EMMA
When I wake up, I have no idea where I am, but I know I've had a seizure. Shit. It's been months. Months! My head aches, but the aura is gone and I feel, above all, complete relief. My senses and awareness slowly catch up to me, and I hear a familiar, unwelcome voice.
"I just don't understand what's going on here at all. Edward, who are these people? Who is this caveman in Emma's room? Why is she still down here and not in a private room upstairs? Where is that doctor? Edward?" My mother is on one of her rants, and I start putting things together before I attempt to open my eyes.
I must be in the hospital, which means they called my damn parents. I remember feeling better, but then worse and asking Thatcher to get me some water after dinner. The rest is totally gone. Caveman…
I open my eyes and I see Thatcher sitting in a chair across the room. He looks worried. His legs are spread wide and he's hunched over on his elbows, his chin in his hands. Amy is here, too. She struggles to stand up and I hear her friendly voice talking to my mother. "You must be Mrs. Cheswick! I'm so glad to meet you. I'm Amy. Alice's sister."
My father scowls, adjusting his tie. "And just who is Alice?" His voice is toneless. I can see him classifying Thatcher and Amy as unimportant.
"Thatcher," Amy looks at him uncomfortably. "Introduce me to Emma's parents."
"I can assure you," my mom cuts in, "that I have never seen this man before in my life."
Amy opens her mouth to start saying something, and I decide now is a good time for a distraction. I groan and try to sit up.
"Oh, dear. You're awake." My mother bustles over to the bed and puts the back of her hand against my forehead. "I just knew this was bound to happen."
"Of course, Mom. I have seizures because I have epilepsy. Not because I moved into the city."
She clucks her tongue at me and starts asking a million questions about "this new aged neurologist" she doesn't approve of. Just because the guy she and dad sent me to for years couldn't control my symptoms and would never try any new medications…or even read about trials that might be helpful. "This is a research hospital, Mom. They know what they're doing here."
My father snorts and my mother looks over at Thatcher and Amy again. "Emma, shouldn't your friends be heading home now, dear?" I hate her tone. I hate everything about the way my parents judge anyone who doesn't seem like they're going to cut a huge campaign donation.
"Look," Amy's on her feet now, and a pregnant, frustrated Amy is apparently no one to be trifled with. "I don't know why you'd talk about Emma's fiancé this way, but I'm going to assume you're all just upset and in shock. So I'm going to go home and eat dessert. Thatcher, call me later."
Amy saunters out of the room just as the word "fiancé" registers with my mother.
"Fiancé?" she repeats it about six times, her voice increasing an octave each time. "Don't be ridiculous, Emma. You cannot marry someone like…you cannot marry this man. Do you even know this man? Where did you meet?"
"Look, Mrs. Cheswick," now Thatcher is on his feet. "You really don't get to talk about me this way. I don't give a shit who you are or how much your pearls cost. I'm here to support Emma and my guess is she has a pretty bad headache right now, so you're going to need to tone it down or I'm going to get someone to escort you out."
My face breaks into the biggest smile I can remember smiling. Nobody ever speaks to my mother this way. I want to watch as she sputters and tries to gather her wits, but even being awake this long has been difficult. My body needs to sleep.
"Emma Cheswick," she hisses at me. "Are you engaged to be married to this barbarian?"
"Mom, Dad, this is Thatcher Stag," I croak. "And he's right about the headache. I promise to tell you all about him when I wake up, but for now I need to go back to sleep." I feel the medication kicking in. They must have given me an IV. Yes, there. I can feel it in my hand now that I focus on it. I am vaguely aware of my mother and father arguing, then leaving the room. I drift off, sinking into sleep.
I wake up again. I know I'm in the hospital, but I have no idea how much time has passed. I don't hear anyone in my room. I feel the urge to stretch, and find that I can, easily, though my muscles are aching. When I try to sit up, I see that Thatcher is still in my room. That's unexpected.
"Hey," he says. "You're up." He puts down a notebook where he'd been writing something. Sketching?
"What time is it?" There are no windows in my room. Am I still in the emergency department?
"Well, Chezz," he says, reaching for a cup of coffee. "It's about 9am."
I sit bolt upright. "It's Monday? Shit!" I start to get out of the bed, flinging the IV line, but Thatcher walks over and touches my arm.
"Hey," he says. "Don't be mad at me. But I called the receptionist at the Post and told her you were sick. I didn't say with what."
"You did that for me?" I look into his eyes. "That was very thoughtful, Thatcher. Thank you." I am definitely in no shape to go to work today. But I still feel desperate to get home. I hate that I've lost most of a day. I'm going to be so behind on work and--then I remember. I had a seizure at Thatcher's family dinner. "Your family. What must they think of me?" I bury my hands in my hair, tugging in frustration.
"Well, they've called here about 8 million times, worried sick and asking why I didn't tell them you have epilepsy."
I snort. "Because it's none of their damn business."
"Well I guess that's why you didn't tell me you have epilepsy, then." Thatcher scratches his beard. "So what does all this mean?" He gestures around the room.
I sigh. "It means I felt this coming on yesterday, but I didn't want to cancel on you…or Alice, so I didn't take the medication I should have. It was stupid. I haven't had a seizure in--well, it's been over a year."
"Emma, you don't have to put your health at risk for this…me. I--"
"This is why I don't tell people, Stag." I snap at him. "I don't want your pity or your deep concern or your fake, polite kindness. We both know that's not you. I don't tell people because I don't want to be treated differently or given a pass for family dinner. It's my business. I'm an adult."
"Ok, ok. Chill out, Chezz. Jesus."
"Oh, so I'm 'Chezz' now and not 'sweetheart?'"
Thatcher gives me an odd look and throws a plastic bag at me. "I got your keys from your purse and got you some fresh clothes from your apartment."
I look down at the bag. This is so totally unexpected that I have no idea how to respond. This is something Nicole would do. This is a friend move. I don't trust many people to know what I need without my having to ask them for help. I swallow.
He chugs the rest of his coffee and throws the cup in the trash. "Why don't you get dressed and I'll drive you home. Your doctor said you were good to go whenever you woke up." I nod slowly and he steps into the hall, pulling the curtain closed around the doorway as he leaves the room.