Annie

I’d never been afraid of hospitals.

I knew people had this thing about them because, unless they were having a baby, most people would only go there when something bad happened. It was associated with anxiety, even for happy occasions like having a child—What if something goes wrong? What if the baby is sick? What if there are complications?—but worse than that, it was associated with death.

People went to hospitals when they were going to die. And even the people who weren’t dying were afraid the doctors would find something to change that.

But I’d never been afraid. Because those hospitals would save me if something went wrong.

Being born with a congenital heart defect was scary, but I wasn’t scared. I could have been afraid, could have made myself even sicker from worrying, but I had faith. I believed the doctors who had treated me over the course of my life were as magical as fairies or wizards, but instead of using spells or magic dust, they used science.

I wasn’t even afraid of needles. I’d watch, wide-eyed, as the needle disappeared into my skin, watch my blood fill up the syringe, or feel the chill of fluids as they rushed up my arm, freezing me from the inside.

It just never bothered me, not the machines or the sterile smell or the needles or the hospital itself.

That was, until my new doctor walked through the door the next day.

It was something in his face that set my heart skipping, something in the tightness at the corners of his mouth and the almost invisible crease between his brows.

He took a seat on his rolling stool and began to type at the computer.

Mama took my hand.

“I’m sorry to have kept you here all day, but I’m glad you were able to stay for the MRI and results. After seeing your echocardiogram, I really wanted to get a better look and compare them to your scans done six months ago.” He turned the computer screen to face us, displaying two scans illuminated in blue-black and gray. “This is your heart six months ago, which matches the scans from six months before that almost identically. This,” he used his closed pen to draw a circle around my heart in the new scan, “is from today. Your tricuspid valve—the leaky one—is allowing too much blood into the right atrium, dilating it, and in turn shrinking the right ventricle. Notice the difference in size. It’s slight for now, but it’s very likely it will continue to expand. I think it’s time we talk about surgery.”

My palms were damp, my breath short.

“Has anything changed since your last scans, Annie? Are you still taking your medication regularly?”

“Yes, of course, but…my father died last month, and we moved here.”

He frowned, concerned. “That’s a lot of change at once. I’m very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

“Have you felt any different? Noticed any new symptoms?”

I considered it, my brows drawing together when I realized the truth. “Not new, but more frequent.”

Mama looked up at me from her chair. “Annie, you didn’t tell me.”

I tried to smile, squeezing her hand. “I didn’t realize. Mostly, I’ve felt fine, just little bursts of dizziness or shortness of breath. And my arrhythmia has been a bit more…vocal than usual.”

Dr. Mason’s frown deepened. “Annie, I want to see you immediately if you have any increase in symptoms or frequency. Without scanning you, your symptoms are the only way we know if something has changed, and your condition could escalate very quickly, too quickly for you to be able to act.”

I nodded dutifully.

“Truth be told, if I had been your physician all along, we would have done the surgery before now. My recommendation is to correct your valve using the cone procedure and repair the hole while we’re in there.” He grabbed a model of a heart off the counter and held it up in display, using his pen as a pointer again. “Your tricuspid valve is in the wrong spot. It’s here,” he pointed, “instead of here. In this procedure, we’ll separate this part of the valve from the wall of the heart, rotate, and reattach it.”

“Is there any reason not to do the surgery, Doctor?” Mama asked.

“Not one.” He set the model down and turned to me again, hands clasped in his lap. “And while I don’t see any reason to panic, I would like to schedule the surgery as soon as we can get the authorization from your insurance.”

Mama’s fingers were clammy in mine. “And how long will that take?”

“A couple of weeks, surgery scheduled a week or two after that. The mortality rate of the surgery is less than one percent, but it’s still open-heart surgery. The recovery will be long, so I’d like for you to plan for that. But, otherwise, it’s the gold-standard procedure for this condition, and our department at Columbia has a lot of experience with it. My colleague—the surgeon who will perform the procedure—has done more than just about any doctor in our field and was a pioneer in the research.” He said it all without saying anything truly comforting or scary, just with that distant, clinical tone that lends nothing but facts.

It was time. I’d known it was coming for years, knew that surgery wasn’t just possible but probable, not if but when. I should have had it at sixteen, but my old cardiologist seemed to think everything was fine, that we had plenty of time.

Regardless of knowing it was coming, I was shaken.

