Gavin grinned at her attempt at a baseball metaphor. Robert got up with a quiet chuckle, claiming the need for more coffee. Lila’s future had changed, but as they waited for the doctor to update them, Gavin wondered if he could still have a place in it.
25
Monday
A white, speckled ceiling came into focus as she slowly opened her eyes, blinking to adjust to the fluorescent light. Her head throbbed as she tried to look around. She immediately froze and closed her eyes.
“Lila,” a soft voice said.
Lila? Yes, that was her name. She opened her eyes again and met those of an older man. He wore a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. She didn’t recognize anything else though—his dark hair and brown eyes were foreign.
“Where am I?”
“My name is Wallace. You are in the hospital, and I’m one of your doctors,” he said. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Lila?”
His kind smile comforted her. “Yes, but can you tell me your middle and last name?”
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. It was there in her mind, just out of reach and fuzzy. Her heart pounded as she tried to recall it.
“Shhh.” The doctor put a hand over hers on the bed. “It’s okay. You had a small tumor removed from the part of your brain that helps you remember. Your memory should slowly come back with some rest.”
“I don’t remember anything.” Her words were barely audible.
He patted her hand. “I know. We’re going to let you sleep a little more, then we’ll try again. How does that sound?”
Terrifying. “Okay.”
26
Thursday
“Please, you have to let me see her.” The pleading in the man’s voice beyond her door caused Lila’s chest to ache while her heart raced against her ribs. She didn’t know the man or his story, but just in those few words, she heard an overwhelming amount of love and need.
Something nagged at the back of her mind. A faint memory of a dream. Lila sighed.
“What, sweetheart?” Her dad gently put a hand on her arm, and she opened her eyes.
She knew him, she knew her father, but nothing beyond that recognition was clear. Smiling, she said, “Nothing. Just trying to remember.”
He leaned forward to kiss her forehead, just below the bandages. “You will. It’s just going to take some time.”
Both her mom and dad kept saying that, and she wanted to believe them, but it had already been three days. When she woke up after the initial talk with the doctor, she panicked. He talked her through it again, explaining the surgery to remove a tumor on her frontal lobe and the potential damage to her memory. She calmed down eventually, and a few hours later, they let in her parents. When she recognized them, they all broke down in tears.
But that’s all she had: recognition. A thick fog blanketed the rest of her memories. They were there, she knew it; she just couldn’t see them. A faint flicker of an image would appear occasionally, but it never stayed long. At night though, her dreams played like home movies of her childhood. Shadowy scenes of running through tall grass barefoot, dancing and singing on top of a bed, and hazel eyes that comforted her more than anything.
Lila still didn’t know whose eyes filled her dreams. After the first time, she looked to her parents, hoping to feel that same comfort while awake, but they both had blue eyes like hers. She had asked about other family, and they said she only had an aunt and cousin who lived far away. Apparently, she’d only seen them in person a handful of times, and not in recent years.
The muffled voices in the hall continued, and Lila looked to her dad. Deep purple lined the bottom of his eyes—the same weariness she had seen in her mom before she left the room to get more coffee. The TV was on in the corner of the room, with the volume softly coming through the controller next to her side. She watched the IV drip slowly above her.
“Dad,” Lila started. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest? I’m fine.”
Her dad sighed, leaning back in his chair.
“You know we’re not leaving you alone here,” her mom said as she pushed the curtain aside and walked over to hand Lila’s dad a cup.
“Mom, you’re both exhausted.” Lila pushed the button to raise the bed to a sitting position. “And I know Dad’s back is hurting from that couch.”
Her dad gave her a small, guilty smile. Being a minor who had major surgery, the doctors made an exception and let both parents stay each night instead of enforcing the one overnight-visitor allowance. With the hospital over an hour from home, it felt like they had all but moved into the room with her. They had bags in the far corner, clothes spilling out the sides, and her dad even had his laptop to work while there.
“I don’t want you to be here all by yourself,” her mom repeated.
Her dad shifted in his seat, seeming uncomfortable. He glanced at the door again. Something changed. Lila hadn’t seen him hesitate in this ongoing argument before. His next soft words weren’t to her. “She wouldn’t really be alone.”
“Of course, I wouldn’t,” Lila said. “The nurses will still be coming in here to check on me constantly.”
But her parents didn’t acknowledge her point. They stared at each other, having a silent conversation. After a moment, her dad took her mom’s hand. Lila saw him nod, and her mom’s shoulders dropped, as if the resignation let the exhaustion of the past few days flood in.
“Okay,” her mom whispered. She looked to Lila. “One night. We will be back in the morning.”
Lila nodded with a smile. She knew her parents needed that. She might not remember much of anything before the surgery, but
