Drowning in You (19 page)

I wasn’t holding Mom’s hand as
she passed in her hospital bed. Mom never had the chance to die in
a hospital. I wasn’t reading an inspirational speech. I didn’t even
write the eulogy at my mother’s funeral.

I was touching her face through
the glass of a photo frame, a picture of her and Dad at their
wedding, laughing into each other’s mouths, the muted greens and
blues and browns of a summertime park in the background.

Darcy touches my cheek and I
pull him into my arms, both of us sinking to the wet grass. He
deserves to wet his legs like I had to when I tripped. At least,
that’s what I tell myself. But I can’t hold Darcy up now, and for
the next half an hour, I don’t.

We whisper alternating lines of
a prayer we make up on the spot, then slip into funny memories,
throughout which I sob this loud, ugly sound. Not wanting to think
about how much it hurts having mom gone, I realize what Rosa
meant.

I don’t think it matters to her
even if she does have ‘slut’ inked on her. That tattoo is a memory
that reminds her of the best holiday of her life and no one can
taint that. I wish I were so brave.

In the end, I demand our mom to
tell us this isn’t real.

She ignores us.

17. Run, and You Shall Find
Trouble

Charlee

These weeks, we don’t usually
see Dad three days in a row, but I ask if Darcy wants to go by and
he tugs on my sleeve and pleads for us to see him as though I
hadn’t asked. Maybe he doesn’t trust this mood swing of mine.

We take our time hiking up from
the end of the parking lot. We wait until the green man appears at
the pedestrian lights, not rushing. Darcy takes the steps at the
hospital entrance one at a time today, and after waiting for what
feels like five minutes at the elevators, they finally take us up
to the third floor.

But at the door to room 311
Darcy barrels through, making the door crash against the doorstop
in a way it shouldn’t in a hospital. I glance around me and give an
apologetic shake of my head to two nurses I see. Lisa doesn’t seem
to be working today.

I’m still at the door. Dad
attempts a pitiful tickle under Darcy’s arms, and like a good son
he cackles wildly and begs Dad to stop. My eyes lock in a
transfixed stare. The nurses rush by with equipment, talk to
patients next door. All these sounds are muffled, as if I’m not
here. I couldn’t tell you if Dad has flowers in the vases around
the room. My eyes are locked to Darcy’s head and his laughter
ringing in my ear and Dad staring, waving his hand at me.

“…
Charlee?”
Dad says, again.

Time warps, catches back up to
me. The hospital surrounds and sounds are back as if I was never
separated from them. Dad must have called my name a few times;
that’s the feeling I get from the look on his face.

“
Oh, Dad.
Sorry. I was teaching the kids earlier at work and Darcy and I went
to see Mom. You wouldn’t believe how tired I am,” I say, sitting in
the chair on the other side of the bed, opposite to where Darcy is.
“Sorry.”

“
You said
that, hon. Now,” Dad says, clapping his hands together. “Update me
on the shizz.”

“
The shizz!?”
Darcy shrieks. “The shizz, the shizz,” he cries out for the next
few minutes before dropping to the floor and rolling with laughter.
“Dad said the shizz!”

When it’s clear Darcy isn’t
about to stop, I turn back to Dad. He’s already looking at me.

“
You saw your
mom?” Dad asks. You know, stuck in room 311 in the intensive care
ward has done nothing to wipe away Dad’s people skills. He can’t
pee by himself or buy milk from the store but you bet my dad is
paying attention, twisting his head to the side, eyebrows scrunched
in wait for my answer while he reads my body language.

“
Yeah, Darce
missed her a lot today so I took him after school. It was…” I
search for the right word—nice? Hardly. Sad?
Under-descriptive.

“
Hard,” Dad
finishes for me. I’m about to ask how he’d know—he hasn’t been able
to visit his wife’s grave yet—but shut my mouth before I say that,
thank God.

