I called Ana again, trying to see if I could get in touch with her. I had cleared my schedule for Thursday and Friday because of my mother’s surgery, and I was hoping to talk with Ana about it. I had one meeting with a client very early that morning, and then it would be time for me to head to the hospital to be there for my mother and help her recuperate from her surgery.

And I was hoping to talk with Ana about it.

We hadn’t talked since our encounter Monday night. We decided it would be better if I left before Brody got up, so as not to confuse him too much. And while that hurt, I had understood. Ana didn’t want to set a precedence of me being there in the morning. It felt “too familial,” she said.

But I wanted things to feel that way.

I felt myself forgiving her. My anger was dissipating. My love for her was triumphing over everything. However, as I called her for the fourth time on Thursday morning, she was nowhere to be found.

And it hurt.

It was my mother’s surgery day, and she knew that. I wanted someone to talk to, and Ana knew that. She had been the one I had wanted to tell once a donor was found. She had been the one I had wanted to confide in. And the day of my mother’s surgery, she wasn’t answering her phone. Not her work phone. Not her personal phone. Hell, I had gone by her house before driving to the hospital and she wasn’t there, either!

It hurt.

It sort of felt like I had been betrayed.

After our family dinner—after losing myself in her and waking up with her in my arms—I knew I had to forgive her. I knew we could be a family again. But families didn’t go through things like this alone. A woman who cared for me wouldn't make me endure something like this alone. I was going to forgive her for hiding my son from me for eight years, and she was nowhere to be found on the one day I needed her the most.

Maybe Brandon was right. Maybe she really wasn’t the girl I had fallen in love with.

As I drove to the hospital, I tried her one last time, just to see if maybe she had been busy before. Maybe something had happened with the store. Or fuck, maybe something had happened with Brody. My mind spun with a million different things, but when her voice mail picked up and filled my car, anger bloomed in my gut.

How could she be so heartless?

Did she really not care? I knew she and my mother had a rocky relationship, but for fuck’s sake, she was dying. My mother was about to have a liver transplant and she couldn’t put her petty issues off to the side to be here for me when I needed her the most? She didn’t have to see my mother if she didn’t want to. It wasn’t like I was forcing them to have a relationship.

But at the very fucking least, I wanted Brody there with me for this moment. And if I couldn’t get in touch with her, I couldn't get to my son.

So, I called the only other person I knew would be there for me, the one person who hadn’t faltered ever since I’d known him.

“Hey there, stranger. What’s shakin’?” Brandon asked.

“I’m headed to the hospital. I was hoping you could meet me,” I said.

“Dude, the hospital? What’s wrong? You okay? Oh shit, is it your mom?”

“It is, but all good news. We found a donor and her surgery is in an hour.”

“No shit! Oh man, hell yeah. I’m on my way right now. Let me close up the office. Which hospital is it?”

“Ronald Reagan.”

“That’s right. That’s right. I sent flowers there yesterday I think. Did your dad or anyone mention getting any flowers?”

“Not that I know of, but I’ve been pretty MIA, clearing my schedule to take today and tomorrow off.”

“That’s fine. I’ll pick some up in the hospital gift shop or something. There’s a good chance I sent them to the wrong hospital.”

“Leave it to you,” I said, grinning.

“Is Ana going to be there? Or Brody?”

My grin automatically fell as I pulled into the parking lot of the hospital.

“I thought so. Maybe. Ana and I have sort of been rocky, but I thought we were on a good track Monday night. I had dinner with her and Brody, and I got to tuck my son in for the first time.”

“That’s awesome. Did you tell him a bedtime story?”

“I did. He’s even calling me Dad now.”

“Sounds like things are going well on that front.”

“They are. I told Ana all about this surgery. She was the first person I could think to call when Dad told me the news—no offense.”

“None taken. None taken. That’s baby momma and the woman you love. I get it,” he said.

“But she’s not picking up her phone.”

“Not at all?”

“Yeah. I’ve called her five times now, and nothing.”

“Is it, like, voice mail? Or ringing and then voice mail?”

“Ringing and then voice mail.”

“Shit.”

“And since I can’t get in touch with her—”

“You can’t get in touch with Brody.”

“Exactly.”

“That’s fucked up, Ty. I’m sorry,” he said.

“I’m just so angry at her. Again. I just got over being angry that she intentionally hid Brody from me, and now this?”

“You’ve got every right to be angry, especially if she knew the surgery was today. You’re sure you told her it was today?”

“Even if I hadn’t, we’ve got an agreement that when I call, she answers, and vice versa when she calls me. You know, because of Brody.”

