This Ordinary Life (2 page)

The gate is propped open. I frown, hoping Misha didn't get out. The Pomeranian is a four year old princess of a dog and if the gate is ever left open, we get an earful from Seb's mom. I mean, she loves that dog almost as much as she loves Sebastian and his brothers—which is to say, they're all spoiled as anything,
including the dog. And since Sebastian's older brothers are away at college, she's gotten even worse about catering to her youngest son and the adorable little hairball.

I pull the gate closed. The pool glistens in the morning sun and silence envelopes the huge yard. Not even a bird flaps in the marble birdbath. I stare for a minute too long, remembering that night, last summer, the first time Seb and I went swimming in the pool alone. My eyes flick to the hot tub, remembering his lips on mine that night. I shiver despite the heat. Man, he can push my buttons, even when he's not around. With a huge smile, I walk toward the lower back door—Sebastian's private entrance. Like I said, he's hugely spoiled, and practically has his own apartment on the basement level. The sliding glass door is open slightly, the sheer curtains sucking in and out of the space with the breeze.

Odd. I step through the opening carefully. The living room area is a mess. Cups on the table, pillows on the floor. Okay, this is weird. Sebastian is a bona fide neat freak, as in doesn't even let me drink a soda on his leather couch. There is no way he would ever leave his place like this.

“Hello?” I call out, walking toward the bedroom. A rustling stops me in my tracks. A slamming door beyond the bedroom. What the hell? Did someone break in here? Are they still here? I fumble for my phone. Should I call someone?

“Ohmygod, Seb, you are too much.”

The voice is syrupy sweet. Teasing.

Female.

Before I even think about it, I stalk across his living room, through the small kitchenette and open the door so hard I half expect it to come off its hinges. I'm greeted by my boyfriend's bare back as he leans over his bed, jeans so low on his waist that the gray band of his underwear stands out against his olive skin.
Beneath him, skinny fake-tan legs poke out, a mini skirt riding up to practically expose her underwear.

My phone vibrates in my hand. I glance at it quickly, barely able to tear my eyes off my soon to be ex-boyfriend. I push it to silent. Why does my mom choose now to call?

“So I guess this explains why you're always late!”

Sebastian jumps up so fast it's like he's been shot by a slingshot.

“Jazz! It's not what you think,” he says, having the nerve to stand there half naked with some girl looking alternately bug-eyed terrified of me, and yet still reaching her hand out toward his.

Tears burn behind my eyes like fire, but I will not cry. My phone buzzes again and once again I click it to silent mode.

“Whatever,” I say smoothly, trying so hard to keep my voice even. “I'm sure you and your, um, friend will get to school whenever you're done here.” I nod toward the girl on the bed, who has at least had the decency to pull the sheet over her legs. Her face is bright red and she looks like she could die from embarrassment. If only.

My phone buzzes again and I shove it into my back pocket and turn to leave.

“Jazz wait.”

I take a deep breath, looking into the kitchen. Having my back to them helps the storm raging inside me settle but Sebastian's deep voice tries to weasel its way into that place in my heart that is his. Screw that. None of me is his.

I turn back to him, the flame inside igniting as if doused with gasoline.

“I wait for no one, Sebastian, not even you.” And I turn on my heel for real this time, making my way out of the room. The tears threaten to dump out of me. I have to get out of here. He follows me through the living room.

“You can't go.”

I spin around. “Really? And what would you propose if I stay here? We sit down and have a chat with
her?”

“It's not like that.”

I cock my head, wondering what in God's name he could possibly come up with to explain this. No one is that smooth. “Red freaking handed, Seb. Red freaking handed. How could you do this?” I choke on a sob, my traitor tears leaking from the corners of my eyes.

Sebastian looks over his shoulder and then back at me. “Just give me a minute,” he whispers. “We can talk this out.”

“Whispering? Are you freaking whispering? As if
I'm
the other woman?” I shake my head, disgusted. And then a thought slaps me across the face. “Am I the other woman?”

“Of course not, listen.”

“No need.” I wave him off. “I am done. D. O. N. E. Done with you.”

The wall phone rings. After four rings, it stops. Sebastian just stares at me. I don't let myself get pulled into the dark sea of his eyes. I can't.

