I choke out a laugh. “You wonder what my boyfriend sounds like during sex?”
She tilts her head and glares at me, rolling her head. “Oh, come on. Lots of people wonder that about deaf people.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m confident most people don’t wonder that, Bridgette.”
“Whatever. Just answer the question.”
She’s not going to stop. My face and neck feel flushed, but I don’t know if it’s because of all the wine or if it’s because she just asked such a personal question. I take a long drink and then nod. “He does. He moans and grunts and sighs and I don’t know why, but the fact that he’s deaf makes all his noises that much more of a turn-on.”
Bridgette grins. “That is so hot.”
“Don’t call my boyfriend’s sex noises hot.”
She shrugs. “You shouldn’t have made it sound so hot, then.” She spends the next several minutes looking up images of Jason Mamoa. And even though I’ve seen them all, she holds up her phone and shows me each one like she’s doing me a favor.
The doorbell eventually rings, and Bridgette suddenly looks happier than I’ve ever seen her look. She rushes toward the door with starved excitement, like she didn’t just eat an entire plate of Alfredo pasta two hours ago. “Grab money for a tip, Syd. I don’t have any.”
She is perfect for Warren. Absolutely perfect.
It’s the first time I’ve been to Maggie’s house since the night we broke up. It’s a little weird, but it could be worse. Warren has always had this magical ability to make sure he’s weirder than any situation ever could be. And that’s exactly what’s happening right now. He just raided Maggie’s freezer and refrigerator and is standing in her kitchen, dipping soggy microwaved fish sticks into chocolate pudding.
“You eat some of the grossest stuff,” Maggie says, opening her dishwasher.
I’m sitting on Maggie’s couch, watching them. They’re laughing, making jokes. Maggie is cleaning her kitchen as Warren messes it up. I stare at Maggie’s wrist—at the hospital bracelet still attached to it—and try not to be upset that I’m here. But I am upset. I’m annoyed. If she’s well enough to sneak out of a hospital and clean her kitchen, what am I even doing here?
Maggie grabs a paper towel and covers her mouth with it while Warren beats her on the back a few times. I noticed in the car that she was coughing a lot. Back when we were dating and I’d notice she was coughing, I would put my hand on her back or her chest to feel how bad of a cough it was. But I can’t do that anymore. All I can do is ask her if she’s okay and trust that she isn’t downplaying her health.
This coughing fit lasts for an entire minute. She probably hasn’t used her vest at all today, so I stand up and walk to her bedroom. It’s in the chair by her bed. I grab the vest and the generator it’s attached to, and walk it to the couch to hook it up in the living room.
She’s supposed to use it two to three times a day to help break up the mucus in her lungs. When a person has Cystic Fibrosis, it causes their mucus to thicken, which then causes blockage to major organs. Before these vests were invented, patients relied on other people to do manual chest percussions, which meant beating on the back and chest several times a day to break up all the mucus.
The vests are a lifesaver. Especially for Maggie because she lives alone and has no one to administer chest percussions. But she’s never used it as much as she should, and that used to be a huge point of contention between us. I guess it still is, because here I am, hooking it up, about to force her to use it.
After I get it hooked up, Maggie taps me on the shoulder. “It’s broken.”
I look back down at the generator and power it on. Nothing happens. “What’s wrong with it?”
She shrugs. “It stopped working a couple of days ago. I’ll take it in Monday and trade it in.”
Monday? She can’t go an entire weekend without it. Especially if she’s already coughing like she is. I sit on the couch to try to figure out what’s wrong with it. Maggie walks back into the kitchen and says something to Warren. I can tell by his body language and the way he looks over at me that she said something about me.
“What did she say?”
Warren looks at Maggie. “Ridge wants to know what you just said.”
Maggie glances over her shoulder at me and laughs, then faces me. “I said you haven’t changed.”
“Yeah, well, neither have you.”
She looks offended, but honestly, I don’t care. She’s always tried to make me feel guilty for worrying about her. Clearly nothing has changed and my concern still annoys her.
Maggie seems irritated by my response to her. “Yeah, it’s kind of impossible to stop having Cystic Fibrosis.”
I stare at her, wondering why she’s in such a shit mood. Probably for the same reason I am. We’re having the same arguments we’ve always had, only this time there isn’t a relationship between us to fall back on and cushion our feelings.
I’m annoyed that she left the hospital, but now that she’s so unappreciative of us being here trying to help her, my anger is starting to build. My girlfriend was crying because I was leaving her, concerned about us, and now Maggie’s scolding—mocking—me even though I came. For her.