Grabbing Dad’s hand, I start at
the icy touch of his skin. I reach out my other hand and sandwich
his in mine, hoping to transfer the heat. Darcy has crawled over to
the sofa on a side wall, and is now sitting there, stabbing his
thumbs into his iPad. Satisfied, I meet Dad’s eyes and say, “I
couldn’t go there before. I…I just sat in the car, Dad. Don’t hate
me. I just don’t want to act in front of Darcy or Nana and Pa. I
thought I couldn’t be there but I’m getting used to it.”

“
Hon,” Dad
says, wiggling his fingers in my hands to show he’s there, “your
mom isn’t under that ground. Her body is buried there but her mind
and soul are anywhere you want them to be, especially in your
memory. Standing at the grave site gives people a focus and
permission that they’re allowed to talk to someone who’s passed,
but you could talk to your mom before you fall asleep and she’s
just as much there as anywhere.”

There’s something about Dad’s
speech that isn’t right. Who can talk about their wife that way
after this short amount of time? The several weeks since the
accident must feel like days to him cooped up in this hospital bed.
And no one talks too insightfully like this without time to heal
the hurt from loss. Which means this isn’t positive speak at
all.

“
Why are your
hands so cold?”

“
Poor
circulation, I suppose.”

There’s poor circulation and
then there’s no circulation, I think. “But the doctor knows?”

Dad nods.

“
Well, at
least they know. That’s all we can do, right?”

“
They monitor
me and give me whatever medication my body needs but it’s not a
good sign. My heart isn’t pumping like it used to. Through lowered
organ function and the stint of blood poisoning—I’m just not what I
used to be.”

I squeeze his hand until I get
recognition on his face. “But they’ll fix this up? They have
surgeons or injections for these problems?”

Dad wriggles his fingers so I
let him go. He slides both hands under the sheets. It’s then I
notice his yellow skin tone again, that he’s lost further
weight.

This still can be good. Why not
use this opportunity to lose the weight Dad always needed to
lose?

“
The issue is
my body needs a multiple organ transplant. Take my kidneys, for
example. I need new kidneys to clean my blood but Doc says I’m not
strong enough yet to go through the operation, so for now I hook up
to dialysis and that machine does most of the job for
me.”

“
Most?” That’s
what I take from his explanation.

“
Yes, most,”
he says.

I don’t want to ask why he
doesn’t need fully-cleaned-out blood. Maybe his medication helps
with that, or something.

A weight, only slight, presses
on my shoulders. Turning back from Darcy, I look up to see Dad.
“You don’t have to worry about your futures. Everything’s set. The
insurance will pay out. Darcy has his trust. There’s plenty in our
assets, shares and estate plan to support you both for the rest of
your lives, so don’t go worrying about worthless things like
money.”

“
Dad!” I
shout-whisper. I shuffle my chair in and lean towards him. “Why
should I be thinking about that?”

“
Because
everyone dies, hon, and your mom and I planned out our funerals and
set up everything you and your brother will need when that time
comes. No worries at all.”

Besides the
“dying” part.
“Which should be in another
quarter century, give or take.”

“
It’d be nice
to live past seventy-five, I suppose,” Dad answers.

That’s when I can’t take
anymore. I hope he’s happy that I’m listening to these details now
but that’s my threshold. I ask Darcy if he wants something to eat
and he says he hates hospital food. So I find the perfect excuse to
get some fresh air. Does Darcy want food from The Crooked Shelf a
block up?

Yes, Darcy would like that.

“
I’ll be back
soon, Dad. Sleep off that silliness while I’m gone,” I tell
him.

At The Crooked Shelf, I don’t
look for food. I step inside the crooked front doors and search for
the blonde cropped hair and tattoo-less, unpierced face that
belongs to the only normal person in here, Elliot.

And boy do I want normal.

I walk up to the takeout
counter and order one blue milkshake with two marshmallows, one
chocolate milkshake with a handful of marshmallows for Darcy, and a
vanilla milkshake without the marshmallows for Dad in case he feels
up to it.

The cashier slaps a receipt on
the counter and says, “Five minutes. You can wait there.”

I say thank you but the lady
with the six-inch spiked mohawk has already left. I sit in a chair
and swear off the ratty mags since half the pages are ripped out
and they’re two years old. Besides, I didn’t come here to read.