“But things happen. She can’t just cater to you because you’ve dropped in and want to be Dad.”

“It’s not my fault I was put in this position,” I said.

“All I’m saying is, she’s got a life, too. Now, if you told her about today and she’s not picking up, that’s another story altogether. But I know how you get when you’re excited, and it could be that you told her the surgery was happening but weren’t specific on the date or anything.”

“It doesn’t matter. She’s not picking up her phone. She’s not returning my calls. And she’s not here when I need her the most.”

“Well, I am. I’m in my car now, Ty. Be there soon.”

“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

“That’s what friends are for.”

I hung up the call with Brandon and got out of my car. I made my way to my mother’s room and sat with her, held her hand. She was already groggy and drugged up for her surgery, talking about how this was it, how she was done drinking. She would enroll herself in rehab after she recovered from the surgery.

Brandon came in behind me and gave her a kiss on the forehead, joking about how good she looked for someone with no liver. All of us shared a nice laugh. Brandon had always been good at alleviating tension when there was too much of it.

But I missed Ana, and I couldn’t stop thinking about where the hell she was.

I kissed my mother before they rolled her into surgery. Then the three of us went to sit in the waiting room: me, Brandon, and my dad. We sat there with our legs jiggling, our lips being gnawed on, our fingers fidgeting.

The hours ticked by slowly. So fucking slowly. Her surgery had been scheduled for eight o’clock that morning. I figured it would’ve taken two, maybe three hours. I had missed the surgery briefing due to my stepping out and constantly calling Ana. But when the clock turned over to one in the afternoon and the doctor hadn’t come out to see us, I started to panic.

“How long is a liver transplant supposed to take?” I asked.

“Anywhere between seven and twelve hours.”

I shot out of my chair when the doctor came into the waiting room.

“Doctor Bradley. Hi. Is everything okay?” my father asked.

“I wanted to come out here and give you guys an update. We’ve successfully detached the blood supply and we’re about to harvest the liver portion from the donor. I’m thinking now it probably won’t take the full twelve hours. Nine at the most. By four or five o’clock, we should be rolling her out of the operating room and into a recovery room.”

“But things are going okay for now?” I asked.

“They’re going very well. I think we can keep our heads above water with this one. Sit tight for a few more hours. We’re almost done,” the doctor said.

It was painful, waiting that long for my mother to get out of surgery. Apparently, they had to disconnect both the donor and the recipient’s liver from their own blood supply before the transplant could even take place. Then there was the matter of harvesting the tissue, putting it in my mother, stitching everything back up, and reconnecting blood supplies.

It was a lengthy process.

I paced endlessly up and down the corridor of the waiting room. Finally, at a little past four, the doctor came back into the room. He told us the surgery went well and Mom was in her own little room coming out of anesthesia now, which caused me to race past the doctor and my father in order to get back to her quicker.

“Mom? Mom! Where are you?”

“She’s in here,” a nurse said. “But be quiet. She needs a stress-free environment.”

She groaned and shifted around in her bed as I sat on the edge of it. I took her hand and brought it to my lips. Her eyes slowly opened, and I saw for the first time that they were white again.

“Oh, Mom. You look beautiful,” I whispered.

“I want you to schedule me an appointment for a rehab clinic,” she said.

She coughed and sputtered as my father came into the room.

“Sweetheart, how are you feeling?” he asked.

“I want you and Tyler to get me an appointment for rehab. I’m not doing this again. I can’t do this again. I’m not drinking anymore,” she said.

“How drugged up is she still?” I asked. I turned my head to look at the doctor as a smile slid across his face.

“She’s not. We have to wait a period of time between anesthesia and her pain medication so the two don’t overlap.”

“So she’s not currently drugged?” I asked.

“Not enough to put her in any sort of a dystopian state.”

I looked back at my mother and watched as my father leaned over to kiss her.

“Promise me you’ll find me a rehab,” she whispered.

“I promise, honey. We’ll find you the best one,” my father said.

“And we’ll take you straight from the hospital to there, if you want us to,” I said.

“That sounds good. The sooner I can get through it, the sooner I can get home,” she said.

“I’m proud of you, Mom. So, so proud of you.”

Bending over, I kissed her cheek as relief flooded my veins. We had gotten through it. My mother was alive, she was agreeing to rehab, and she was on her way to recuperating from this nightmare we had all found ourselves in.

I wanted to call Ana with the good news, even if I was still upset with her.

But just like she hadn’t all morning, not once did she answer my call.