“I want you to meet him,” Julian said to me. He looked desperate and frantic. He kept tapping his left foot. “But I’ve got to say a few things to him first, all right?”
As Julian walked into the hospital room, Debra steered me and Sarah toward a bench in the hallway. Once we were all sitting down, Debra folded her hands and placed them on her lap. She sighed heavily.
“The doctors say it’s going to be up to us to decide. But how do you decide something like that?” Debra pulled a Kleenex out of her bag and dabbed her eyes.
Sarah put her hands on top of her mother’s. “Mom. Don’t you worry about that right now.”
“Sarah, sweet pea,” Debra said, her voice soothing like a lullaby. “That’s the only thing I can worry about right now. We’re gonna have to make that choice, you know? Us. There’s no one else to do it.”
“I know,” Sarah said, resigned.
A few tears trickled down Debra’s cheeks. They pooled into her wrinkles. “How, though? How will we know when it’s time?”
My throat ached. I wanted to cry, but I wasn’t able to. And I wasn’t sure why. Probably because it didn’t feel like this grief—their grief—was mine. That I deserved to share in it.
I was sad. But I was sad for all the wrong reasons.
Sad that I’d never get to meet my grandfather. At least not when he was conscious and present.
Sad that all of them, including my own father, were strangers to me.
“Do you guys want some privacy?” I asked. I stared at the room Julian had entered, wishing he’d come out, but also nervous for him to do so because then I’d have to go in.
Sarah and Debra shook their heads. “No. You’re a part of this family too.”
“I know, but—”
Debra cut me off by squeezing my shoulder. “No buts about it, my dear.”
“I’m just sorry for you that this is the moment we’re all meeting,” Sarah said. When I looked up at her, I saw that her eyes were glossy.
I was grateful for their kindness and how welcoming they’d been to me, but I felt like it would be inappropriate to smile. So I tried to smile with my eyes. “Well, you didn’t choose it.”
“I know,” she agreed. “But it’s so awful. I want to ask you all the normal aunt stuff like your favorite subject in school and what you like to eat for lunch, but …”
“I get it,” I said in a way that I hoped was encouraging.
“I have to ask, though,” she said. “How’s your mom?”
“Good, I think,” I said.
“You think?”
I paused awkwardly. My mind scrambled for a lie, but I was too overwhelmed by the moment to come up with anything good. I managed to weakly say, “Yeah.”
Sarah narrowed her eyes and made a suspicious face. I assumed it was an expression she frequently used on her students. “Taliah, does your mother know you’re here?”
I didn’t say anything.
“Does she?” Sarah pressed.
“Not exactly,” I admitted, staring down at my hands.
Debra moved her hands away from Sarah and reached for mine. “Oh dear.”
I nodded. “I know. It’s bad. But she’d be mad, and I feel like we’ve got a lot going on as it is.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Sarah muttered. And then focused her attention back on me. “But you need to tell her, okay?”
I was about to assure them that I did intend to tell Mom where I was at some point, really sooner rather than later, but before I could, Julian appeared in the hall and motioned for me to follow him.
“Go on,” Debra encouraged me.
“Hey, kid,” Julian said when I reached the doorway. His voice was gravelly and tired, and I know it’s weird to say, but he didn’t really look like a rock star to me anymore. His face was vulnerable. His eyes misty and ringed with red. He looked like a son about to lose his father. “Come on in.”
An anxious feeling tightened in my chest as I stepped into the room. It was smaller than I’d expected. In the middle of the room, there was a bed with plain white sheets. Tom was lying in the bed, still and unmoving. There were several cords attached to him, and a monitor near the bed beeped occasionally in a steady and rhythmic way.
I froze near the doorway. I’d never seen someone so close to death. The drained pallor of his skin unnerved me. And his skin looked dry and was deeply wrinkled. His hands were balled in tight fists.
“‘Years of survival can look awful scary,’” I said aloud without thinking. I covered my mouth. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
Julian grinned sadly. “Drive-By Truckers. Fantastic band. And that song in particular is pretty great.”
Something inside me eased. It was as if Julian felt it because he said, “Music, kiddo. You can’t go wrong with music.”
I smiled with my eyes again, and then glanced back at the bed.
“It’s weird, right?” he said.
“Weird” seemed like such a flimsy way to describe it. It was weird, yes. But also so much bigger than weird.
“He drifts in and out of consciousness.” Julian walked across the room and sat down on the small couch by the room’s window. “When I first came in, he opened his eyes. And I think he saw me, but he didn’t say anything. And then he closed his eyes again and I held his hand for a while. And the whole time, I couldn’t stop wondering if he could feel it. Somehow, somewhere, you know? I just wanted that. That one simple thing. The knowledge that he could sense my presence, my flesh against his.”
He patted the space next to him, and I sat.
“You don’t have to be so quiet, kid. Especially since I don’t think he can hear us right now. The pain medication seems to make him pretty out of it.”
“Don’t say that,” I said.
“What?”
“Don’t say that. You want this moment to count. And it should count. So don’t discount it right off the bat.”
Julian drew his eyebrows together. “Fair enough.” He fidgeted. I could tell he’d been comforted by the idea that Tom couldn’t hear him. Or wouldn’t. It would break his heart later, but it had temporarily taken the pressure off him. I was starting to figure out that Julian was an emotional procrastinator.
We sat in silence for a couple of moments and then I asked, “Did you tell him about me?”
Julian nodded. “Right before I called you in here.”
Tom rustled in his bed. We heard a moan and both of us startled. We leaned forward, watching him expectantly. His eyes fluttered open and a nervousness gripped my stomach. He looked right at me, and there was an awareness in his eyes that caught me off guard.
“Lena,” he said, his voice a low groan.
Julian jumped to his feet. He rushed to the side of Tom’s bed. “No, Dad. This is Taliah. Remember I told you about her earlier? She’s Lena’s daughter.”
“Lena,” Tom repeated weakly.
I was about to clarify that I was also Julian’s daughter, a detail that seemed crucial, when Tom said, “Lena’s nose.” He let out a scratchy-sounding cough and then added, “Thank God.”