Chapter 3
Johnny's phone buzzed, and he silenced it.
"Jasmine's not feeling well today," he said.
I looked at him.
He avoided my gaze and grabbed his car keys.
"Grab a cab. The hospital's not far," he said.
Before the door closed, he turned back and took the cup of coffee.
"Forget it. You're not gonna take me anyway. I'll go myself," I muttered.
His footsteps faded down the hallway.
The only thing left in the room was the smell of the peach pie.
My stomach hurt so bad that it felt empty inside.
When I got to the hospital, there was a long line at the registration counter.
The screen kept flashing numbers.
I sat in the corner, holding my stomach, cold sweat breaking out from the pain.
My phone rang.
It was my mom.
"Maggie, tomorrow's the anniversary of your dad's passing. Come home," she said.
I agreed softly.
She added, "Is Johnny coming? Your dad always liked him best."
My throat felt clogged, like it was stuffed with cotton.
"He's busy," I said.
My mom went quiet for a moment.
"Don't always make excuses for him," she said.
The results weren't looking good.
The doctor frowned as he reviewed the report.
"Your eating habits are all over the place, and you're under a lot of stress. If you keep ignoring this, it'll only get worse," he said.
As I walked out with my meds, I heard a familiar laugh echoing down the hallway.
Johnny was helping Jasmine out of the women's clinic.
Her cheeks were flushed, and she was holding a box of heat patches.
When she saw me, she froze for a second.
Johnny still had his hand on her waist.
"What are you doing here?" he asked.
That was a strange thing to ask, like the hospital was their own private hangout or something.
I held up my bag of meds.
"A follow-up," I said.
Johnny glanced at the bag, and his expression softened.
"Nothing serious, right?" Johnny asked.
Before I could answer, Jasmine gently tugged at his sleeve.
"Johnny, can we get some burritos? I'm craving them," Jasmine said softly.
Johnny immediately bent down to her level.
"Sure, but take it slow," he said.
As they passed by, Jasmine paused for a moment. "Maggie, please don't misunderstand.
"The cramps were killing me earlier, and Johnny came with me for the exam."
She gave the bag of meds a little shake.
A box of vitamins peeked out from the top.
Johnny gave me an annoyed look.
"Don't make that face at her. Jasmine's sensitive," he said.
The hospital lobby was packed with people coming and going.
He supported Jasmine as if she were a treasure.
I stood there, my fingers turning white from clutching the stomach meds so tightly.
Back then, when my stomach hurt so bad that I could barely stand, Johnny would scoop me up and carry me up three flights of stairs.
At the ER doors, his eyes would be rimmed red, begging me to take better care of myself as he nagged me again and again.
He'd say, "Maggie, are you trying to scare me to death?"
But now, all he cared about was how sensitive Jasmine was.
The automatic doors slid open, and a blast of cold air rushed in.
Jasmine glanced back at me, her lips barely curving into a subtle smile.
Johnny shielded her from the wind, and the car key charm in his hand hit the glass door with a crisp clink.
It rained all night on the anniversary of my dad's passing.
The cemetery steps were slick with rain.
I carried a bunch of white chrysanthemums as I walked up, my heels sinking into the muddy ground.
My mom was standing by the tombstone with a few relatives.
Johnny was an hour late.
He showed up holding an umbrella, and a few raindrops spattered across the shoulders of his black coat.
Jasmine followed right behind, dressed in something light and carrying a bunch of flashy pink roses.
My mom's expression soured on the spot.
"Do you even know what day it is? Why'd you bring her here?" My mom snapped.
Jasmine shrank back behind Johnny, looking nervous. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Palmer.
"I didn't know I wasn't supposed to come. Johnny said your husband always liked it when things were lively."
Johnny tilted the umbrella toward her, shielding her from the rain.
"Mrs. Palmer, Jasmine was trying to be nice," he said.
He called my mom "Mrs. Palmer" like it was nothing.
My mom looked at me, her eyes full of embarrassment.
The relatives started murmuring to each other.
"Who's that woman?"
"Why's she standing there like she's Johnny's wife?"
"Maggie's got a soft spot, huh?"
The rain hammered down on the umbrella, making a loud, relentless noise.
I placed the white chrysanthemums in front of the tombstone.
Jasmine set her pink roses next to them, the bright pink clashing with the somber scene.
My dad always hated roses.
He used to say they were too lively, not meant for a quiet place like this.
Johnny knew that.
Three years ago, he came with me to the cemetery and took away the roses someone had left by mistake.
That day, he knelt in front of the tombstone, his voice serious and full of promise. "Sir, I'll take care of Maggie. I won't let her suffer."
And, the person making me suffer was the one standing under his umbrella.
My mom took the roses away.
Jasmine's eyes filled with tears.
"Mrs. Palmer, did I do something wrong?" Jasmine asked, her voice shaky.
Johnny said in a low voice, "Mrs. Palmer, don't treat Jasmine like this."
My mom shook with anger. "Today's the death anniversary of Maggie's dad. This isn't the place for you to coddle her."
Johnny looked embarrassed and turned to me. "Maggie, say something."
Every time he messed up, he'd look to me to bail him out.
I stared at my dad's photo on the tombstone.
"She shouldn't have come," I said.
Tears streamed down Jasmine's face.
Johnny's expression turned icy.
"Fine," he said.
He threw his car keys down at my feet.
"If none of you want her here, I'm leaving with her," he snapped.
The keys splashed into a puddle.
The pair of matching keychains was streaked with muddy water.