“So sorry . . .” Steffi is getting weaker. “So sorry I wasn’t better. Smart enough to know . . .” She looks agitated, as much as she can now. “I should have said yes. Chosen you.”
“No.” Cal’s voice conveys only intense sincerity and gentleness. “No. You did what you could. You made the choice that you felt was right at the time, and no one could ever fault you for that. We get why you couldn’t trust us. Joan and I get it.” He rubs a finger under his eyes. “That doesn’t matter. What matters is that we are a family. Okay?” He forces a smile. “Do you hear that we adore you? That you’re our daughter? Because that’s the truth.”
A new level of comprehension and acceptance sweeps over her. I can see it. I can see that Steffi takes in their love.
“Thank . . . you.” Steffi shifts a bit, clearly in pain. “I love you both, too. I do.” She hits the morphine button.
When she settles and looks my way, I find myself shifting to another emotional state, to a new kind of peace, to a harbor where there is nothing but the two of us. The sterile, monotone, scary hospital room recedes into nothingness.
It’s coming.
I crawl into her bed, laying my body next to hers. She has always held me, but tonight, I hold her.
“Allison . . .”
“It’s okay, Steffi. It’s okay.”
“Before I forget . . . there are some things I have to tell you. Final things.”
Inside, I scream. I rail against this. But I won’t let her hear that. “Anything.”
“My ashes. I don’t want . . .” She struggles for breath. “I asked for ashes. But I don’t want to be in some gross urn. We clear? You scatter my ashes in the ocean.”
“I’ll do anything you want.” Emotionless, I’m about the practical now. I have to be. “California or anywhere?” I touch her hair. “Simon and I are going to the Cape or the Vineyard this summer. Would you want that?”
There’s a long pause. “The Vineyard. That’s perfect.”
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
“And—”
“And Cal and Joan will come with us, yes,” I say for her. “Yes.”
“Absolutely,” Cal says.
She squeezes my hand lightly. “Esben.”
“Him, too,” I confirm.
“Not . . . sad. Okay?” Steffi looks at me with hope.
“No, we won’t be sad that day, my beautiful girl,” Joan answers when I cannot. “We will celebrate how much joy you brought us all. It will be a day of celebration, not of tears.”
Steffi looks peaceful after those words, and her eyes grow heavy. “After this. When I’m gone. You’ll be okay, though, right?”
“I will,” I promise her. “Do not worry about me. Please don’t. I will miss you forever, but I will get through this. You told me to be brave, and I can do that.”
“Promise?”
“Yes.” I hate lying to her, but I have to. “The only thing that matters right now is that I love you. And that you trust that I am strong. It’s time for you to trust that, okay? Steffi, you are my heart, and I will always love you. To the goodnight moon and back. Always and forever.”
She breathes through the mask for a while. “I’m so tired . . . Allison? I just want to sleep for a little,” she says behind the flow of oxygen. “Do you mind?”
“You sleep as long as you want.”
Slowly, she looks at Cal and Joan and then back to me. “You’ll be here when I wake up? I’m so sorry . . . I just need a little nap.”
“We will be here when you wake up.” Because I have to be a rock right now, I do not cry when I say this. “We will be here. So, you sleep, Steffi. Just sleep. And have beautiful, wondrous dreams.”
Steffi smiles a little, then taps her mask, and I lift it. “My mom and dad came,” she says in a whisper.
“They did,” I agree.
My frame is pressed against hers, and I know what it means that Steffi’s nurses don’t move me from my position. Cal and Joan are both bent over the bed, their love a blanket, flowing smoothly over her, around her.
Steffi is so devastatingly weak now. “Love you . . . moon and back.”
She sleeps, half waking too many times. But mostly she is unaware over the next hours that pass, and it’s all that I could ask for. I’d hate for her to be cognizant. She would hate to be cognizant. So, Cal, Joan, and I just stay with her. That’s all we can do.
When she can’t, I adjust her oxygen mask.
When she can’t, I hit her morphine drip as much as is allowed.
When she can’t, I talk and tell her she doesn’t have to. I tell her that I know and feel it all. And that she should, too. That it’s okay not to talk anymore. That she is my forever friend. That she is Cal and Joan’s forever daughter.
For a time, she just sleeps and breathes. And then, finally, she sleeps and doesn’t wake again.
I’m glad that she misses the end. That she’s not awake for the moments before her death.
And when the monitor sounds, when her breathing stops, Joan and Cal and I are all holding her.
She does not leave this world alone.
She leaves this world whole.
CHAPTER 30
THE WORLD HAS CHANGED
It’s just after eight in the evening when I wake in a hotel room, disoriented and numb. I’ve been in a hard, dreamless sleep, and it takes me a few minutes to remember where I am and what has happened.
I should be crying, feeling something. But I am utterly emptied. It’s some warped form of bliss to find myself in this state. It must be misguided and delusional, I know, but it’s a blessing.
Esben is in a small armchair, looking weary as he scrolls through his phone. He glances up when I throw back the sheets and sit up in bed. “Hey. How are you doing?” He comes to sit beside me. “Dumb question, sorry.”
“No, it’s fine.” I rub my eyes. “I’m going to take a shower. Are you hungry? I’m starving. We should eat.”
“Sure.” He tries to touch my leg, but I move away. “Whatever you want.”
“We’re supposed to go to In-N-Out Burger. I promised her,” I say diligently.
“Okay. Then that’s what we’ll do.”
I plod to the bathroom and shut the door. I strip down and look at the pile of clothing I’ve left on the floor, resolving to burn it when I get home. My clothes and my body smell like death, and I didn’t bring anything else to wear. It’s only crazy determination that makes me stand up straight and look in the mirror. I want some idea of what I look like, a baseline from which I must rise. My reflection is shocking. I don’t look like me, and not just because of my puffy eyes and matted hair. I just don’t look like me. Maybe I won’t ever again. Not after last night.
The tile in the shower stall seems off, the water that sprays over me feels too sharp, and the smell of the shampoo and soap makes me want to gag. Everything is wrong. Everything, I know, will always be wrong.
This fact is not alarming to me, though. It’s just a fact. Cut and dry. So, when I finish my shower and dress in my tainted clothing, I do so calmly.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Esben smiles weakly at me. “You ready? There are about six locations within spitting distance from the hotel.”