Mia's Heart

Page 7

Gavin looks at me. There is confusion and a bit of amusement in his dark eyes, but he quickly masks it. He’s good at this, at smoothing things over. I make a note of that.
“How are you feeling?” he asks again. He’s still holding my hand and his fingers are warm. I like it. I may not know him, but I like his hand. “Have they let you outdoors yet for a walk?”
“Not yet,” I tell him. “I feel good enough though.”
“Then you shall go,” he tells me valiantly. He picks up the call button and a moment later a nurse appears.
“Yes?” she asks pleasantly. Gavin smiles at her, with a knee-weakening grin.
“Miss Giannis would love to go for a walk in the sunshine,” he says. “Would that be possible? I’ll walk with her.”
My gaze meets his and his eyes are sparkling. It’s no wonder he and I were good friends. He’s very likeable.
The nurse smiles at him. No one is impervious to his charms, apparently.
“She has already been cleared for a walk outside,” the nurse tells him. “She just hasn’t wanted to go.”
Gavin turns to me. “No? Put your clothes on, Mia . We’re going outside.”
I stare at him. “I sort of don’t want to.”
“And why not?” he looks at me. “Because you’d rather lay in here and feel sorry for yourself?”
“No.”
Yes.
Gavin raises an eyebrow. “No? That’s not what I’ve been told.”
I look to my mother and she appears guilty.
“You’ve been talking about me?” I ask softly. This actually hurts. I’ve been trying really hard this week—to do what everyone has asked of me. And she’s been talking about me?
“No. Yes. I mean, I have, but only because I’m concerned about you,” she stammers. “Gavin has always been able to cheer you up, so I called him.”
I stare at her, but Gavin interrupts.
“I’m going to go outside for a minute, so get your clothes on. We’re getting some fresh air.”
“Have you always been this bossy?” I ask him. He grins.
“Why, yes. Yes, I have. And you like it.” He saunters out, not worried in the slightest that I might actually be agitated with him.
My mother follows him out and I feel my temper bubbling just beneath the surface. But I tamp it down. I’m sure they’re just concerned. Right?
Whatever.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed and sit for a second. Obviously, I’ve been out of bed here in the room to shower and use the bathroom and whatnot. But the idea of going outside, out into the hospital and into the world and the sunshine, has made me terrified.
I don’t want to admit that to anyone because I feel silly.
But it’s the truth.
I don’t know if it’s the accident, or if I’ve always been that way.
Who’s to say?
Certainly not me.
I can’t remember anything.
I pull on some clothing. A khaki skirt and a cream-colored blouse. A pair of tan ballet flats. These clothes feel foreign. I can’t believe I would choose clothing so bland. And so…beige. But apparently, I did.
Apparently, I was a bland person.
And I use the word apparently a lot.
I pull a brush through my hair and stare in the mirror.
Dark brown hair, green eyes. I’m sort of small. Not small in a weird, misshapen way, but small, nonetheless. I guess I’m pretty, although I look a bit pale from being indoors. I probably should get some sun. Some vitamin D therapy might improve my attitude, too.
For some reason, I feel so agitated. My mother tells me that it’s very unusual for me, that I’m usually a very cheerful person, but that a certain level of agitation is normal given the circumstances.
I don’t know about that.
But then, I don’t know about anything right now.
And I’m back to that again. Sigh.
I poke my head out into the hall and find my mother and Gavin talking to each other against the wall.
I fight back the feeling of annoyance that rises in me, the bad taste that is in my mouth.
What the eff?
If he’s my friend, why is he in cahoots with my mother?
And where the heck did I get a word like cahoots?
Can’t my friend talk to my mother? I’m clearly a lunatic. I wonder if I was before this accident, too, or if it’s a new thing.
I’m shaking my head when they notice me.
Gavin smiles.
“Are you ready?”
His smile is a thousand-watt light-bulb and I relax. I’m being hypersensitive, I’m sure. That’s probably normal, given the circumstances.
Gavin holds his arm out and they both smile at me.
And once again, I am uneasy, but don’t know why.
“I’m ready,” I confirm, as I slip my arms around his forearm. My mother falls back into my room as Gavin and I make our way down the hall and out of the hospital.
The sun hits me squarely in the face and I blink my eyes.
“You okay?” Gavin asks quietly. He has apparently noticed that my feet are now frozen to the ground and I am refusing to move from this spot.
“Yeah,” I mumble. “I just feel intimidated by coming out here. I don’t know why. It makes me feel sort of panicky.”
I’m such a baby.
I look around, at the shrubbery in the hospital courtyard, at the benches filled with visitors and patients, at the flowers, the grass, at the wide open blue sky above us. And all I can do is to try and still my racing heart. I don’t know why I’m so anxious about this place. It’s irrational.
