My Blossoming Redemption

NINETEEN

"Aspen—I want you to know that I'm here for you, but I want you to make sure you have the time to work out whatever it is you need to work out," he announces.

"I—I appreciate that," I say.

"But what I will be doing is checking in once a day to make sure you're looking after yourself—you hadn't left his bedside in nearly five hours, Aspen, that's not good for you," he warns.

I chuckle. "Noted."

"I better get back to work." He sighs.

"Nicholas?" I ask. He turns to me as I scramble off the wall and stand in front of him. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"Being here for me, acting like you care—"

"I'm not acting, Aspen, I do care. I care a lot," he answers. "I want you to blossom, to bloom. You don't deserve any of this."

I look at the floor and blurt out a bible quote. "Above all, love each other deeply, because love covers over a multitude of sins."

"Is that from the Bible?" he asks.

I nod and don't respond, wondering if he gets it.

"Then you'll understand how I feel about you. If you know as much about religion as I think you do, then you'll know that people think God has a plan. If it's true, if there's someone or something up there with destinies for all of us, then I believe he's put you in this position for a reason. You made a mistake, and for that, you've both paid enough. Now is the time to take back the reins, Aspen. He — if he is a He – has put me in your life for a reason. Whether that's for me to make you realise your worth, or whether it's more than that, I don't know. I'd like to think it's more than that, but who knows."

I look into those two pools of gold and want to lean in and kiss those lips. I want to tangle my hand in those curls and give in to every shred of temptation he offers. But I know once I do, there's no going back.

"I need to work out—I need to make sense of myself."

"Take all the time you need; I'll be here for you."

I wonder if he means to imply something more than friends, because that's how I take it.

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I grab my cup of tea and head towards the hot bath I've run for myself. I see a text from Monica: 'He's still the same. Rest up, Aspen, you'll be exhausted. I'll come by tomorrow morning before visiting time to take you; I'll bring food for you. Monica.'

I quickly reply and let myself sink under the bubbles and water when my phone vibrates again. I reach up and glance at the message from Nick: 'You rudely interrupted my aspen fact, so I thought I'd send it. Aspen trees prefer to grow in groups and not alone. They are called a colony.'

I roll my eyes and put my phone back, leaving it unread for now, and grab my tea. While I haven't been doing anything all day, the mental toll of sitting in a plastic chair or on a faux leather chair for hours is taking its toll.

Listening to the same sounds, only conversing with medical professionals, talking to a husband who doesn't respond... it's all exhausting. The same plain white walls, the same view out of the massive windows, the same people, the same dead expression on Joel's face. It's been two days of the coma, and I'm already mentally drained of it.

I love routine – getting up, going to the same lectures, making the same bus trip with the same faces on given days of the week, doing the same thing sort of every day, every week – I love it because I have a place in my little world. But this? This isn't a routine, this is torture. The last thing Joel and I said to each other was how we didn't love each other, and how he wanted a divorce. Not only does it hurt because I don't know whether he'll recover, but it also leaves me in a state of limbo where I don't know if he wants me there. I don't know whether he really means it or whether it's the disease talking.

My phone vibrates.

I roll my eyes, wondering if Nicholas is offended that I haven't responded to his aspen metaphor. I put my mug back and grab my phone.

'Aspen, darling. I'm on my way – I've even brought my overnight bag! I'm forty-five minutes away, love. Get the kettle on. Mum.'

I have only sworn twice in my life: once when I was thirteen and wanted to look cool, so I told Mum she could fuck off. She slapped me for using the words of Satan. The second time I swore was when I gave birth. Technically, I swore a lot, but only when I was pushing.

Her bombardment could not come at a worse time, with Joel in an induced coma, the revelation of his illness, Nicholas and Gabriel being related, Monica being around and well, just the tornado that is my mother. One word pops up in my mind.

"Fuck."

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