The milkshakes take eight
minutes and before they come I watch the push doors to the kitchen,
studying every waiter that emerges from any part of the restaurant,
and even inspecting patrons in case Elliot happens to be sitting at
a table.

He’s not. He’s not
anywhere.

So I pick up the cardboard
carryout tray of milkshakes and carefully balance it to the door.
They almost spill when an electric-blue-haired patron barges in
through the door, but I catch the tray in time, narrowly missing
dumping everything on my leggings, shoes and the floor.

Backing out
bottom first, I nudge open the doors and slip through, turning when
I’ve finally made it out.
That
’s when all three milkshakes go
belly up. Before I know it, I’m wearing at least two of the colors,
Elliot’s wearing all three over his white shirt, and the ground has
caught the worst of it.

“
Oh!” I gasp,
standing there with a cup-less tray, still in shock.

“
Charlee!
Shit, Charlee.” Elliot takes the tray, pushes it onto a table and
takes my bag from me. I snap out of it, looking down, at which
point my legs feel wet again, but it’s so much worse than when I
tumbled in the grass at the cemetery. It’s milky and multicolored
and everywhere beyond comprehension.

Elliot tells me to wait there,
disappears into the restaurant, and comes back out in a couple of
minutes. “I ordered three more for you plus a massive box of our
specialty cookies.”

We sit at a table. People
finally stop staring.

“
Well, hi,
Charlee. I would ask how you’re doin’ but I take it the asswipe who
spilled the drinks all over you just ruined that.” He buries his
head in his hands.

I scoot forward in my seat and
lean over the table. “It was the best thing that happened all
day.”

Elliot peeks through his
fingers, eyes on me. I pull his hands off his face and he watches
me, his eyes scrutinizing my fingers. I don’t know why, but I don’t
let go of his fingers, only twining them more tightly with
mine.

I’m reeling from Dexter’s touch
and I just want someone who’ll want me permanently—and show me.

Elliot leans in too, his scent
coming with him. It’s a normal guy smell. Looking at him, I realize
how lucky I am to have found him because we just click and
everything seems to go right—besides the minor milkshake
incident—when we’re together.

“
Can I kiss
you?” he asks licking his lips.

“
Yes.”

He leans all the way over the
table and meets my lips. They’re soft, and I can taste him, still
picturing his tongue running over them. It’s no movie kiss where we
struggle to grab each other and breathe raggedly but he meets my
lips again and again until our lips separate enough and our tongues
move together.

For someone as cute as Elliot,
I expected…something…something to steal my breath, but I’m just as
calm as I was pre-kiss.

“
Your drinks,
El?”

The mohawked waitress holds out
a new tray with three milkshakes and an equally tall plastic
container filled with cookies. She looks uninterested as I take
them, probably pissed that she had to make my order again. When I
try to hand over money, Elliot’s hand shoots out and blocks me. She
shrugs her shoulders and leaves.

“
On me, since
I caused this.”

I fight back to give him the
money, but decide it’d be rude spilling the drinks again just to
hand him money. And sort of pointless.

“
You know,
this is my phone’s fault.”

“
It’s not
working again?” I say, mocking his pick-up line.

“
It’s probably
working fine but I couldn’t find it for days, which is why I
haven’t called lately.”

“
And you found
it just before you bashed into me?”

“
Precisely,”
he says with a smile, showing a full set of straight white teeth. I
lean in and kiss his lips quickly, while he’s smiling and unaware.
It was a test, and unfortunately, it still did nothing to
kick-start my adrenaline.

“
I promise
I’ll call this time,” he says as I leave.

I don’t tell him that I’ll be
fine if he doesn’t call. I definitely don’t tell him that I feel
like I’ve filled my quota for romance with him, and that I am happy
for a break.

When I get to the hospital, I
find Nana and Pa in the room. They say they’ll leave although they
only got there fifteen minutes ago, and take Darcy home with them.
Darcy takes his milkshake and the container. I take out two cookies
and the two other milkshakes.