“I never thought I’d be eating here on my wedding day,” I commented, looking around at the shabby interior of the hole-in-the-wall restaurant Marcus had chosen at random after we’d walked down the frozen streets of Manhattan.
“That’s exactly why I picked it. You’ll have plenty of time for that hoity-toity crap your mom has set up for later. Let’s just relax, play a game of pool, and talk.”
I nodded, feeling a bit calmer already, as I ordered a round of beers for Marcus and Brian. I indulged in my usual Coke, but since it was my special day, I added a cherry just for kicks. Seeing my fiancé die after the two of us had partied a bit too hard one weekend had officially ended my partying days in one devastating night. Nowadays, I just didn’t see the point.
I’d learned to move past my guilt, the all-consuming raw fear that my every action had caused that accident to happen that night. If I hadn’t introduced us to the group at the club, if we hadn’t stayed and followed them to their home, if I’d only gone back to the hotel when Megan asked, if we hadn’t been drunk . . . there were so many factors, so many reasons, and I’d decided it all came down to one guilty party—myself.
But over time, after much healing, I’d learned that blaming myself would never bring her back, and living in the mountain of regret I’d built around myself would never solve anything. Would Megan be happy to learn I’d given up my life as well?
So, I’d freed myself from the shackles I’d sentenced myself to and learned to live again—with Lailah.
But some things never change, and the idea of drinking scared me to death, especially since I’d been entrusted with the greatest gift on earth. If anything happened to Lailah because of me, I didn’t think I could live with myself. When it came to her, I could never be reckless.
As our drinks arrived and greasy burgers and French fries were ordered, we made our way over to an empty pool table and began setting up our first game.
“So, seeing as I’ll be a married man in a few hours,” I said as I rubbed a little blue chalk along the tip of my pool stick, “how about you entertain us with a few stories about my beautiful bride, Marcus? Tell me something I might not know.”
His motions mimicked my own as he readied his pool stick, and then he began to collect the scattered balls that had fallen into the pockets from a previous game.
“Hmm . . . let me think,” he answered, placing each ball into the triangular form before sliding it up to the silver marker on the table.
Each painted ball rolled and spun around as they made their way across the green felt. He lifted the triangle and centered himself, leaning over to take in the perfect position.
Crack.
The balls flew perfectly across the table, and several immediately fell into pockets.
“Damn, man. Give us a chance.” Brian laughed.
Marcus smirked as he walked around to find another angle. “Did she ever tell you that she went through a rather impressive Twilight phase a few years back?”
I nodded. “Well, she didn’t exactly tell me. It was more like I found the mound of books, DVDs, and even an Edward doll in a box shoved in the back of the closet. Do they really sparkle?”
“I’m afraid so. She made me stay late one night after my shift, and we watched every single one—or at least the ones that were out. When I asked where their fangs were, she hushed me and said to keep watching.”
“She’s moved on, and now, she makes me watch The Vampire Diaries every week.”
“Oh, I remember. She pulled me into that a few times. Just be glad they don’t sparkle.”
“Are we playing pool or turning into teenage girls?” Brian asked, raising his pool stick in the air for effect.
I laughed and motioned for Marcus to continue his turn. He knocked around a few more balls, but none scored, so it was my turn.
“Here’s something you might not know. When she was younger, there was a time when she had to sleep with the aid of an oxygen tank. She’s always had to use one from time to time, but around when she was seven, it became a nightly ritual.”
I frowned, trying to imagine my angel, young and frail, chained to a bed each night, breathing through an oxygen mask.
“After about two weeks, she became so angry—with me, her mother, and even the noisy metal tank by her bedside. At seven, she’d endured more than most had in a lifetime, and I think she’d just decided it was enough. It was one of the few times Molly ever reached out for me for non-medical help when it came to Lailah.”
I took my turn, barely interested in the game anymore, and it was soon Brian’s turn. Taking a sip from my soda I sat down and listened to Marcus as he continued his story.
“I ended up calling one of my buddies up at the Children’s Hospital at Stanford. I knew Molly asking me for help was huge. It meant that she trusted me beyond the realm of a doctor-patient relationship. This was something she was asking of a family member, and I didn’t want to mess it up.”