I can’t sit here and have this conversation. I stand up and unplug the generator, then carry everything back to her bedroom. Maggie and Warren can eat their sacrilegious combination of fish sticks and chocolate pudding, and I’ll be in the other room, continuing to try to repair a vest that literally aids in keeping her alive.
I’m not even all the way into her room when I turn around and see that she’s following me. I set the generator on the table next to the chair and sit down, pulling the table closer. I turn on the lamp next to the chair. Maggie is still standing in the doorway.
“What is your problem, Ridge?”
I laugh, but not because anything about tonight is funny. “What did you eat this morning before you passed out from low blood sugar?” Maggie’s eyes narrow. I’m asking her this because she probably can’t even remember. Hell, she probably didn’t even eat. “Have you even checked your glucose levels since you ate half of a King Size Twix bar?”
I can tell she’s about to yell. When she’s really angry at me, she signs and yells. It used to turn me on. Now I would just give anything to be able to yell back at her.
“You have no right to comment on the food I consume, Ridge. In case you don’t remember, I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”
“If I don’t get a say in how you take care of yourself, then why am I here?” I stand up and walk closer to her. “You don’t take care of yourself and you end up in the hospital, and then you call Warren, crying and scared. We drop everything to be here for you, but as soon as we get here, you leave the hospital without being discharged! Forgive me if I have better things to do than come running every time you’re irresponsible!”
“You didn’t have to come, Ridge! I didn’t even know the hospital called you guys. And I didn’t cry to Warren on the phone or tell him I was scared! He asked if I wanted company, and I told him yes because I thought we could all figure this stupid situation out like grown adults! BUT I GUESS NOT!” She slams the door on her way out of her bedroom.
I pull it right back open. I don’t do it to follow Maggie, though. I go straight to the kitchen and look at Warren. “Why did you tell me she cried and that she was scared?”
Maggie is standing on the other side of me, her arms crossed while she glares at Warren. He’s holding a soda, looking back and forth at both of us. His eyes finally land on me.
“I exaggerated. It’s not a big deal. You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
I force myself to inhale a calming breath. It’s either that or I’m going to punch him.
“It’s a long drive from Austin to San Antonio. Besides, we needed to be together. The three of us. We have to figure out how to deal with all of this going forward.”
“All of this?” Maggie says. She motions to herself. “You mean me? We have to figure out how to deal with me? I guess this proves I really am nothing but a burden to you guys.”
She tilts her head and glares at me, rolling her head. “Oh, come on. Lots of people wonder that about deaf people.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m confident most people don’t wonder that, Bridgette.”
“Whatever. Just answer the question.”
She’s not going to stop. My face and neck feel flushed, but I don’t know if it’s because of all the wine or if it’s because she just asked such a personal question. I take a long drink and then nod. “He does. He moans and grunts and sighs and I don’t know why, but the fact that he’s deaf makes all his noises that much more of a turn-on.”
Bridgette grins. “That is so hot.”
“Don’t call my boyfriend’s sex noises hot.”
She shrugs. “You shouldn’t have made it sound so hot, then.” She spends the next several minutes looking up images of Jason Mamoa. And even though I’ve seen them all, she holds up her phone and shows me each one like she’s doing me a favor.
The doorbell eventually rings, and Bridgette suddenly looks happier than I’ve ever seen her look. She rushes toward the door with starved excitement, like she didn’t just eat an entire plate of Alfredo pasta two hours ago. “Grab money for a tip, Syd. I don’t have any.”
She is perfect for Warren. Absolutely perfect.
It’s the first time I’ve been to Maggie’s house since the night we broke up. It’s a little weird, but it could be worse. Warren has always had this magical ability to make sure he’s weirder than any situation ever could be. And that’s exactly what’s happening right now. He just raided Maggie’s freezer and refrigerator and is standing in her kitchen, dipping soggy microwaved fish sticks into chocolate pudding.
“You eat some of the grossest stuff,” Maggie says, opening her dishwasher.
I’m sitting on Maggie’s couch, watching them. They’re laughing, making jokes. Maggie is cleaning her kitchen as Warren messes it up. I stare at Maggie’s wrist—at the hospital bracelet still attached to it—and try not to be upset that I’m here. But I am upset. I’m annoyed. If she’s well enough to sneak out of a hospital and clean her kitchen, what am I even doing here?
Maggie grabs a paper towel and covers her mouth with it while Warren beats her on the back a few times. I noticed in the car that she was coughing a lot. Back when we were dating and I’d notice she was coughing, I would put my hand on her back or her chest to feel how bad of a cough it was. But I can’t do that anymore. All I can do is ask her if she’s okay and trust that she isn’t downplaying her health.