Mama looked afraid. The doctor looked professionally expectant. And so, I squeezed Mama’s hand and smiled as my heart skipped against my ribs.

“Let’s do it.”

We spent the next hour filling out paperwork for the insurance company in near silence. It wasn’t until we were in the backseat of the black Mercedes, which Susan had insisted drive us, when Mama took my hand again.

“I’m scared,” she said, the sound so small.

“I know. But we knew this was coming, Mama. And, when it’s all said and done, I’ll be healthier than ever. No more taking a thousand pills every day or checking my hands for oxygen depletion. No more dizziness. My heart will beat as steady as a metronome. It’s gonna be good. Don’t worry.”

She nodded. “I’m less worried about that than I am about your health in the meantime. I think…I think you should quit your job.”

I backed away from her, meeting her shining eyes. “No, Mama. No. This is the first job I’ve had—ever. I’m making friends. I’m living, finally living. Dr. Mason told me what I could and couldn’t do, and he gave me permission to work. I promise, if anything changes, anything at all, if I get worse, I’ll quit. But please, please don’t make me leave when I’ve only just started. Please.” My voice broke as my throat closed around the words, tears springing too quickly to stop.

“What if something happens? Do they even know? Would they know what to do?” She shook her head. “Annie, this is dangerous, and I can’t…I can’t lose you too.” Her face bent, yielding to her pain, a sob puffing out of her as she looked down at her hands.

“Mama,” I said softly, my own tears sliding down my face, “you’re not going to lose me. I promise. We’ve already set everything in motion. We’ll talk to Aunt Susan about recovery and how we’ll get through it. I’ll talk to work about what’s happening and about taking a break.” I brushed away the thought that they might not even want to keep me on staff once they found out. “The doctor said if he was worried, he would have admitted me right away. Please, please don’t worry.”

She shook her head, trying to gain composure.

“Let me go talk to work and see, okay? Will you let me at least do that? And we can talk after that, when we’ve had some time to think through it all.”

She nodded, and I wrapped her in my arms as she cried. And I watched out the front window of the car, my own thoughts and fears and wants tumbling through my head like a rockslide.

Greg

The day had gone by without much incident. The store was busy, which kept me busy, but I found myself worrying about Annie.

I’d answered the phone when she called that morning to let us know that she was at the hospital, getting scans after her doctor’s appointment and that everything was fine, but she would miss her shift. She asked if she could come by to talk to me when she was finished. To which, of course, I answered yes.

I should have been gone an hour ago, and I could have left. Annie could talk to Cam; it didn’t have to be me. But I’d found myself unable to go, not until I saw with my own eyes that she was all right. So I clocked out and sat at a booth, armed with a beer and my laptop to kill time, working on the schedule, which was ridiculous in and of itself. I was two weeks ahead.

I also placed all my liquor orders and cataloged the rest of the inventory, and frankly, I was out of shit to do.

None of that mattered when Annie walked in.

Her skin was pale, but her cheeks were bitten from the cold, those pink mittens on her hands and a matching sweater hat with a pom-pom on her head. But her face didn’t quite look cheery, the dark smudges under her eyes ominous.

“Hey,” she said as she approached, pulling her mittens off. “Mind if I sit?”

“Of course not,” I answered, closing my laptop. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. Sorta.” She sighed. “I don’t actually know.”

Annie added her hat to the pile of knit accessories in her lap and folded her hands on the table, her eyes searching mine for a long moment, a moment I waited through in the hopes that she’d have the space to say what she needed.

“I should have told you something before you hired me, but I didn’t think it would end up being a big deal. I mean, I’ve dealt with this my entire life, and it chooses now to make a statement.” She chuffed and shook her head.

“It’s all right,” I said, not understanding. “You can tell me.”

“I…” She took a deep breath. “I have a heart condition.”

A cold tingle spread down to my fingertips. “Are you all right?”

“I am, and it’s not as scary as it sounds. I was born with a heart defect; one of my valves is wonky, and there’s a hole in my heart.” She said it so simply, as if she were making a note of the weather, but the shock I felt made my own heart skip a beat.

“How…how does that work? A hole in your heart? Does it…does it leak? Like…into you?” I stammered, trying to grasp how it was even possible.

