The Hero + Vegas = No Regrets

Noah texted me directions to Dad’s room. When the elevator doors open, I see Oliver right ahead of me. He’s slumped in a chair, one leg over the arm, just like he does when he’s watching a movie at home.

Mom is on the other side of the corridor. Part of me wondered if she’d be here, though I shouldn’t have. If she’s ready to host Thanksgiving with Dad at the table, she’s probably on board to see him through a medical crisis. I don’t know who we are as a family without Mom and Dad together.

She looks up and meets me halfway, pulling me into a hug. “It’s okay, sweetie. He’s going to be okay.”

When she releases me, Oliver is standing. I hug him too.

“How the fuck did you get here so soon?”

I shake my head, because it doesn’t matter. “Tell me what happened.”

“We were just having dinner,” Oliver says.

“He was at Mom’s?”

“Yeah, we hadn’t even touched a forkful of food.” Oliver offers me the bag of chips in his hand.

“Er, no, thanks. So do we have a prognosis? Is he going to be okay?”

“He’s going to be fine,” Mom says, putting her arm around my waist. “They fitted a stent and did various scans and tests. They’re going to monitor him for the next few days, but the doctors seem very relaxed about the entire thing.”

They probably see it every day.

“Where’s Noah?”

“In with Dad. I just needed to eat something,” Oliver says. “Wanna go in together?”

I glance around and behind me. “No one else is here?”

“They’re on their way,” Mom says. “I didn’t have contact details before today. Once your father could have visitors, Noah called… Rita.”

I rest my head on her shoulder. “Mom.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart. Don’t worry about me. Worry about you. And your dad. In that order.”

“I figure I can hate him all I want when he’s better,” Oliver says, stuffing the empty chips bag into the trash and wiping his hands down his jeans. “Shall we all go in?”

“You two go,” Mom says. “I’m okay out here.”

My heart pinches at the shift in our family dynamic. But maybe there hasn’t been a shift for my mom. Her situation hasn’t really changed—she’s been coping with this for more than two decades. She’s at the hospital for us. She’s stayed in a broken marriage for us. What sacrifices she’s made. I wonder if she regrets any of them.

“I love you so much, Mom.”

Her voice catches. “I love you too, Sophia.”

It’s like I’m fighting against gravity as I walk toward my dad’s room, like I’m wading through mud or something. Oliver goes first.

“Brought you a visitor,” he says, holding the door open for me.

“Sophia! I thought you were in New York.” Dad looks so damn pleased to see me, it makes me happy and sad at the same time. Why can’t we just rewind to a time when he could make different decisions? He could not have an affair, not get her pregnant, not tell a thousand lies to his wife and kids. Why can’t he love me the way I thought he did?

Noah stands and pulls me in for a hug. His embrace is so much more than I’m pleased you’re here. It’s thank you for coming, our dad’s sick, our family’s falling apart, I love you. Long seconds tick by in the longest hug I’ve ever shared with my brother.

I blink back tears as Noah releases me and stuff my hands in my coat pockets. “How are you feeling?” I know my words sound cold, but it’s all I can manage.

“Better, much better. They’re keeping me in a couple of days, but just as a precaution.”

I don’t move to hug him and he doesn’t ask for one. “You need to stop with the bacon,” I say.

He nods. “I know, I know. I have a thousand pamphlets telling me the same thing.” He nods to his bedside table. “Noah picked them up for me.”

“You need to read them,” I say. “Maybe get a Peloton or something.”

“I know,” he replies, his voice quieter than usual. “There are a lot of things I need to start doing.” Silence echoes in the room. I stare at my shoes. I’m so angry with him, but I’m so pleased he’s okay. “I really appreciate you being here,” he finally says. “I know there’s a lot we need to talk about.” He can barely finish his last sentence.

“You need to rest,” Oliver says, sitting in the chair beside the bed. “Don’t stress out about anything.”

I pull in a breath. That’s easier said than done. Dad has split apart his family—has been splitting us apart for twenty-five years. “We can talk when you’re better,” I say.

Dad catches Oliver’s and Noah’s eyes and nods at the door. They both get up and leave. I don’t stop them. I don’t really want to be alone with my dad, but at the same time, I want to hear what he has to say. I desperately want there to be something he can say to stop this anger bubbling inside of me. I need that from him.

I don’t move. I stand still at the bottom of his bed.

