Chapter Eighteen

“WELL?” KYLE asked. “Is she done?”

Forrester dropped into the chair in the outpatient surgery waiting room. “No, and they won’t tell me shit.”

All the fun of being with his friends had been dashed the moment he got that phone call.

Ma was having surgery.

What is she having done?

Kyle slipped Forrester’s hand into his and offered a smile. “I’m sure it’s nothing, babe. They do conscious sedation for all kinds of procedures. Your mom’s probably just getting a routine test. Like a colonoscopy or something.”

“I hope you’re right. But I got a bad feeling. It’s been over two and a half hours.” Forrester squeezed Kyle’s hand in thanks, needing the reassuring touch.

“Don’t be a doomsayer. It’s probably nothing.” Kyle had been saying variations of the same thing since the woman from the hospital called and put Ma on the phone.

Before Ma got his name out of her mouth, Forrester had fired off a half-dozen questions at her.

“Ma, are you hurt? What’s wrong? Why are you at the hospital? Did you have a heart attack?”

She’d answered with her typical attitude. “I’m fine. Would you calm down? I’m having a test done, and since they gotta knock me out, they need to make sure someone’s here to drive me home. I don’t know why they make such a big deal about everything. I thought having someone drive me home was just a suggestion.”

“What kind of test? Why they gotta knock you out?” he’d demanded.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Typical Giordano.

But Forrester did worry about it—the whole drive to the hospital and the hours spent restlessly in the waiting room while Ma underwent her mystery procedure.

“I don’t understand why she wouldn’t tell me what test she was having,” Forrester grumbled for the thousandth time.

“It’s probably some woman thing, and she doesn’t wanna tell you.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” He nodded, trying to allow Kyle’s reassurances to calm his anxiety. He couldn’t imagine dealing with this alone. He laced their fingers together, loving the heat of Kyle’s palm pressed to his. “I’m so glad you came with me.”

“Of course.”

Forrester smiled. “Hey, at least you got to meet my mom.”

“I don’t think she liked me.”

“Fuhgedaboudit,” he drawled. “She loved you.”

Kyle scoffed. “All she said was ‘Who’s this?’ Then she looked at you and said, ‘What? You gotta bring your friends like my private life is a TV show?’”

He chuckled. “She’s just mad she had to call me.”

“Mr. Giordano?”

He practically flew out of his chair. “That’s me.”

“Your mother is awake, and we need you to come with us so we can give you her take-home instructions,” the pretty blonde nurse said, her gaze dropping to where Forrester still held Kyle’s hand tight.

Blushing, he let go, proud of himself for not dropping it like in a game of hot potato. In light of what may or may not be going on with Ma, getting caught holding hands with his boyfriend didn’t seem to be as big a deal as it would have been in the past.

Funny how priorities changed.

With a nervous nod at Kyle, he followed the nurse. They went through a heavy door and passed another desk before traversing a hallway full of private alcoves sectioned off by blue curtains. The acrid smell of cleaning products permeated the place, stinging his nostrils. The hiss and pop of medical equipment made Forrester’s heart hammer.

“Your mother is right in here, sir. She might be a little out of it, but everything went well.” The nurse opened a curtain for him to precede her. Forrester entered, and she closed it behind them. “Maria, your son is here.”

The blood drained from his face, and the air felt suddenly too thick with bleach and pine-scented sprays to breathe. The image of Dad in a hospital bed flashed through his head. Ma looked just as groggy and pale as Dad had after that first heart attack. She also wore one of those shower cap things on her head and a light blue gingham hospital gown. The sight of her hooked to an IV made him tremble for a moment, unable to move.

When Ma spied him, she rolled her eyes. “Oh for crying out loud, stop hulking over there and staring at me like that. I’m fine.”

He let out a breathless sound and rushed forward. “Ma, you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she insisted, though he could see her wince as she tried to sit up.

“Just relax, Maria.” The nurse put a pillow behind her back. “You’ve only been awake fifteen minutes, and you might be a little woozy.”

“They had to knock you out, Ma. Look at you,” he scolded. “What were you thinking you could drive home for? Jeez, why didn’t you ask Zia to come with you?”

She waved him off. “Yeah, right. Like I need Sophia lighting up the Spaghetti Hotline with her big mouth. No, thank you.”

He chuckled at her cantankerous remarks, taking it as a good sign. “Well, I’m glad you called me.”

“I called you because you’re the only one who knows how to keep your mouth shut.”

Before he could reply, the nurse spoke to him. “Now, Mr. Giordano, your mother had anesthesia this afternoon. She may get a little nauseous. It’s nothing to worry about. We want her to take it easy today. No lifting or she might tear open her stitches.”

“Stitches?”

“Yes, stitches,” the nurse answered without any real clarification. “She’ll be sore for a few days, Mr. Giordano, and if her incision starts to look infected or bleeds, you’ll need to call her surgeon, Dr. Miles.”

“Where’s the incision?”

“None of your business,” Ma said.

The nurse hesitated, then handed Forrester a prescription bottle. “This is the pain medication the doctor prescribed. She can take them as she needs them.”

“What’s your name, young lady?” Ma asked.

The nurse turned back to her. “I’m Betsy.”

