Waves - Book #2 [completed]

48 ~ Mizpah

Mizpah
noun
The deep emotional bond between people, especially those separated by distance or death.

"I should've called you and Dad more often," I mutter, sipping disgustingly thin hospital coffee and cursing myself for not remembering to buy one – a proper one – at a coffee shop earlier. But I need the caffeine because the jet lag, the lack of a proper meal and general lack of sleep make me look like an old, crusty biker gang member.

It's been three or four days since I've been back. I can't tell for sure. It's all been a blur of grey days and cold nights and I didn't pay attention, bouncing about between the cafeteria and Dad's patient room. Even though Dad's surgery was postponed a couple times since he's been stable, in a good mood and there were more urgent cases, nobody wanted to leave the small patient room. So we took turns snoozing on an uncomfortable shabby armchair in the corner.

It was like a little heartfelt reunion after finding Lauren and Kacey in the hallway the day I arrived in New York. Mom hasn't left Dad's side since and thanks God every couple of hours for her family being here. Other than on video, I hadn't seen Charlotte and Noah, my niece and nephew, since last November and couldn't believe how big they've gotten.

If I didn't know better, I'd assume Noah's my brother's biological son. He's already big for his age and they both share identical mops of shaggy, untamable blond hair. Noah knows he's adopted, but everyone loves and treats him like their own and he calls my brother daddy which results in him turning into a sappy fool every time it occurs.

Charlotte is much younger, only about eleven months old, but you can already tell that she inherited my sister's delicate facial features. In combination with her long, raven hair and darker complexion she got from her Dad she's going to be beautiful. She's chipper and bright and loves to grab at my too-long beard because I haven't had a chance to trim it yet.

Now, my family and I sit in uncomfortable chairs in the waiting area of the surgical ward, impatiently waiting while Dad's getting a stent. Balancing Noah, who's focused on a cartoon he's watching on Kacey's phone, on my knee, I grimace as I take another sip of coffee. My brother and Lauren sit next to each other on a bench, holding hands and sharing equally serious expressions while Mom tries to distract herself by keeping Lauren's toddler entertained with a crackling children's book.

We're not the only people here waiting for updates from the operating room, and there's a couple in a corner eyeing me suspiciously. But they're respectful enough not to approach me if they happen to recognize me. So when Mom replies to my self-loathing, she does so quietly, thinly. "Mason, honey, it's not your fault."

"I know," I say more harshly than intended. I cast my eyes down and watch Noah watch his blue hedgehog show. "Sorry. I just- I just wish I'd called more often."

"You apologizing will take some getting used to," Lauren says, not looking at me so she doesn't see me narrowing my eyes at her.

"That's no excuse," I grunt.