I nodded.
“Look, I don’t want to be the bad guy here, or even the voice of reason, especially after the night you’ve had with Bailey and everything, but…”
I slumped down in my seat, my head pounding as I rolled it against the headrest and closed my eyes.
Tiny continued, “I mean, you were young, Nate. Just a kid. And I understand that you feel like you need to get some form of redemption for your mother’s death, but are you even sure it was Dante Franco with your mother—”
“That’s enough, Tiny.”
“All I’m saying is that you deserve more than this life, with or without Bailey. This can’t be forever, Nate. At some point, this shit has to end.”
I sighed, frustrated. “Will you just fuckin’ drive?”
His mouth clamped shut, and it stayed that way while I directed him to our next destination. Once we pulled up outside Dr. Polizi’s practice, he turned to me, his expression worried.
“What’s going on, Nate?”
I ignored him and opened my door, and when I heard him do the same, I faced him, my words an order: “Stay in the car.”
“Nate—”
“At what point did you stop taking orders from me, Tiny?” I was tired, beyond exhausted, and I knew it wasn’t fair, but lately, everything had been setting me off. Everything. And while I tried to keep it contained around Bailey, I couldn’t do the same with him. It was too much.
*
Polizi’s practice was the same generic doctor’s office you’d see anywhere; white walls, dated art, even more dated reading material.
I’d barely sat down on one of the chairs in the waiting room when Polizi walked in, his smile as generic as his office when he called my name. Once in his exam room, he turned to me, the smile no longer there. “Your CT scan results came back. It’s getting worse, Nate.”
“No shit.”
“We’re already treating it as much as we can with medication.”
“Surely there’s something else.”
He rubbed his beard, his gaze dropping and his voice softening. “There’s open heart surgery. We can go in, close the valve, but I don’t recommend it, Nate. You’re only twenty-three. You could live a full life—”
“But besides cutting me open?” I asked.
He shook his head. “Nathaniel, I’d love nothing more than to be able to treat this for you, but it’s not on me. It’s on you. The stress, the anxiety, your work… it’s not good for you. It’s detrimental to your heart and your life. Yours is one of the most severe cases of MVP I’ve come across, and you’re not doing yourself any favors by doing what you do. You want me to give you a magical remedy? Get out of The Family. Live a normal life. Use your smarts for something better. Find love, find happiness, have children and love them the way you were loved.” He sighed as he leaned against his desk. “You keep this up, and you’ll be lucky to see your next birthday. I told your dad the same thing, Nate, and he didn’t listen to me. Now look where he is.”
38
Bailey
Months had passed since I’d found out the truth about my mother, and the lie about my life and I’d done everything I could to forget it, to act as if my mother wasn’t a crack whore and I wasn’t a crack baby and my life wasn’t doomed from the second I was born.
I thought I’d been doing a good job.
Obviously, I wasn’t.
Nate leaned forward in his chair, his elbows resting on his knees and his gaze locked on the floor. He was refusing to look at me. He’d been doing it since he got home, and suddenly, it all made sense.
“What do you think, Bailey?” Dr. Polizi’s question hung in the air.
I pulled the covers up to my chin and didn’t bother answering him. I didn’t need to. It didn’t matter what I thought.
Dr. Polizi sighed as he stepped away from the bed, and looked over at Nate. “She can take them in the morning with her insulin, or at lunch with her vitamins and other pills,” Polizi told him.
Nate looked up, his face void of emotion. “Thanks, Doc.”
They spoke in hushed tones as if I wasn’t in the room, and a few minutes later, I was alone. Again. I was always alone. Nate had been (as he liked to call it) working “overtime.” He was barely home, and when he was, he was on his computer, or asleep. He’d been going to the gym a lot, too, and it showed, not that I had any sexual appetite to appreciate it.
Maybe that’s why he asked the doc to get me on anti-depressants.
I scoffed to myself just as he re-entered the room. “What’s funny?” he asked while he sat on the edge of the bed. He slipped on his shoes with one hand, the other landing on my hip. He forced a smile in my direction, one that said, I’m sorry, but I have to go. The real world awaits and besides, you barely get out of bed, and you haven’t showered in three days, so I’d rather not be around you…
“Bailey?”
My eyes moved to his.
“I might be home a little late…”
I contained my eye roll. He probably wanted to have sex. I should shower. Shave. Do all my hostage/girlfriend duties. Hostage. I scoffed again.
“Bailey!”