“Are you married, Betsy?”

“No, ma’am. I’m not.”

Forrester groaned. With the aid of whatever drugs they had her on, his mother’s matchmaking gears kicked into overdrive. “Ma, don’t.”

Per her usual, she didn’t listen. “What a coincidence, neither is my son Frankie. You two look like you might be the same age. Frankie, don’t you think Betsy is a pretty girl? And she’s a nurse,” Ma added with a wink.

What she meant by that wink, he didn’t want to know. Forrester threw out his hands and looked at Betsy. “Jeez, can you give her some more anesthesia?”

“Forrester Giordano, is that anything to say?” Ma scolded.

“Is that my Maria I hear?” a voice said from behind the curtain.

“Dr. Goldman!” Ma’s face lit up.

A short, bald Jewish man with a mustache as big as his grin, Dr. Goldman had been their family doctor for as long as Forrester could remember. “I was upstairs, and I wanted to check in on my favorite patient. Dr. Miles says you did very well.” Then he spied Forrester. “Frankie! How are you?”

He forced a smile he did not feel, his nerves still on edge. “I’m good, Dr. Goldman.”

“How come I don’t see you anymore?”

Because Dr. Goldman’s wife played bridge with Zia Sophia, and Forrester wouldn’t dream of asking him for a prescription for PrEP or explaining his need for regular HIV tests. He didn’t trust doctor-patient confidentiality to withstand the powers of the Spaghetti Hotline.

“I’m healthy,” he told him instead. “Guess I don’t need a doctor.”

“Always glad not to be needed.” Dr. Goldman turned back to Ma. His jovial tone took on a soothing note as he took her hand in his. “Now you, on the other hand… Maria, I looked at your lab work.”

Ma paled, and Forrester’s ears perked up.

“Maria, it doesn’t look so good. But you knew it wouldn’t, which is why you put it off so long.”

“What have you been putting off, Ma?”

Dr. Goldman gave him a reassuring smile to be patient, then turned back to Ma. “Maria, what did I tell you about keeping things from your family? You’re going to need them.”

“Dr. Goldman, I know, but….” Her words broke off in defeat, like a stubborn child being scolded.

He patted her cheek. “I know, but you’re here now, your son is here, it’s all going to be okay. I’m sending you to Dr. Charles Sullivan. He’s the best in the region. I made an appointment for you because it’ll be three weeks before you can get in to see him.”

“Why three weeks?” Forrester wanted to know.

“Because of the holiday weekend, his appointments are backed up,” the doctor said, referring to the Fourth of July.

Forrester sniffed his disapproval. Like people didn’t get sick on holidays. “Is it okay to wait so long?”

“Never you mind,” Ma snapped.

“I’ll mind all I want,” he snapped back. “Now tell me what the hell’s wrong with you.”

“My sewer-mouth son is the only thing wrong with me right now.”

Dr. Goldman put his hand on Ma, cutting off her tirade. “Maria.”

She quieted instantly.

He handed Forrester a business card with an appointment time. “I set up your doctor appointment. It was the first one available, so you will make this work into your schedule, Maria. You’ve put this off far too long.” Then his face brightened once more. “Now, I want you to go home, rest, and maybe have a nice chat with Frankie. You have a great family, and you’re gonna need them.”

She nodded meekly, slanting a glance at Forrester as Dr. Goldman said his farewells. Forrester’s entire body went taut as if standing on the edge of a cliff. He didn’t know if he wanted to throttle his mother and shake the information out of her or start crying. He settled for rolling the prescription bottle and the card in his hands.

When the doctor left, she sighed. “Oh, Forrester, don’t look at me like that. You look worse than you did when that mangy old cat died.”

“I loved Fluffy,” he said absently, though talking about a stray he and Tony rescued when they were little kids was asinine.

The nurse put something in his trembling hand. A slip of paper with instructions on how to care for a loved one after anesthesia. “I need to help your mother get dressed. So if you wouldn’t mind returning to the waiting room. We’ll be out shortly.”

Forrester nodded and allowed Betsy to guide him toward the exit. But he paused at the curtain and turned back. Ma looked so tiny and old sitting in the hospital bed, but he pointed a warning finger at her. “You better fess up when we get home, Ma.”

He didn’t wait for her reply. As he returned to the waiting room, anger at the stubborn woman replaced his fear. What the hell had she been putting off? Ma knew what happened to Dad when he’d ignored Dr. Goldman’s warnings about his cholesterol.

He’d died.

Why the hell would she ignore her health too?

“What’s wrong?” Kyle asked when he caught sight of Forrester stomping toward him.

“I have no fucking idea.”

“What do you know?”

He quickly recapped what happened. “I guess she has a follow-up appointment with some Dr. Sullivan in a month.”

“Chuck Sullivan?” Kyle said in surprise.

Forrester glanced at the card. “Yeah, I guess. It says Charles Sullivan. Why? Do you know him?”

Kyle’s face went darkly serious, scaring Forrester.

“What is it, Kyle? Do you know him?”

“Yeah, I know him. His wife works with me.” Sympathy painted Kyle’s hazel eyes a rich shade of brown. “Forrester, Dr. Sullivan is an oncologist.”