Annie smiled. “No, the hole is in my heart, between the chambers. I mean, I’ve always had it, but…well, I saw my doctor today, and he wants to do a surgery that will fix my valve and the hole.” Her smile slipped away, her eyes dropping to her fidgeting hands. “It’ll happen in a few weeks, and I’ll be gone for a month or so. So, I don’t know…I’m not sure if you guys will still even want me.”

I sat for a moment in silence, trying to process what she’d said. “Is it safe for you to work?”

“I asked the doctor, and he said it was fine. My mom…well, she’s worried. I think she’ll come around, but she’s scared.”

“What about you? Are you scared?”

She took a breath, and I thought she might say no, but something in her face shifted.

“A little bit, yeah. My whole life, I’ve known this surgery would happen, but the timing sucks. This job is the best thing that’s happened to me in what feels like forever. I don’t want to lose it, but I don’t want to waste your time either.”

I nodded. “If you want to stay, I have a feeling we can work something out. Why don’t you let me talk to Cam?”

Her face brightened with hope. “Would you do that? I mean, it might put her on the spot less if it came from you.”

“I think so too. Yeah, I’ll talk to her for you.”

Relief washed over her, and she hopped out of the booth to launch herself into me, her arms around my neck, her lips at my ear.

“Thank you,” she whispered, two little words so full of appreciation that they broke my heart.

I laid a tentative hand on her back, wishing I could stand up and really hug her. But instead, I let her go and leaned away.

She took the cue and stepped back, beaming. “You’re the best, Greg. I am so glad we’re friends.”

Friends. Whoopee, I thought.

But I said, “Me too.”

She slid back into the booth. “Did I interrupt you? What are you working on?”

“Just the schedule. Nothing that can’t wait.” I waved a hand at my laptop. “You know, we just got a new root beer in, and I’ve got some vanilla ice cream in the freezer. Want a float?”

“Oh, that sounds like exactly the thing to turn my day around.”

I scooted out of the seat. “Be back in two shakes.”

She just smiled up at me and began unbuttoning her coat.

I snagged a couple of chilled mugs from behind the bar and made my way back to the freezer.

I could have let her talk to Cam. I should have let her fight her own battles, but I had a feeling that I could ensure Cam wouldn’t say no, that she wouldn’t turn Annie out—the girl with the hole in her heart, the girl who had just gotten her first job in the big city. The girl who wanted to live, and Cam might say no. And Annie wouldn’t argue. She would hang her head and drag her feet out of here, and I would never see her again.

I wasn’t quite ready to let any of that happen. So I’d fight that battle for her.

Worst case, I’d tell Cam I had a crush on Annie, and she’d let Annie stay on that merit alone.

Out I went again and to the bar, which was starting to pick up, where I grabbed a couple of root beers, twisting the tops off with a satisfying hiss. And, supplies in hand, I headed back to the table where Annie was bent over a notebook.

“What’s that?” I asked as I set the mugs and bottles down.

She snapped it closed. “Nothing.”

One of my brows rose with the corner of my lips. “The look on your face says it’s definitely not nothing. Let me guess…a list of conquests?”

She snorted a laugh at that. “Hardly.”

I nodded my appreciation. “A hit list?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm. A list of donut shops?”

“No, although I might like to get my hands on one of those. Do you have one?”

I ignored the deflection. “Come on, what is it? I won’t judge.”

A flush crept up her pale neck, but she was smiling. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Yes, yes, I really would like to know,” I joked. “Bad poetry? Band names? Baby names? Puppy names?”

She laughed. “It’s a secret, and you’ll never know.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Guess all you want.”

I frowned. “Aw, come on, Annie. I’ve got root beer floats, and I’m campaigning our boss on your behalf. Is it really embarrassing?” I asked, leaning forward with a smirk on my face. “A list of future husbands? Tell me I’m on that list.”

I tried to ignore the genuine hilarity she expressed at that, my pride wounded.

“That list doesn’t exist.”

“But if it did…”

“You wouldn’t be on it because you’re my boss and my friend, and you’re old enough to be my uncle.”

I narrowed my eyes in jest, but I really was pissed. “Fine, if you’re not going to tell me, I’ll find out myself.”

My hand snapped out like a cobra and snagged that little yellow notebook off the table, and she watched my hand in slow motion, stunned, her mouth hanging open.

“Oh my God, Greg!” She jumped out of the booth, stretching up on her tiptoes to reach for it as I held it well out of her reach.

