“The very attractive doctor says they caught it early enough to treat it,” Stephen says. “I think he may have been flirting with me a little.”

This is my uncle, a man who can make me smile even when he just almost died. Tears start to form in my eyes too, and I can see Uncle Stephen notices.

“Hey, Judy,” he says. “You know I’d never go anywhere without saying goodbye to you, right?”

“I know,” I say. “I know.” I sit by his side. My mom holds one of his hands and I hold the other. My dad stands close enough for us to feel his support, but far enough to let us have this moment with Stephen.

“My girls,” Stephen says as he clutches us tight. “I’m a lucky man.”

“And Jimmy,” my mom says. “If Jimmy wasn’t with you . . .”

“You saved my life, girl,” Stephen says.

“You’ve saved mine, girl,” Jimmy says. “I’d have followed Walt out of this hellhole by now if it weren’t for you.”

“We’re all grateful to you, Jimmy,” my dad says with wrenching sincerity.

The doctor comes by to check on Stephen. He is hot, and he does seem to be flirting with Stephen. I wonder if that’s his way of giving his patients a little extra reason to fight for their lives. As the doctor explains that Stephen’s vital signs are looking promising, it hits me that he looks a lot like José before he was sick. It’s uncanny—the messy black hair, the olive skin, the thick eyebrows, crooked nose, and soccer build. He even has José’s way of biting his lower lip in between sentences. Somehow, the fact that this doctor looks like José gives me hope. It feels like a sign that Stephen will make it, that he’ll be one of the ones to survive this thing and tell the story when all the rest of his friends are gone.

When the hot doctor leaves, Stephen turns to me. “Judy,” he says in a whisper, “there’s something I need to say to you before I go.”

“But you’re not going,” I say. “The doctor just said you were doing great.”

“I know,” he says. “But it’s time I said it. I want you to forgive Reza and Art.” I look away from him. “But especially Art. He loves you.”

“I know,” I say. “But I just can’t . . .”

“You want me to tell you a story? Stephen says. “In high school, I was teased mercilessly for being different, and I was so desperate to prove I was straight that I dated a girl. I convinced her that I loved her. And I let her fall in love with me.”