When Love Arrives (H.S.)

Chapter 33

Author's Note: There were a few details of the last chapter that I was really unhappy with moving forward, so, as opposed to writing a new chapter for today, I made some edits to previous one and re-uploaded it. Sorry to those of you who have read it already! Thank you!

"I can't believe this is happening..." I said, as Harry and I walked into the hospital a few hours later. He had convinced me to take a shower and change in order to calm myself down before we came down to see Gramps.

This was the first coherent sentence I had actually gotten out since my brother left the apartment. Harry grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly as we headed towards the front desk.

"Can I help you?" the young woman asked without looking at us, as she typed away on the computer.

Harry cleared his throat. "Yes, where can I find a Salvatore Belloni?"

I had told Harry his last name, my real last name exactly one time, when he called me from LAX. I loved him. I loved him. I loved him.

"First floor, west wing, room 1738," the woman replied.

"Thank you."

We walked through the depressingly white, bright walls of the hospital. My hand was growing increasingly sweaty in Harry's grasp, but he never let go. Truly, I think if he let go I would fall to the ground. In the most simple way possible, he was holding me up.

The door was open a crack and I could see my grandfather's infamous feet, hairy and stout, sticking out from under a blanket. I stood outside the door hesitantly, unsure if I should be angry or scared or sad or something else, when I heard him singing quietly to himself.

When the moon hits your eyes like a big pizza pie...

A wave of relief washes over me and I use this strength to push open the door. Gramps looked much like himself, just maybe a little tired. This surprisingly did not make me feel much better. He was reading through a Time magazine in the bed, his thick glasses sliding down his nose.

I was pissed off, pissed at my entire family. I could feel my cheeks turning red, as I started to mutter to myself... Brutto figlio di puttana bastardo...

"Hey, Gramps," Harry said.

Gramps looked up at Harry, and then at me, he grimaced and shook his head a bit, saying nothing.

"Hi," I said, softly.

"Melissa..." my grandfather said, exhaling.

"Well," I said, sitting down on the chair next to his bed. "Have anything you want to say to me?"

He closed his eyes for a moment. "I don't really know what to say."

"Well, come up with something," I spat at him.

"Mel..." Harry started, taking a seat on the chair next to me.

My grandfather started laughing then, the old bastard just sat there shaking his head and laughing at me. My boyfriend starting laughing a little bit, too.

"You sound just like your mother," my grandpa said, letting some leftover giggles spill out.

"Don't fucking say that to me!" I snapped at him.

He threw his hands up in defense, his eyes still playful. "Yikes. Guess they found you, then."

"Of course they found me," I crossed my arms, sinking further into my seat. "How else would I have gotten here?"