This coughing fit lasts for an entire minute. She probably hasn’t used her vest at all today, so I stand up and walk to her bedroom. It’s in the chair by her bed. I grab the vest and the generator it’s attached to, and walk it to the couch to hook it up in the living room.
She’s supposed to use it two to three times a day to help break up the mucus in her lungs. When a person has Cystic Fibrosis, it causes their mucus to thicken, which then causes blockage to major organs. Before these vests were invented, patients relied on other people to do manual chest percussions, which meant beating on the back and chest several times a day to break up all the mucus.
The vests are a lifesaver. Especially for Maggie because she lives alone and has no one to administer chest percussions. But she’s never used it as much as she should, and that used to be a huge point of contention between us. I guess it still is, because here I am, hooking it up, about to force her to use it.
After I get it hooked up, Maggie taps me on the shoulder. “It’s broken.”
I look back down at the generator and power it on. Nothing happens. “What’s wrong with it?”
She shrugs. “It stopped working a couple of days ago. I’ll take it in Monday and trade it in.”
Monday? She can’t go an entire weekend without it. Especially if she’s already coughing like she is. I sit on the couch to try to figure out what’s wrong with it. Maggie walks back into the kitchen and says something to Warren. I can tell by his body language and the way he looks over at me that she said something about me.
“What did she say?”
Warren looks at Maggie. “Ridge wants to know what you just said.”
Maggie glances over her shoulder at me and laughs, then faces me. “I said you haven’t changed.”
“Yeah, well, neither have you.”
She looks offended, but honestly, I don’t care. She’s always tried to make me feel guilty for worrying about her. Clearly nothing has changed and my concern still annoys her.
Maggie seems irritated by my response to her. “Yeah, it’s kind of impossible to stop having Cystic Fibrosis.”
I stare at her, wondering why she’s in such a shit mood. Probably for the same reason I am. We’re having the same arguments we’ve always had, only this time there isn’t a relationship between us to fall back on and cushion our feelings.
I’m annoyed that she left the hospital, but now that she’s so unappreciative of us being here trying to help her, my anger is starting to build. My girlfriend was crying because I was leaving her, concerned about us, and now Maggie’s scolding—mocking—me even though I came. For her.
I can’t sit here and have this conversation. I stand up and unplug the generator, then carry everything back to her bedroom. Maggie and Warren can eat their sacrilegious combination of fish sticks and chocolate pudding, and I’ll be in the other room, continuing to try to repair a vest that literally aids in keeping her alive.
I’m not even all the way into her room when I turn around and see that she’s following me. I set the generator on the table next to the chair and sit down, pulling the table closer. I turn on the lamp next to the chair. Maggie is still standing in the doorway.
“What is your problem, Ridge?”
I laugh, but not because anything about tonight is funny. “What did you eat this morning before you passed out from low blood sugar?” Maggie’s eyes narrow. I’m asking her this because she probably can’t even remember. Hell, she probably didn’t even eat. “Have you even checked your glucose levels since you ate half of a King Size Twix bar?”
I can tell she’s about to yell. When she’s really angry at me, she signs and yells. It used to turn me on. Now I would just give anything to be able to yell back at her.
“You have no right to comment on the food I consume, Ridge. In case you don’t remember, I’m not your girlfriend anymore.”
“If I don’t get a say in how you take care of yourself, then why am I here?” I stand up and walk closer to her. “You don’t take care of yourself and you end up in the hospital, and then you call Warren, crying and scared. We drop everything to be here for you, but as soon as we get here, you leave the hospital without being discharged! Forgive me if I have better things to do than come running every time you’re irresponsible!”
“You didn’t have to come, Ridge! I didn’t even know the hospital called you guys. And I didn’t cry to Warren on the phone or tell him I was scared! He asked if I wanted company, and I told him yes because I thought we could all figure this stupid situation out like grown adults! BUT I GUESS NOT!” She slams the door on her way out of her bedroom.
I pull it right back open. I don’t do it to follow Maggie, though. I go straight to the kitchen and look at Warren. “Why did you tell me she cried and that she was scared?”
Maggie is standing on the other side of me, her arms crossed while she glares at Warren. He’s holding a soda, looking back and forth at both of us. His eyes finally land on me.
“I exaggerated. It’s not a big deal. You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”
I force myself to inhale a calming breath. It’s either that or I’m going to punch him.
“It’s a long drive from Austin to San Antonio. Besides, we needed to be together. The three of us. We have to figure out how to deal with all of this going forward.”
“All of this?” Maggie says. She motions to herself. “You mean me? We have to figure out how to deal with me? I guess this proves I really am nothing but a burden to you guys.”