“You know,” Gavin says quietly as he leads me around the path. “We were here last year. Our friend Dante had a car accident. And when we came here, we weren’t sure exactly what we were going to find. We knew he was alive and they told us that he was okay, but we didn’t really believe it until we saw it for ourselves. Maybe that’s it. Maybe you have some suppressed memories deep down about that time. It was pretty emotional. It was one of the only times I’ve seen you cry.”
I look at him. The sun is shining onto his face, illuminating his already bright smile. He’s a gorgeous guy, that much is true. Strong, good-looking and self-assured. That’s a good recipe for destruction.
“I don’t cry?” I ask hesitantly. That doesn’t seem right. Because right now, I feel like a blubbering mess on the inside. Gavin shakes his head.
“Not usually. You’re pretty bad-ass.”
I have to smile at that. “Bad ass?”
He nods. “Yup. Totally bad-ass.”
“Tell me why you say that,” I instruct him.
We continue walking around the pretty landscaped sidewalk as Gavin tells me escapades of my youth, beginning from the time we were in primary school. He speaks smoothly and calmly as we walk around patients who are walking slower than we are.
“And then there was the time that you got the assistant principal at school fired- when we were only in fourth grade. You thought he discriminated against you because he was a pacifist and your father was the minister of defense.”
“Did he discriminate against me?” I ask, with my eyebrow raised.
Gavin nods. “It sure seemed like it.”
“So, I’m ballsy.”
Gavin laughs. “Yes, you’re ballsy.”
“Why are you and I such good friends? Have we always been? Have we ever dated?”
Gavin stares at me.
“You truly don’t remember anything, do you?” he asks softly. There is sympathy in his eyes and I hate that. I’m not asking for sympathy. I’m just trying to learn more about myself.
“Don’t feel sorry for me, Gav,”I tell him. “I don’t need sympathy.”
He stares at me again.
“You just called me Gav,” he points out quietly. “I haven’t told you that you used to do that.”
I am instantly still. Holy crap. He’s right.
“I don’t know where that came from,” I admit. “It just came out. It felt natural.”
“It’s your memory,” Gavin decides confidently. “Subconsciously, in there somewhere, you know me.” He grins. “Because seriously, dude, how could you truly forget me?”
He is cocky and arrogant and pleasingly so. I smile back.
“I don’t know. It’s like I got hit on the head or something. Oh, wait. I did.”
He laughs and I laugh and it suddenly seems normal to hang out with him. Relaxed. Friendly. Normal. I’m digging it. So I tell him that.
He looks surprised.
“Did you doubt that you would?” He is cocky again. “Your favorite time of the day is always Gavin Time.”
“Gavin Time?” I repeat doubtfully. “Are you always this sure of yourself?” I ask, one eyebrow cocked. He laughs. He tightens his grip on my elbow and I enjoy the feeling of his warm fingers on my skin.
“Always,” he says, leaning in toward me like he’s confiding something. “It’s one of the things you love about me.”
“So I love things about you, then?” I ask, laughing.
Gavin smiles. “Of course you do. Everyone does.”
He winks and laughs and I laugh again.
“Have we ever had sex?” I ask. Gavin’s head snaps back and he stares at me again, his eyes sparkling and appraising.
“Not yet,” he says. “Would you like to?”
He nudges me and laughs, but now I’m on a mission to find out things about myself that my mother probably wouldn’t know, so I ignore his charming grin.
“Am I a virgin?” I ask hesitantly. “Do you know?”
He stares at me yet again, but this time he actually seems uncomfortable. If it was possible to squirm while standing in an upright position, he’d totally be doing it. It makes me uneasy.
“What?” I ask. “Am I a slut?”
He rolls his eyes. “No. You’re not a slut. Far from it. But you’re not a virgin, either.”
“But we haven’t had sex?” I ask again. He winks.
“Not yet.”
“Do I have a boyfriend?” I ask uncertainly. Because if I do, I certainly don’t remember it.
Gavin looks unsettled and ignores my question.
“You know,” he muses. “I could have totally played this whole situation to my advantage. Let’s start over again. Ask me again if you are a virgin.”
I smile. “Am I a virgin?”
He shakes his head solemnly. “No. You’re not. You and I have wild, passionate jungle sex about four times a day. You love it. And we should probably take it back up again. I think it would help your recovery process to get back into your normal routine.”
I roll my eyes and giggle, ignoring the disapproving look of an elderly lady with a walker.
“Only four times a day?” I ask innocently. “Are we slackers, then?”
“Oh, don’t tempt me,” Gavin answers. “We can increase the rate. I’m up for anything. Anytime, anywhere. That’s practically my motto. Always ready. I should get that tattooed somewhere. Maybe on my ass.”
I roll my eyes.