The ride to the hospital was nerve-wracking, and sitting here in the ER, waiting for an update, is even worse. I can’t help but feel responsible. Obviously, I know that Blake should have looked before stepping out from between two cars and that the driver should have been going slower and paying better attention, but I still feel like I caused it all. Thankfully, the paramedics arrived almost immediately and got Blake on his way to the hospital. He was bleeding from his head, but apart from that, I didn’t have any idea how severe his injuries were.

So, here I sit, waiting for news. I cross my legs to stop them from bouncing up and down with nervousness. Unable to sit still, I stand up and pace about the waiting area. I look around at the other faces there, the loved ones of other patients. Their faces show worry, exhaustion, anxiety. I wonder what my face looks like. I’m not a loved one. We aren’t a couple. And yet, I am overcome with concern. I tell myself it is because I feel responsible for what happened to him. But that isn’t the entirety of it.

The vending machine in the waiting room has an assortment of salty or sweet options and the drink machine next to it a selection of sodas. Why do hospitals always have such unhealthy food around? I decide I don’t need to bother myself answering that and punch in the code for a bag of pretzels. I crunch on a handful. The mundane act of snacking provides a kind of relaxation, a way to be mindless for a few minutes at least.

When the nurse comes out and calls my name, I have to raise my hand. My mouth is stuffed with dry pretzel. I walk over to her, chewing furiously to get the mouthful down so that I can talk.

“How is he?” I manage.

“He is going to be fine. His shoulder was dislocated, and he has a concussion, but otherwise he is not seriously injured. Just some bruising and a few cuts and scrapes. He is very lucky that the car was able to slow down as much as it did.”

I let out a long breath. Thank goodness. I had prepared myself to feel a huge burden of guilt if he was seriously hurt, but now that I know his injuries aren’t life threatening or permanent, I can let that go. Some of it, at least. I mean, I still contributed to putting him in the hospital.

“Can I go and see him?”

“He is resting right now, but if you come back in a couple of hours, he should be ready for visitors.”

I nod, walk back to the chair where I was sitting, and grab my bag. I don’t know what I’m going to do for the next couple of hours. I feel compelled to see him. I need to see him, talk to him, and apologize.

With a rumble, my stomach announces it has its own thoughts on what I should be doing. I realize I haven’t eaten anything since a scone at work. My worry over the past few hours has tamped down my hunger, but now it has come roaring back. I decide to go grab a bite to eat. Maybe I can pick something up for Blake as well, since the hospital food is probably not going to be spectacular.

By the time I come back to the hospital, it is late afternoon and the sun is beginning to turn orange as it falls slowly to the western horizon. I carry a small bag with a sandwich and salad to the nurses’ station to ask if Blake is able to see visitors yet.

“Are you Emma?” the nurse asks, tilting her head like she is a curious canine.

“Yes, I’m the one who came in with him.”

“He asked if you were here. He’s awake. You can go and see him. Room 1134.”

I thank her and walk down the hallway toward the room. I feel a fluttering in my stomach as I go down the long, wide corridor. I guess I am nervous about seeing him for two reasons. First, obviously, I feel guilty about having at least contributed to his getting hit by a car. Second, well, I just am feeling nervous about seeing him again.

Finally, I see Room 1134 come up on my left. I stop in front of the door and take a deep breath. I want to come in with a happy, positive attitude, not an anxious one. I push open the door and stride in, confident, smiling. But my smile freezes on my face when I enter the room. There he is, lying on the hospital bed, an IV line running into his hand. But he isn’t alone. A beautiful blonde woman is sitting next to him, gently stroking his hair.

I feel like turning around and running away, but my feet are stuck to the floor.

“Emma,” Blake says when he notices me. “It’s good to see you.”

I take a couple of steps forward. The other woman glances up at me, but keeps her hand on Blake. Her posture is protective, possessive.

“Thank goodness you are ok, I’m so sorry for what happened.”

Blake waves his hand dismissively.

“Not your fault. I’m a grown-up and I should know better than to cross a street without looking both ways. Besides, I’m going to be fine. Just a minor concussion. I’ve had worse.”

“Remember when you were racing in the Melges 21 and you got smacked in the head when you accidentally gybed?” the blonde woman asks, smiling as if in fond reminiscence.

“Barely,” Blake joked back.

I begin to feel profoundly out of place, as if I were an interloper. Who is this woman? They clearly have a history and some intimacy.

“Did you bring that food for me?” Blake asks, noticing the bag I’m carrying.

“Yeah, I went to Michael’s, you know, the sandwich place on Park?”

“Thanks.” Blake smiles. “I actually just ate. Clara brought me something. But I appreciate the thought. I can have it later tonight if I get hungry.”

I am feeling utterly and completely replaced. Supplanted from a position I didn’t even occupy, one which, prior to a few hours ago, I was intent on completely rejecting. Why do I feel so jealous of this woman now?

“Emma, I don’t think Blake has introduced me. I’m Clara, his assistant.” She pops up from the side of the bed and crosses the room to shake my hand. I shake it tentatively. I’m in the dark about the nature of their relationship and I’m not sure how to ask.

Thankfully, Clara seems to sense my apprehension and continues.

“Blake told me that he stood you up the other night. What a jerk,” she says with a wink.

His assistant. I am not sure how to take that. I imagine a lot of rich guys have assistants whom they sleep with, and Clara had been very intimate in the way she was touching him, protective, almost. But at the same time, she clearly knew that Blake was supposed to take me on a date, so they couldn’t be in a relationship. Of course, it wasn’t like Blake and I were in a relationship, either. I am confused. Unsure of how I fit into this situation, I almost want to leave. But I feel like that would be even more awkward.

“Yeah,” is all I am able to manage.

“Well, don’t let him get off cheap next time. He needs to learn to value other people’s time.” She directs this last bit to Blake, over her shoulder. I am becoming convinced that there isn’t anything between them. She talks to him like she’s his older sister.