“I have a lot of regrets,” he says, “but being your dad isn’t one of them.”

“Is that why you sent Noah and Oliver out? You don’t want them to hear I’m the only one you don’t regret?” It’s meant to be a joke, but it doesn’t land. They’re the words of innocent, fourteen-year-old me, who’d sit on the couch with Dad while he watched the game, telling him everything I knew about Taylor Swift. Today it seems like I’ve lost my sense of humor, and no wonder.

“We’ll always be a family,” Dad says.

I don’t want him to see me cry, and I don’t want to argue with him, but that’s bullshit. We were never a family. At least, we’ve never been the family I thought we were.

I don’t respond.

“I’m sorry⁠—”

“Let’s do this another time,” I say, turning to leave. “You need to rest.”

“Sophia. Don’t leave. Just wait.”

I stand still, facing the door.

“I love you. I love the daughter you are. I know you’re upset⁠—”

“Please, Dad. I don’t want to be the reason for your second heart attack today. Just focus on resting and getting better. There’s plenty of time for this conversation.”

“I hope so,” he mumbles.

No regrets, Worth said to me. That’s what his dad’s death taught him. To live life with no regrets. But wherever I turn, all I can see is regrets. If we talk about it now, the stress could kill him or at least hamper his recovery. If we don’t talk about it now, I’m not sure I’ll be able to bring myself to try again. I don’t know which way to turn.

I release the door handle, head over to the bed, and press a kiss to my father’s cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Dad. Just focus on getting better.” I open the door and pause before turning back to say, “I love you.”

No regrets.

I text Worth my location and ask him to meet me. My head is so full of thoughts, my body so full of emotion, I don’t think I can successfully navigate my way out of the hospital without his help.

“Are you okay?” Mom asks as I shove my phone in my pocket and slump down into the seat next to her.

I shrug.noveldrama

“I think we should go home,” she says, smoothing her hand over my back like she used to when I was a child. Even before she finishes her sentence, I know I can’t go back home tonight. It will only make my racing thoughts worse. I need space. Distance.

The elevator doors ping and Worth emerges. I let out a breath. Somehow, he makes things less complicated.

“Mom, this is my friend Worth,” I say. “He arranged for me to get here today.”

She looks from me to Worth, then stands and opens her arms to hug him. “Thank you so much. It’s good to meet you.”

“This is Oliver and Noah.” I stand slowly, like all my bones are weary. “Mom, do you mind if I don’t stay at home tonight? I just need a break from thinking about this stuff with Dad.”

“Not at all, sweetheart. Have you got a place to stay?”

We both turn to Worth, and he nods. I shouldn’t have presumed he’d arrange a hotel. But I’m very pleased he has.

“Why don’t you come over for breakfast?” Mom says. “I make great pancakes.”

“Sounds wonderful,” Worth says. “Can we drop you home? I have a car waiting out front.”

“I drove,” she replies. “But thank you. You don’t want these two together in the back seat of a car, like ever,” she says, gesturing to Oliver and Noah.

Mom pulls me in for a hug and I hold her a little tighter. Is this difficult for her?

“Have you two said goodbye to your father?” she asks.

Oliver doesn’t look up from his phone, but he raises his hand. “I did.”

“Actually, Mom, I’ll Uber back. I’m going to stay a little while longer,” Noah says.

She squeezes his hand. “Try and get some sleep.”

Mom grabs her coat and purse, and Oliver finally puts his phone away. We press for the elevator.

When it arrives, we step aside to let a woman out.

She’s about the same age as Mom, but with dark hair. I take in her knee-high boots and dark jeans, and she must feel me looking at her, because she smiles. She tucks her hair behind her ear as she navigates past us.

I stare as she goes down the corridor, checks something on her phone, then reaches for the handle on Dad’s door.

It’s her.

It’s Dad’s other life colliding with ours.

I look back at Mom, who’s now in the elevator with Noah and Worth. She shrugs, like there’s nothing she can do. She gave up this fight a long time ago. She grabs my hand and pulls me into the car.

“That was her,” I whisper. “Noah’s in there.”

“Yes,” Mom says.

The elevator doors close.

“What?” Oliver says, entirely oblivious to what’s going on.

I look at Worth, who takes my hand. I don’t know if I’d have the strength to get anywhere without him next to me. He makes everything easier, just by being here.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“No thanks needed,” he says.