He didn’t meet her eyes.
“Come on, Kitty,” he said, not meeting hers, either. “You’ve got a flight to catch.”
“Cliff—” my mom started.
“No!” my dad barked, and she caught her breath.
Then, in slow motion, he reached down for Kitty’s suitcase, walked over to slide the car keys out of my mom’s purse, and left the room without a word.
My mother’s legs collapsed from under her, but Kitty caught her and steered her over to the bedside chair.
“I’m sorry—I’m so sorry,” Kit said. “I’ll talk to him.”
My mom lifted a trembling hand to her mouth.
“It’s going to be okay,” I said. “We’re going to fix this. He loves you.”
Kit had a flight to catch. She met my eyes. “You’ve got this, right?”
I nodded, though I wasn’t at all sure that I did. “Don’t miss the plane.”
Kit came my way and squeezed me tight. “Call me if you need me.”
“Not if,” I said, “when.”
“At least you’re not bored,” Kit said then.
“Maybe we’ll all be better for knowing,” I said. But as I glanced at my mother, now catatonic in the face of what had just happened, it was hard to imagine how.
*
MY FATHER DID not come back for us after the airport. In my whole life, he had never ever not been there when I needed him.
But I got it.
He sent a car service instead.
It took my mother twice as long as anyone could have predicted to pack up and dismantle the décor, and the driver waited in the hall in his driving cap.
My mother, it’s fair to say, couldn’t seem to focus.
I tried to issue suggestions and encouragement from the bed, but she wound up walking around the room, picking things up randomly and setting them back down. She’d pack a few things, only to lose focus and leave others behind in the cabinet.
Meanwhile, nurses and patients popped in and out, saying good-bye.
I didn’t expect to see Ian, of course. Myles probably had security set up around the perimeter. But, despite all the pressing drama of the day, I couldn’t stop looking for him. I hadn’t gone a day and a half without seeing him since we’d met.
The day was a parade of all the faces I’d come to know these past six weeks: farewells from the social worker, and the hospital psychologist, and Priya, and Nina. I saw the spinal surgeon and the dermatologist, and the insurance rep, and two of the orderlies. It was almost like I’d been at summer camp, and now it was time to say good-bye until next summer.
It took forever to go. Then we hit warp speed.
Next, I was rolling over the threshold of my parents’ house, over the new ramp my dad had built for me, mentally thanking him and praising his workmanship while trying to staunch the flow of despair in my chest.
But when I rolled my way into the living room—there was my dad.
He froze when he saw us, and dropped his gaze to the floor. We froze, too.
He had an unzipped duffel bag in one hand—his pajama cuffs and part of a toothbrush sticking out, like he’d been trying to get out before we made it home.
“Hi, Cliff,” my mother said, almost in a whisper.
But my dad just turned his head away and waited for her to leave.
She did, moving past us back toward their bedroom.
Once she was gone, he met my eyes.
“How ya holding up, kiddo?” my dad asked, squatting down in front of me.
I looked at my dad’s duffel bag. “You’re heading out?”
He gave a nod. “I hope that’s okay.”
“I get it,” I said. “I do.”
“I just need a few days. Clear my head.”
Of course. That didn’t surprise me.
But pretty much everything else about that day did surprise me. How much I missed Kitty already, how strange it felt to be “on the outside” again, how simultaneously comforting and terrifying it was to hear the front door close behind me.
My childhood bedroom was a surprise, too. After my dad left, my mom wheeled me right to it, as if to move on to brighter topics. She had redecorated. She pushed open the door and voiced a quiet “Surprise!”
She’d replaced truly everything—my trundle bed with the pink dust ruffle, my floral upholstered chair, my curtains, my rug. Everything old was gone—stuffed animals, photo albums, books, clutter, posters.
“Where is everything?” I asked.
“In storage tubs,” she answered. “All the keepsakes, anyway. The furniture I set out on the curb—and it was gone in two days.”
It was good and bad—both at the same time. She’d taken away the comfort of all those old familiar things, but she’d also taken away their ability to remind me of my old life. This new room was like a hotel. Roman shades in linen, a chaise longue by the window, a hundred pillows on the bed. A mirrored chandelier. Spare, and done in tones of her favorite color, “greige,” a cross between gray and beige. It was tranquil and sophisticated and utterly unfamiliar. It looked like a magazine.
“A new room for a new start,” she said.
I had to hand it to her. She had great taste. “Well, this is definitely a best-case scenario.”
“And Dad can bring all your old junk in for you to sort through whenever you like,” my mom said. Then she remembered and took a shaky breath. “If he comes back.”
“He will,” I said. “He just needs some time.” Then, because it made it seem like we were almost doing him a kindness, I said, “We can give him that, right?”
She nodded. “We can give him that.”
My mom lingered at my bedroom door for a good while then, unsure if she should leave me alone. “Well,” she said, after a long silence. “I guess I’ll let you get settled.”
I sat very still for a long time. Twenty minutes? An hour? Maybe I was in shock. All I know is, I couldn’t grasp how on earth my life’s path had led me back here. I couldn’t think about the past, but I couldn’t see a future, either.
When the doorbell rang, I wondered if it was my dad.
But a few minutes later, my mom clicked down the hallway, swung open my door (without knocking), and presented—of all people—Ian.
I think she said something prim, like “You have a visitor.” I feel like she might also have offered Ian a wine spritzer, which he declined. All I remember was the sight of him.
Because as soon as I looked up, I was alive again.
Ian Moffat was in my bedroom. In a blue T-shirt and button-fly jeans.
“Hello,” he said, after my mother left, hooking his thumbs in his pockets and looking around. “Nice place.”
I didn’t know what to say. I had no idea why he was here.
“I’ve come to apologize,” he said then, shifting his weight. “I think I’ve made your life harder, not easier—though that was never my intention.”
I waited.
“I just wanted to help you get better—as much as you could.”
Okay.
“I should never have let myself care for you the way I did.”
I looked up. “You let yourself care for me?”
But I suddenly felt like I’d focused on the wrong part of that statement. Ian didn’t answer. He studied the rug.
Right then, a foolish little hope lit up somewhere in my heart. Maybe that’s why he’d come. Maybe now that I wasn’t his patient anymore, we could—what? Hang out? Kiss again? Date? Be together?
“I’m also here,” Ian added, “to share the news that I’m officially fired. Myles submitted it yesterday.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”
“Both.”
I smiled.
He went on, “I will miss it, though.”
“Are they going to take away your license?”
“Yes.”
If he lost his license, he lost his visa. “Does that mean you have to leave the country?”
He paused a second on this one, walking over to sit down on the bed beside me. “I think so. Yes.”
I blinked. “They’re making you leave? The government is going after you?”
He shook his head. “Myles is going after me. And he’ll win, too.”
“You’re not going to fight him?”
“There’s nothing to fight. It’s over. Your sister posted it on Instagram.”
“Oh, my God.” I put my hand over my eyes. “Kit.”
“It’s not her fault,” he said. “I kissed you in front of a hundred people in that room. It was hardly a private moment.”
“But it wasn’t your fault! It was the mistletoe!”