glint in her eyes telling me she’d caught the scent and relished the hunt. “You haven’t killed her yet. She’s hanging on by a thread, so you better hurry. She will die and soon. Buy her something with your fancy money from your fancy job.
Appropriately shamed, as she wanted, I turned and walked dutifully to the nearest gift shop. As soon as I felt her burning gaze fall from my retreating form, I let the tears fall. I refuse to let her see me cry again.
“Here.” A tissue was shoved into my hand by a tiny blonde in a candy stripers uniform.
“Thank you,” I choked out as I rubbed it across my eyes.
“No problem,” she smiled and winked. “I carry them in my pockets for this exact reason. Part of the job.”
I gave a watery laugh and she moved on down the hall. Patting shoulders and lending tissues where needed. She must be a saint to comfort people for a living. Balling up the used tissues, I threw them in a small trash bin nearby and moved to the display of flowers. There was a wide selection from elaborate bouquets to small and simple ones. I know my sister would be happy with something small, but my mother would surely turn up her snobby nose at it, saying I was trying to be cheap.
I graduated from Yale at 16 just a few years ago. I majored in Art History and Design specializing in Museum Operations. It’s something that I should be proud of, but instead it’s a point of scorn for my mother. Before I finished school I was recruited for an internship at the American Museum of Natural History in New York. My sister ended up going to NYU so we lived together for a year while she was studying. Though she was five years older than me, I graduated High School at twelve-years-old, which was a full year ahead of her. While I interned, I continued my education and just this year finished my PhD in Preservation Studies.
My sister was thrilled when I finished my Doctorate. We learned not to tell our mother about my accomplishments. When my sister graduated from NYU, a year into my PhD, our mother threw her a block party in our old neighborhood. Naturally, I wasn’t invited. Everyone from our neighborhood thought that I had dropped out of school and run away at fifteen, so I wasn’t insulted. I was happy for my sister.
They married after she turned nineteen. Only one year into college, which was too young in my opinion, but some would say the same about a nineteen-year-old getting their Doctorate. It’s been five years since their wedding day and she threw me a surprise party to celebrate my Doctorate. She’d gotten me to come by saying it was their five year anniversary party. So I went. Imagine my surprise when I walked in and everyone cheered, not for her but for me. There were people I hadn’t seen in years, and a lot of my work associates. I didn’t make friends easily so it was nice to see some familiar faces. It was hard to believe that this transpired just a few days ago. It felt like it had been years. I squeezed my eyes shut as I relived the horror.
The party was going well and I was overwhelmed with love and gratitude for my sister. Even if some of the attendees looked awkward to be there, I was happy that she had gone to the trouble to guilt or badger people to come. When the party ran out of ice I volunteered to get some, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She grabbed her keys, winked at me and said she’d be right back. That was three days ago.
That had been the last thing she’d said to me. On her way to the corner market, just a few minutes’ walk down the street, she’d been hit by a truck. The driver had lost control, spun off the road and pinned her between the wall of a building and the hood. What made it even worse was that the truck had driven off and left her to die alone on the sidewalk.
Her impending death is my fault. The doctors have no hope. She had no pulse for more than ten minutes while they rushed her to the hospital. They were able to get her heart started again, but the damage was done. Her body cannot function on its own so she will be hooked up to machines for the rest of her life. The doctors have suggested we withdraw care. My mother would keep her on the machines indefinitely, so it’s a good thing her husband has the power of attorney. He decided to wait 72 hours to give the family time to say goodbye. I’ve barely left the hospital in that time. Shaking my head to clear it I concentrated on the task at hand.
Flowers. Choosing the largest bouquet they carried, I paid and walked to the cafeteria. Seeing Jonathan, my sister’s husband, with their two children I sat down with them at the table and watched as he tried to beg his three and four year old to eat. My nephews looked at the food solemnly. Tad, the three-year-old, clutched his stuffed elephant and clamped his mouth shut as his father tried to shove food inside. Groaning in frustration he dropped the fork and shoved both his hands through his already mussed hair.
