Life's Too Short

Life's Too Short
She was excited to see him awake and well and she made no preamble about entering his room. He didn’t startle at the intrusion, by now accustomed to people constantly coming and going from his room, but his face lit up in a pleasant smile as recognition dawned.
“Irene!” he cried just as she said, “Mason!”
His voice was scratchy, but otherwise strong and reassuring. “You working down here today?” he questioned in confusion.
“No, I came to see you.” She sat in the chair by his bed while he turned down the volume on the TV. “Brenden said you were awake. How do you feel?”
“My throat hurts like a son of a bitch, but I’ll live.” He gestured to the cup of ice to indicate his relief.
“You had me worried for a while,” she admitted. Mason’s oxygen tubing, while correctly positioned at his nose, was loose and hanging off one ear. “Your oxygen is coming off,” she told him and reached to fix it.
“You’re not the only one who was worried,” Mason confessed, turning his head so she could loop the tubing behind his ear. “You should see the cards the grandkids wrote me!” He cringed a little at the thought, and she smiled sympathetically.
“That bad, huh?”
He thought for a moment, then waved a hand as though brushing off the notion. “It makes me feel good, knowing how much I’d be missed,” he said. “It’s probably selfish but it is what it is.”
“I don’t think it’s selfish,” she assured him. “I think it’d make anyone feel good, especially if they came close to dying.”
He shrugged and then looking towards the door said, “So, where’s Brenden?”
Irene unnecessarily followed his gaze and then turned back to him. “Working.”
“He works too much. Both of you do. He was here this morning when I woke up, you know. Huge green eyes were right in front of my face, the first thing I saw. Scared the hell out of me.”
Irene snorted in laughter. “Horrifying,” she joked.
“Not for you,” he amended. “I suppose you get that every morning.”
“He doesn’t hover over me while I’m sleeping, if that’s what you mean.”
Mason laughed, which turned into a coughing fit. He sat up a little, his entire face turning a shade of pink, and the oxygen saturation monitor went haywire, beeping as his levels dropped to the upper eighties. Irene saw his nurse leaning up at the desk, peering into his room, but seeing it was just another coughing spell, she relaxed and sat back down.
The level rose as soon as the coughing subsided, and the beeping stopped. The crimson in his face took a moment to fade.
“Agh!” he declared, making a guttural noise. He tried to clear his throat.
“Better?” she asked, once he was settled down again.
“No.” His voice was bitter. He obviously was tired of being sick.
“Did Brenden say when you’d be transferred back to the floor?”
“Tomorrow probably.”
“Good. That means I’ll have someone to bug all day.”
“Not all day,” he informed her. But the corner of his lips curved in a tiny smile, and Irene couldn’t help but think he was looking forward to being transferred. Back to familiarity, where better health and discharge seemed within reach.
They talked a bit longer, about nothing in particular. He told her how, after he woke up, someone left the TV on a hip hop music channel. He couldn’t find the remote or find the strength to call the nurse. So, he endured some lewd music before someone finally took mercy and changed the channel.
His dinner arrived and Irene figured it was time for her to return to work. She stood and patted his shoulder in farewell. He placed his hand on hers.
“Brenden’s off tomorrow?” he asked.
She was not sure how he got this information, but she nodded in confirmation. “I won’t blame you if you suddenly catch a fever and need to call out, then,” he said. “Life is too short. This place isn’t that important in the grand scheme of things.” He winked inconspicuously but carried the air of a man who knew all too well how short life really was.
.
The cell phone came in the next day. She opened the phone to find a dozen missed calls and messages on the screen.
Three calls were from her dad. One from Steve, a mere minute after she hung up on him and destroyed her phone. Apparently, he had some sense along with his hangover, as he didn’t try to contact her again. A text from Sammy the afternoon her phone was destroyed. One from Andy, sent the day before, asking if all dead phones went to heaven.
Her dad sounded put off in his voicemail. “I know I’m getting old,” he began stoically, “but I thought I was cool for an old guy. I feel like I hear less of you now than I did when you lived far away.”
Irene grimaced.
It was true. The last time she saw him was when he delivered the table. The same table she and Brenden had sex on. Though her father would be irked if he found out. The last she had spoken to him was almost two weeks ago. She hadn’t avoided him on purpose, but with her fight and subsequent makeup with Brenden and things at work, time slipped by without her noticing.
Sitting in her car, Irene called him back and made plans to meet him soon. He came to her last time, so it was only fair she made the journey to him this time. And it was high time she introduced him to Brenden.
It would be awkward, but no worse than meeting Vin. Brenden still owed her for that disaster.
Finally, she read the last text. The one Brenden sent her just hours before their fight. The one she never got a chance to read.

\[Sometimes I think the greatest thing I ever did in life was to fall in love with you.\]