The phone starts to ring again. “Do you need to get that? Maybe it's the girl behind door number three?”

My cell rings again and I whip it from my pocket. Mom again. Jesus, her timing is horrendous.

“What?” I practically scream into the phone. “I'm in the middle of something, can you stop calling? Sorry about the water thing this morning, but this isn't—”

“I've been trying you everywhere.” She's breathless, her voice an empty shell of itself. Not like Mom at all.

My stomach drops like a sack of flour, heavy and splitting open.

“It's Danny,” she says. “Ambulance is on the way. It's… bad. I don't know. You're usually here and, I wasn't sure what to do… what I was supposed to do.”

“I'll be there in two seconds.” I click the call off and rush for the door.

“I'll drive you.” Sebastian says, already beside me, keys jingling in hand. I nod. The last thing I want is for him to do anything for me. But I have to get home to my family. I have to get to my brother as fast as I can.

T
HE AMBULANCE
,
TWO
police cars and an EMT truck are already at the curb when Sebastian turns onto my street. I open the door and jump out before the car is fully stopped.

“Jazz, do you want me to—”

“Just go.” I wave a hand at him. I dart across my lawn as if shot from a cannon. My hands shake as I push the back door open. It's chaos incarnate in my living room with uniforms all over the place and police radios beeping and spitting walky talkie voices.

I rush to Danny, settling into the only small space available, at his feet. He lies on his side, eyes closed. Beside him, the EMTs take his vitals, blood pressure cuff on his right arm. Beneath the plastic oxygen mask, his small lips are nearly purple and stuck in a pursed position as if to give a goodnight kiss.

I pull his hand into mine. He's totally limp.

“How long?” I say bending to kiss his little fingers. His skin is still baby soft.

Mom stands behind the couch huddled with two police officers. Tears stream down her cheeks, dragging streaks of last night's eyeliner with them. Anger flares in me, wondering if she even saw the seizure start or if she was busy doing her own thing.

“I'm, I'm not sure,” she says. “When I walked into his room, he was flopped on the floor in a weird way…”

God. Just as I expected. I jump up. “Well how long before that did you see or talk to him?”

She blinks rapidly. “I'm not sure. I mean, he was getting ready. I called out to him.”

“You went back to sleep, didn't you? You didn't see or talk to him before this. Did you?” My tone is lethal and the police officers step toward me.

“Jasmine, I was getting ready. For the meeting, at his school.”

I look behind her into the kitchen. The bagel I made for Danny still sits on the counter.

“He never came out of his room?” I ask incredulously. Nothing could keep carb-loving Danny from his bagel. “I left what… God, half an hour ago? Was he out of it that long?”

I sink down to my knees. If Danny had been seizing that long… this could be really bad. Behind me, the EMT lays Danny on the stretcher.

“Mom. Did. You. See. Him. At. All. After I left?
Do not lie.”
I practically growl the last words.

Tears spill down her cheeks again and she shakes her head, her thin shoulders trembling. “No,” she whispers. “I didn't.”

I rush to Danny's side as they wheel him out of the house.

“Only one person can come along,” the EMT says, looking at Mom.

She nods. “Let Jasmine go. I'll follow in my car.” She looks down at her hands. “Jazz can answer more questions about his medicine and stuff anyway. She usually takes care of all that for me.”

The female officer looks between us and nods. She gives me a sympathetic smile.

“Come on then.” The EMT motions for me to get outside and into the ambulance. “He seems stable now, but we have to get him hooked up to see what's going on.”

Forget school today. Forget WYN60. Forget everything. I hop into the back of the ambulance, holding Danny's hand as we pull away from the curb. It's amazing that only this morning I was completely excited about that dumb trip and possible internship. Not to mention blindsided by Sebastian and whoever she was.

I'd give up every school trip, every internship, every chance at any scholarship even, and every chance at having a boyfriend who cared about me—Sebastian or otherwise. I'd give up everything.

I will, actually,
I promise God or whatever entity out there may be listening.
I'd sell my soul if it meant my little brother would never have another seizure again.

