Down the hall, to her study, she went over to the drinks cart and poured a glass of scotch. Downed it and shuddered at the searing path it traced down her throat.
Kenzie poked his head in the doorway. “How are you holding up?”
“It’s … always a surprise.”
“Yeah…” A conflicted smile. He stepped into the room and closed the door.
“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” If only she could return to the earlier elation of seeing her son. Instead, all she could think of was her mother, painted to hide her frailty and eminent demise.
“I never know what to expect on January first.”
“You and me both, kiddo.” Her nod was sluggish, unsure. “It’s surreal to see you all grown up again. The last time we met was … complicated.”
“Complicated. I swear, sometimes I think that’s really what the C in my initials stands for.”
A shared tired smile.
“I like the new hair.” She pointed to the bleached tangles. “What about the music blogs? You still freelancing?”
“A little. I’ve cut down on assignments since Madeleine got sick.”
“Right.” She uncapped the decanter, refilled her glass. “Want some scotch? Doesn’t feel right to drink champagne tonight.”
“It doesn’t, but I’ll pass on both. I’m too sad to get shitfaced. You might want to take it easy, too. I know it’s tempting to drink until you get numb—”
“Oh, but that’s the thing. I’m numb now. I’m drinking to feel something. I should be bawling my eyes out, hysterical. But…” She waved a hand across her face and blinked rapidly. “Nothing. I’ll cry over a paper cut, but not my dying mother. What kind of an asshole am I?”
“Come here.” Kenzie took the glass out of her hand and hugged her. She buried her face in his furry vest, wanting the soft fabric to smother her. “There’s no right or wrong way to react to something like this,” he said. “Not crying doesn’t make you an asshole. You’re just in shock. The tears will come later. Knowing you, maybe sooner than later.” He gave her a playful nudge.
Bobbing her head, eyes vacant, Oona stepped back from the hug and took a deep breath.
I don’t want to know.
But she needed to know. “Cancer?”
Kenzie nodded. “Lymphoma.”
“How much time does she have left? Months? Weeks?”
“Weeks, hopefully.”
The two words together were jarring, like a fist slammed against a piano. What was hopeful about living mere weeks?
“The best we can do now is help her manage the pain,” he said.
“Is she in a lot of pain?” I should be in pain, too. Oona wanted to slap, scratch, pinch herself—anything to feel less disconnected.
“Madeleine is a strong woman, but this disease is a motherfucker. It’s wearing her down. We’ll want to keep her suffering to a minimum.”
“What does that mean? We’ll feed her a morphine milkshake if the pain becomes too much?”
Kenzie stared her down, his eyes dark and unflinching. “If we have to, yes. We considered sending her to this resort off the coast of Peru where some people spend their last days, but Madeleine decided she preferred to be close to home. A hospice nurse comes in every day, but it might get to a point where her palliative care falls on us.”
“Oh…” The alcohol had begun its blurring trick, but also made her limbs feel heavy. “Well … I’m glad you’re still around.”
“Good, because I’m living here now. Don’t worry, I know you like your privacy, and I’ll stay out of your way when you want to be alone.”
“I don’t want to be alone.” Her mother would be gone so soon. The thought left her on the precipice of a dark chasm. “Did I leave myself a letter?”
Kenzie looked down. “No. You tried writing one a bunch of times, but could never find the right words. So you decided it was better to say nothing and make the most of the time left.”
“I guess that makes sense.” She reached for the bottle of scotch, but set it back down. “What can I do?”
“There’s stuff I’ve been trying to take care of on my own, because it was hard for you. But … it’s getting hard for me, too. I’ll need your help with certain things.”
“Of course.” A dark wave engulfed her. Am I ever a good mother to my son? “Is her will up-to-date?”
“That’s one of the things.”
“And … funeral arrangements.”
“Yes. But we don’t have to get into any of that tonight.”
“Okay.” Tamping down the quiver in her voice, she spoke with calm determination. “I’ll help you with anything you need.” How much had she burdened Kenzie with last year? To say nothing of other years. “Last year must’ve been horrendous.”
He tipped his head side to side, considering. “The last couple of months weren’t so hot. Seeing Madeleine get sicker was awful. Then there was the presidential election—wait until I fill you in on that shitshow—and 2016 had some other low points. Losing Bowie, Prince, and Leonard Cohen sucked—”
“Wait, they’re all dead?” Her eyebrows shot up.
“Yeah, that was a brutal ‘Rule of Three.’ But on a personal level, overall, last year was pretty epic. You made sure of that.” He gave her a nod of approval, a flicker of light and warmth that she clung to in the dank darkness.
“What did I do?”
“As if I’m gonna tell you. But you did good, Mom. Real good. Now come on, let’s go downstairs for some cake and éclairs.” He tugged on her arm, but she remained immobile, staring at the empty fireplace.
“I wish this could be a happier reunion.” If only there was an actual fire sizzling and crackling, even though it wouldn’t warm the cold in her bones. “I wish this wasn’t going to be a terrible year.”
29
It was a terrible year.
And then it wasn’t.
The weeks leading up to Madeleine’s death were dull, oppressive, and downhearted. Every day there was a little less of her as the illness tightened its grip, her abdomen swollen and skin yellow, liver failure making her unable to eat. Unable to sleep without heavy sedatives, waking up disoriented in a pool of her own sweat. Oona was desperate for her mother to live, but this wasn’t living. It was a multipronged horror in which she was waiting out the clock on Madeleine’s suffering, while dreading each minute in case it was the last.
“Look at it this way, my dear girl,” Madeleine said one evening, through parched lips. “You’re going to see me again, maybe even on your next leap. We’ll have many more years together, and you won’t have to live through my death again. Think of it as getting the worst out of the way.”
“And what about the years I have left without you?” Her voice a raspy whisper.
“They’ll be peppered in with the years you do have me. It’ll be easier in some ways. If you were living a normal person’s chronology, I’d be out of your life forever. At least you’ll be able to look forward to seeing me again. And when I’m not here, you’ll have Kenzie.”