No News is Good News

I pace my apartment until my sides hurt, and even then I keep pacing. Bryan is on my mind, and I can't stop picturing him with a huge cast, or knocked out while a group of doctors huddle above him, deciding his fate. 

"Do you want to eat or something?" Emma suggests. She sounds exasperated. "You're making me nervous with all that walking. You just survived an accident. Don't hurt yourself any more by pacing."

I face her. "I may have survived, but will Bryan?"

"Yes!" Emma insists. "His mom said he was in surgery for his leg. It may suck, yes, but he'll be okay. I had surgery on my back after I broke it and I'm fine."

It's true--when Emma was in high school she fell out of a truck bed and broke her back. She's a few inches shorter than she was before the accident, but perfectly healthy. 

"What if he loses the leg?" I fret. I know I'm being ridiculous, but I can't help it. A sense of responsibility has overtaken me, like it was my fault that the accident happened. "I should see him."

Emma shakes her head. "Bad idea. Let him recover and be with his family. Send a card."

"I'll call as soon as the surgery is over," I say. 

Nodding, Emma says, "You're on the right path. Now, Thai?"

So I agree to get dinner with her. We go to our favorite Thai place (she drives and I wait in the car while she orders) and it is nice to be out of the apartment. 

It's only when we're at home do I think about work. Groaning, I check my emails. I have almost a dozen, but at least most of them are from designers or magazines or other blogs. I smile a little. No more excel spreadsheets for me. 

Emma sees and swats at me. "Don't tell me you're working."

"This is important!" I insist. She starts to tell me no phones at the dinner table; that's when I see the email from Kent. "One more," I tell her. 

From the opening line, I get a sinking feeling in my stomach that only grows. I'd somehow assumed Kent had learned about my accident somehow and was emailing to tell me not to come to work on Monday. Not so--I was being reprimanded. The more I read, the more my stomach hurts. 

Kent's email tells me how disappointed he is that I had been "ignoring my duties" and working on "frivolous tasks." He means my articles and the contact I've had with designers... in other words, my job. My job before I'd been assigned excel duty, that is. 

Emma sees my expression. "What is it?"

I swallow. "Kent wants to talk to me on Monday."

"What? No. You aren't going to work on Monday."

"I have to," I tell her. "He's pissed."

"No," she says firmly. "You're calling off. You've had a rough weekend, and you need at least one day of rest."

I put my head in my hands, Thai food forgotten. "I might not go in on Tuesday. I might lose my job."

"Why?" Emma exploded. "Does he not know what happened?"

"I guess not." I feel as hollow as my voice sounds. Kent's email was anything but friendly--I'm in huge trouble. "He had me doing a lot of work I wasn't hired to do... And really work I'm not even qualified to do," I explain. "I hate it. Really, truly hate it. So I started doing some of my old work." I shrug. "So I wasn't getting as much done of what he wanted me to do." 

Emma is quiet for a minute. "Look, Ryan, I know you have a guilty complex. But right now you need to focus on your health and getting better."

"I'm fine."

"Maybe physically. You aren't in surgery like Bryan is, but you're mentally exhausted! You need to take a break."

At her words, I tear up a little. I hadn't realized how stressed I was until she pointed it out. "I have to go to work," I say numbly. "I'll lose my job for sure."

"Then look for a new one," Emma says savagely. With that, she grabs our plates and walks away. Probably to clean her room or something. 

I walk over and notice that more of her things are back in her bedroom. I remember walking by just a few days ago and seeing it almost empty. I don't want to say anything, but I'm glad she's here. 

Just then, I feel my phone start to vibrate. I'm so jumpy I almost drop it before I see who's calling--Bryan. 

"Hello?" I answer. This time I try to keep my voice calm. 

"Hi Ryan. It's me." Bryan's mom. I wait. I don't have any words, and she knows she's the one who has something to say. 

"He's going to be okay," she says, and her voice breaks on the last word. 

Gasping a little, I can't contain a smile. "Wow! That's incredible." I laugh. "He's going to be okay!" I repeat. 

"He's out of surgery, and should be waking up soon," she continues. 

"Great," I say. "So I'll be at the hospital in half an hour. Is that too soon? How about an hour?" 

Silence. I almost wonder if she hung up. Then: "He might not be ready for visitors yet."

"Oh. Okay. Well, can you call me when he's ready? I'd like to see him."

She makes a noncommittal noise, and then goodbyes are said. Before I know it, I'm staring at me phone.

"What just happened?" Emma says. 

"I have no idea," I say. I take a deep breath. "I think Bryan's mom just broke up with me."