“Now, what do we have here? God, I hope it’s bad poetry. I’m gonna read it to the whole bar,” I mused as I opened it to the page where the ribbon bookmark lay.

“Greg, gimme it,” she whined, hanging on my arm in an attempt to lower it.

“Living Out Loud—or Things Annie Daschle Has Never Done and Is Ready to Do Already.” I laughed, trying to concentrate as she hung her weight in the hook of my elbow.

“Dammit, Greg, I’m serious!”

Way in the back of my mind, I knew she was, but I kept going.

“One, get a job—crossed off. See snow—you’ve never seen snow?”

“Nope, that’s the big secret! You win! Now, give it back!”

I laughed. “Make a snowman. I think you’ll be able to manage that.” I scanned down the list, looking for something juicy, and when I found it, my smile fell. “You’ve never had a boyfriend?” I asked quietly.

She went still. “It’s on the list, isn’t it?”

I looked down at her. She’d stopped fighting and was just standing there like a deer in a floodlight.

I glanced back at the list. “And you’ve never been on a date? And you’ve never—” My head swiveled around again to face her.

“Oh God,” she moaned, letting me go so she could drop her head into her hands.

I looked back at the list and then back at her. “Are you serious? You’ve never been kissed?”

She dropped her hands, her face crimson. “I’ve been kissed!”

My brows rose.

“Just not since the second grade.”

I didn’t know what came over me in that long moment that I watched her, something deep and fierce and elemental, something that made me want to go back in time and change her past myself. Worse, it gave me flashes of visions of helping her cross that particular first off her list. I imagined the sweetness of her lips, the wonder she would feel, mused over being the man who would make her feel it.

But I shook the thought away and turned back to her book, fixing a smile on my face.

“Well, I’m pretty sure you’ll have no trouble checking off the vast majority of this stuff. Some of it is doable sooner than later—kissing aside. Like this one: Eat hot dogs on the steps of The Met. That’s an easy one. Just make sure you go to Phyllis’s cart and not Enrique’s. I don’t trust his meat selection. Learning to ride a bike is a good one; you can rent bikes all over and walk them into Central Park. You’re not supposed to ride anywhere but the bike paths, but I think you could sneak a good session in, if you’re careful. Do it on the grass, that way, it’s better if you fall. Get a tattoo. I’ve got ins at a great shop. I can get you an appointment, if you want.”

Annie watched me, her embarrassment shifting into bubbling excitement.

I frowned. “What?”

“Greg, you’ve gotta help me. I mean, not with the kissing thing, of course,” she added hastily, her eyes catching mine. A rush of heat shot through me. “I don’t know anybody here who can help me figure this stuff out.”

“You sure you don’t want help with the kissing thing?” I said with a coolness I didn’t feel—my insides were on fire. “I might know a guy.”

She laughed and swatted at my arm. “I’m serious!”

So am I.

“Really,” she continued, “I bet you could show me the perfect place for a picnic in the park, and I bet you could tell me where to get the best pizza or help me figure out what Broadway show to go to.”

I drew a breath and let it out slow, considering. It was a bad idea—that much, I knew as well as I knew my name and our age difference. But I wanted to. I wanted to so bad, I almost said yes and ignored the rational voice in my brain, which happened to be yelling at me to run for cover.

“I dunno, Annie. I work a whole lot, and—”

She looked up at me, so small and pretty, her eyes opening wide, pupils dilating, lips in the sweetest pout I’d ever seen. “Greg, please? It would mean so much to me.”

And it was completely out of my power to say anything but yes.

She squealed when the word passed my lips, jumping up and down and then into my arms. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou.” But then she sagged against me and breathed a word. “Whoa.”

I hung on to her, my arms tightening, and when I stood all the way up, I took her with me, her feet dangling. “You okay?”

“Yeah…yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” I said gently and set her in the booth, my hands lingering on her arms just under her shoulders. “Let me get you a glass of water.”

She stayed me with a hand on my arm. “No, I’m okay. I’m okay. Come here and sit with me. You promised me a float, and I don’t want to have to call the manager over.”

I chuckled, still searching her face for signs of distress. The flush in her cheeks had washed away, leaving her skin and lips pale but smiling, and I gave her the concession, knowing she was embarrassed.

“All right,” I said as I slid in next to her, reaching for a bottle of root beer. “Now, let’s have a look at this list.”