We nod and follow her into the elevator, where it’s finally quiet except for Millie’s muffled sobs. The floor my Papa is on is even worse; it’s as still as death (no pun intended). The nurses’ footsteps are like silk on marble—quiet nothingness. They float like ghosts or angels of death, and I want to sink into one of the waiting chairs and cry, cry until my tears are fresh out and I can face my Papa without feeling like someone’s just gutted me with a knife.
We enter his room on feet that pitter-patter loudly in the darkness. Papa lies on the bed, hooked up to machinery and an IV, his breathing shallow and broken. He looks skinnier than I remember, just from yesterday. So it can be one of two things: Either I haven’t been noticing his slow decline, or it’s a trick of the light.
I let Millie and Astrid go ahead of me, their blond heads looking pale and dull in the wan hospital light coming from the corner lamp Mama switches on. They sit on either side of him, fingers lightly touching his arm, his hands, his cheek. I stay back, my heart pounding, and lean into Tom as he wraps his arm around my shoulder.
“You okay, Beef?” he whispers.
“No.”
“Neither am I.”
I shudder. “I don’t understand. Look at him—I’ve never seen him look so small.” Now I’m crying good and hard, drawing deep breaths to try to keep myself stable. Tom tucks me into his arms and whispers something to me through my messy hair, and I’m pretty sure he’s telling me it will be okay.
But we both know that’s a lie.
I get home, kiss Millie and Astrid goodnight, and lock my door behind me. I kick off my shoes and slide beneath my covers and close my eyes. But while my body is exhausted, my mind is wide awake. I’m imagining the events of today, again and again and again, Levi and painting and fighting and my Papa hooked up to machines like he’s dying.
He is dying, I remind myself, and the tears come again.
I almost text Levi to beg him to come over or just talk to me on the phone, distract me from my fears. But there are three things that stop me.
First: the memory of his expression, the look of utter disappointment on his face when I wouldn’t tell him my name, when I didn’t have a reason. When I let fear get the best of me.
Second: He still hasn’t replied to my text.
Third: The last time I got news about my papa, I was in Malibu with Levi. I remember the weightless feeling I had that night when I kissed him for the first time—it’s the exact same feeling I had when I kissed him tonight for the hundredth time. I also remember what it felt like, afterward, to be told my father was in the hospital because he’s dying.
Both times, this happened. The guilt is beginning to plague me. Should I have been here, with my family? What am I missing out on by doing everything with Levi? These could be my papa’s last days, and I’m off having a good time with my boyfriend.
I shudder, because I don’t want to think about Levi, because thinking about him means thinking about our fight (oh-God-we-had-our-first-fight-and-it-was-terrible) and my guilt and everything I haven’t done right.
I shudder a second time because I know what I need to do now.
I dig through my purse for my phone, barely finding it in the dark, and wipe my eyes free of tears as I unlock it.
There she is: her number, her name. Her picture. I waste no time in pressing on it, but my heart still skips several beats inside my chest.
“Hello?” she answers, after so many rings I thought she’d never pick up. Of course, I’ve woken her from her sleep—it’s three in the morning there. But she’s answered, and she’s here, and that’s all that matters.
“Gretchen,” I say, barely managing to keep the crying under control. “I have something I need to tell you.”
Chapter 38
I’m a mess. An absolute, unprecedented mess.
Gretchen tells me I’m not as I text her throughout the next day, but the facts still stand: I’ve cried seventeen times in the last twelve hours; I’ve only eaten gummy bears from the candy bowl at work all day; I dropped a vase in front of a customer; and I charged Velma Hastings, our most frequent and esteemed customer, three times for her arrangement.
But, while all of that is terrible, I keep coming back to one thing: Gretchen forgave me.
That’s all that matters, I tell myself gently, sweeping up the glass shards at my feet. She forgave me and she loves me, I think, popping another gummy bear into my mouth. She cried with me on the phone and ate ice cream with me…virtually, I continue to rant to myself, and start crying again.
Eighteen times. Yep, I’ve been counting.
After work, I head back to the old TCP office. It’s weird—I haven’t been back since we first visited the new house. It looks the same because we still have two months left on the lease and this is where Levi has his interviews, but I feel like it should be empty and barren.
The back room is packed full of volunteers when I step inside, so loud that I almost put my hands over my ears. Albert and Missy are shouting at each other about some movie that he loved, and she hated, and Elle is laughing, and the twins are whispering in the corner. And Levi—Levi is at the desk in the back, signing some papers, shaking his head. Laughing.
He finally replied to my text earlier this morning, with an Of course we can talk and I love you and Can’t wait to see you tomorrow. So I’m not mad at him, except I can’t quite get over his laughter in the midst of everything.
I’m still reeling from yesterday’s fight, from the news—and from my conversation with Gretchen late last night. In the grand scheme of things, I know Levi and Gretchen love me. But I can’t help but think that the world is fragmenting around me (or maybe I’m fragmenting from within), while Levi has enough joy and comfort to laugh.
Elle notices me by the door and distracts me from my thoughts by poking me in the arm. Then she wraps me in a hug. “You all right?”
I nod, breaking my stare. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.” (I hate that I sound weepy.) “We’re here for you,” she whispers, swallowing hard.
“Thanks,” I whisper back. Then, “Hi, Levi.”
He sees me and stands, almost tripping over his chair trying to get to me, consequently making me smile for the first time all day. He huffs, but he still looks happy. “It’s not my fault my legs are so long.”
I can’t talk, so instead I just dive into his welcoming arms because they’re there and they’re open and I love him.
“Hey, is everything okay?” Levi looks down at me, his eyebrows furrowed with worry.
“No,” I whisper.
He grabs my hand and we escape the stuffy room into the hall. (Albert and Missy are loud.) “Do you have news?” he asks when the noises are muffled.
I nod, burying my head in his chest. “The cancer spread,” is all I say, but obviously that’s enough.