“I want mommy,” Tad’s bottom lip quivered as he looked at me. “Is she awake yet?”
“No honey,” I replied. “I’m sorry.”
Thomas, the four-year-old, regarded me oddly but didn’t make a sound.
“I can take it from here Jon, if you need a break,” I told him.
“That would be great,” he sighed. “I just need a couple minutes. I’ll be right back boys.”
The boys watched as he walked away without commenting. When he went out of sight their attention was on me. I felt slightly unsettled by their stares.
“So...” I said. “Why don’t you want to eat?”
Tad walked around the table and crawled into my lap, snuggling close, silently playing with his elephant.
“It’s stinky,” Thomas replied. His lower lip was poking out as he surveyed his younger brother's position, as if he envied the occupation of my lap.
“Stinky huh?” I looked at the macaroni and cheese and jello sitting on the table.
I grabbed a fork and popped a bite into my mouth. The cheese was rubbery and nearly glued the inside of my mouth shut. I coughed lightly and eyed the gelatin as it seemed to shimmy of its own volition.
“I see what you mean,” I said.
Thomas watched me with interest, but not a glimmer of the smile I’d hoped to achieve.
“Hmm,” I thought. “What if we ordered pizza?”
At the mention of his favorite word, Tad began bouncing in my lap and clapping his hands together. I could see a twinkle of interest in Thomas’ eyes, so I nodded.
“Alright,” I told them. “Pizza it is.”
“With extra anchovies!” Thomas cheered.
Standing, I ruffled his hair and I took them both by the hand. We walked to the closest nurse’s station to use the phone. After ordering, and relaying specific instructions for a pizza with extra anchovies though I knew Thomas would never eat it, we went to the small conference room across from their mother’s hospital room. I’d reserved the room for the duration to give the family room to spread out. On the table and on the floor there were toys, electronics and anything else my family would need to get through this time. The color of the rooms wasn’t as sterile as the rest of the hospital as it was a dull pink with old flowering prints on the wall. My mother was already there, waiting. Seeing the boys she opened her arms and smiled. They ran right into her arms and she hugged them close.
The jealousy over the ease and love of their relationship nearly choked me. I did my best to shake it off and sat down.
“Where’s your dad?” My mother asked them.
“He’s taking a break,” Thomas said, nodding his head in a serious fashion.
“Ah,” she said. “Good idea. I bet he needed it. What do you say we get you some dinner?”
“Auntie Tabby already ordered us pizza!” Tad said excitedly.
When my mother’s eyes crossed to me, the warmth drained from them and left a marked chill in the room.
“Pizza huh?” She asked. Then looking at the boys she smiled again. “Well I suppose that will have to do.”
My mother played with the boys for a time, leaving me to my own devices. After a while Jonathan joined us, followed by the promised pizza. When Thomas saw the large pizza with extra anchovies he cracked a smile. Though no one ate it, it had been worth making him smile, if just for a moment. T
he three other pizzas had been more than enough.
“Thank you Tabitha,” Jon had come up behind me as I watched the boys dig in.
I nodded. I would do anything for my family. He put his hand on my shoulder and I put my hand over his to anchor that feeling of support. I know he didn’t blame me. He leaned in close and I could feel his breath on my neck.
“I’m going to be pulling the plug in the next hour,” he said. “You should go say goodbye, then I want you to go home. There’s nothing more you can do. Your father will be here soon to take care of your mother. I feel like she might turn on you and cause a scene if you’re here when it happens.”
I nodded again, swallowing past the lump that had formed in my throat. I know it’s not that he didn’t want me there, it’s that she was the boy’s grandmother. He needed to keep a good relationship with her and kicking me out was the lesser of two evils. I recognized the logic of his decision and accepted it. Even though it hurt. I stood.
“Alright boys,” I smiled at them. “I have to go.”
The chorus of disappointment almost made me feel better, as did the hugs I received from them. I turned and Jonathan squeezed my arm as I walked out the door, closing the door behind me. I stared at the numbers 312 as if it were a poisonous snake. Breathing through my teeth, I walked over and through the door before I lost my courage again.
As the door slowly clicked closed