T
HE HOSPITAL VISIT
is like all the others. Danny wakes up as we're getting settled. He looks around, disoriented and sleepy faced, like he did when he was four and all this was just starting.

“Shhh,” I say, smoothing back his sweaty hair. “We're at the hospital. Just going to do some tests.”

The technician comes into the room a few minutes later. I hit play on the room's DVD player and sit back while she starts to apply the EEG monitoring pads to Danny's head. He holds my hand tightly as he watches one of the newer Disney movies I haven't seen. I drop my head back and close my eyes, listening to the hiss and hum of the technician's machine—shooting air to dry the glue on each pad she applies. That and the Disney music lulls me into a state of near sleep as I wait for mom and the others.

Two hours later we've been set up in Danny's room—a nice room down in the new pediatric wing. Mom sits on one side of him and me at the foot of his bed, Danny eating chicken fingers and fries while watching television. Other than the pack of wires
attached to his head and the IV in his arm, he looks content, like he's having a great time, even. No school, snacks, lots of television. For him, this is practically a vacation.

Mom yawns in this totally exaggerated way, stretching her hands up and back as if she's in an aerobics class or something.

Drama much? I fight the urge to roll my eyes.

My gaze flicks to the daisy chain tattoo that circles her wrist. I ignore the vice that tightens my already knotted-up stomach. Childhood memories, especially good ones, tend to tie my emotions up worse than anything.

“I'm going to head down to Starbucks and get some coffee,” she says. “You want some?”

“Sure. Just black is fine. Grab a few sugar packets.” I don't take my eyes off Danny. He doesn't have seizures that often anymore, but when he does, they can often set off a chain reaction where he will have more throughout the day. I study his features, watching for any twitch, flicker or flinch that something may be wrong. Mom stands there for another minute, looking up at the television. When she finally leaves, I let out a relaxing breath.

I don't want to feel this angry around her all the time, but what choice do I have? I mean, look what happened this morning. She's not the mom she used to be. And I'm certainly not the little girl I was either, the one without heaps of responsibilities, who used to pick daisies with her happy mom and make chains for our hair and wrists. I even kept a box of them for so long. I remember crying when they accidentally got thrown out. Wow. I wish that was my biggest problem now.

My vision blurs and I wipe the tears away, pulling my chair a little closer to my brother's bed.

“Danny?” I say. Staring at the TV, he doesn't answer. My heart leaps in my chest and I jump up and rush to the side of his bed.

Danny turns to me with a confused expression. “What's up?”

Thank God.

Relax, Jasmine. Not every single nuance is a seizure.

“Oh,” I say, trying to cover up my paranoia with a tight smile. “Want to do something? I can go down and get checkers from the game room?”

“Yes!” he says. “And Connect Four? How about chess? You said you were gonna teach me chess.”

I smooth a hand carefully over the collection of nodes and wires on his head. He looks up at me with his big brown eyes, long eyelashes blinking against his pale cheeks. I swallow the bulging lump of emotion in my throat and nod.

“Whatever you want,” I say. “I'll go see what they have. Unless you'd rather do homework? I think Mom brought your backpack.”

“What!” He wrinkles his nose in disgust.

“I'm kidding,” I say, laughing. “You get a day off school, let's make it a day off school.”

Danny yawns widely and nestles further into his pillow. “I'm tired, Jazzy.”

“Tell you what,” I say, moving the tray of food away. “Go ahead and take a nap, and I'll see what I can find down in the game room for when you wake up.”

I walk to the window to adjust the blinds. Darkness fills the room, as if it's some quiet, pre-dawn hour instead of mid-afternoon. I kiss my brother's forehead. The pungent smell of adhesive glue from the electrodes on his head stings my nose.

“Sweet dreams,” I say.

He has a roommate, from the looks of the rumpled sheets and duffle bag on the next bed. I frown. Private rooms are best, but this is a big and busy hospital. It's not always possible to get one. I hope whoever owns the navy blue backpack with the L
IFE
I
S
G
OOD
and L
IFE
I
S
B
ETTER IN AN
A
IRPLANE
patches sown on
is quiet enough and doesn't have a hugely loud family. Danny needs his rest and to stay calm to get accurate test results.