I was too tired to even whimper. The medications, bed, the flu: I buckled under the stresses and demands of the past week and shut my eyes.
I slept eighteen hours and woke up on Friday feeling better-ish and also worse. Frustrated. I wasn’t going home today; East vs. Green would proceed without me. I’d been foolish to mark it on my calendar; arrogant to assume I had any control over my life. Just recording the game on the tiny square marked October eleven was asking to be proven wrong. Hope can be the most dangerous emotion, because when it’s destroyed, it’s deadly.
I dozed most of the day, played cards with Dad—reminded him repeatedly to grab my horseshoe next time he went home—worried about how overwhelmed Ryan looked when he dropped me off yesterday, and the fact that Mom had run interference on calls from Ally and Hil but I hadn’t heard from Lauren.
I didn’t want to call her—she was right, the hospital was boring and I didn’t want to be a burden. Plus, I was busy trying to calm an increasingly frazzled Mom. She’d “spent too much time in hospitals lately.” I swallowed the words “less time than I have” and tacked on some mental swearing.
The nurses, and even patient Dr. Kevin, were starting to be annoyed by her endless questions. “How could she get sick? She was just here—did you release her too soon? Have you given her enough medication? The right medications? Do we need a second opinion? She’s okay, right? She will be?”
“Mom, it’s the flu. I’ll be fine in a few days—they’ve explained,” I said with my last ounce of patience. I was in pajamas and Gyver’s cap; her eyes glossed over me without settling.
“Of course you’ll be fine, kitten. I’m just making sure you’re getting the best care possible.”
“We’re doing everything we can,” soothed Nurse Hollywood.
“Well, what can I do?” Mom asked, breaking into loud sobs.
Dad was by her side in two steps. The nurse stepped up also, snagging the box of tissues from my bedside table. I tried to untuck myself from the blanket and untangle my IV lines and join them.
“No one has any idea how hard it is for me!” she cried.
I stopped struggling to get out of bed. “I have no idea how hard it is for you?”
Dad caught my eye. “She doesn’t mean it like that. Let’s go for a walk,” he suggested to Mom.
She ignored us. “I never leave. I spend more time in the hospital than at work. I can’t even plan a dinner without everything going to hell. No one understands.”
Dad continued to try and calm Mom. I stared at the ceiling and locked my jaw to keep my mental f-bombs from escaping.
“It’s not fair,” she cried. “This isn’t supposed to be my life.”
That was my line. She wasn’t allowed to steal it.
“Want to know what’s not fair?” I demanded in a voice I didn’t recognize. “That you think of my cancer as an inconvenience to your life. It’s not fair you get to throw fits and I have to pretend everything’s perfect.”
“Kiddo …” Dad stepped to the middle of the room—an arm stretched in either direction, like he wanted to comfort us both. Or hold us apart. The nurses excused themselves.
Mom paled. “Why would you say such cruel, hurtful things to me?” She inserted herself in Dad’s arms. “Did you hear that?”
“Because they’re true! Your dinner was canceled and you had to miss work. Poor you! This is my life.” I gestured to the wires, poles, and machinery. “I’m sorry it interferes with yours. Maybe you’ll get lucky and I’ll die. Then you won’t have to worry about missing a dinner again.”
The silence was a chasm filled with shock, anger, hurt, and disbelief. Dad bridged it first. “Um. Okay. Everyone calm down. Let’s discuss this—”
“No. I don’t want to talk or even see you right now. I need a break from Mom or we’ll both regret the things I’ll say. Just go home. We’ll talk tomorrow; I need some space.”
“You’re sure?” asked Dad, but Mom was already packing her knitting. “I love you, kiddo,” he said with a tight hug.
Mom was silent for a long time. Pacing the room with her purse on one arm and her coat draped over the other. Finally she paused and pointed a scolding finger at me.
“I know you only said those things because you’re cranky about being sick and missing the big game, so I forgive you.” She paused, but I didn’t look at her or acknowledge her magnanimous gesture. She sighed. “I want you to think about this tonight. We’ll see you tomorrow.” I tried not to flinch when she kissed my forehead. I didn’t exhale until the door shut behind them.
“Rough day?” Ryan asked.
“My mother is a self-centered bitch.” I had no place to direct my anger, so it had only grown fiercer.
He squeezed my hand but judiciously changed the subject. “I got your shirt from Ally.” He draped an East Lake spirit shirt over a chair—it was too fitted for me to wrangle over my pajamas and IV lines.
“Do you think I should tell them? I was going to, but then there was the thing with Lauren and the thing with Hil.” I was weighted down with guilt and itchy with lies. Panic hovered an inch away, looking for a place to land.