Lucky bastards.
“It was only a partial obstruction a few weeks ago,” I explain, and then rub at my forehead with the heel of my palm because sometimes I feel like my entire life has been reduced to telling and retelling these condensed medical narratives. “They just kept her in to hydrate her and keep her comfortable. They thought it had cleared itself up.”
“Well, obviously not,” Tyler says impatiently, and while I agree with him, I also bite back a surge of my own impatience. Because he’s not fucking here; he’s off in Ivy League land publishing bestselling memoirs and fucking his hot wife, and he hasn’t had to spend the last eight months listening to doctors and negotiating with insurance companies and learning how to flush picc lines. I’ve been the one to do it. I’ve been the one to bear the brunt of Mom’s illness and Dad’s stress, because Tyler’s too far away and Ryan’s too young and Aiden’s too flaky and Lizzy’s too dead.
Shit.
My eyelids burn for a moment and I hate that, I hate the feeling of powerlessness and guilt and loss, and I fight it back. I couldn’t save Lizzy, but I can save Mom, and goddammit, I will.
“They think it’s possible it got worse or that it’s a complication from the radiation treatment she had two days ago,” I say after I’ve regained control of my stupid feelings. “It’s a total obstruction, so they’re doing surgery now, and for whatever it’s worth, they’re extremely optimistic.”
Tyler lets out a long breath. “I should come home.”
The million-dollar question, always. What if this was the time? What if this was the time when everything spiraled out of control, when everything cascaded into bleak certainty? Tyler had only been seventeen when he found our sister’s body hanging in the garage, and I knew that moment had scarred him as much as it had scarred the rest of us—maybe even more—and then he’d spent years serving a hollow, absent god in some sort of pointless dance of atonement. I have no doubt that the thought of missing Mom’s final moments would haunt him even more than not being able to stop Lizzy’s, simply because with Lizzy there was no way to know what was going to happen. But with Mom, the inevitability of her death becomes clearer with every passing day. We all know what is going to happen.
Stop it, I order myself with some annoyance. Nothing’s fucking inevitable.
Nothing.
“If you want to come home to see her, I get it, but she’s going to be okay this time. It’s just a laparoscopic thing, and it will be over any minute.”
Tyler’s silent for a moment, and I know what he’s doing, I know how easily his thoughts stray to things like guilt and shame.
“Look, Tinkerbell,” I add, knowing the nickname drives him crazy, “no one blames you for having a life in another state. Mom is super proud of whatever it is you do—”
“Write books,” Tyler interjects dryly.
“—And whatever it is that Poppy does in Manhattan—”
“An arts nonprofit. Do you actually even listen to me when I talk?”
“Sure don’t. So don’t feel guilty for not coming out, okay? If I honestly thought it was time for you to fly out, I’d buy your fucking ticket myself. But it’s not time.”
“My worry is that you won’t be able to admit it to yourself when it is time,” Tyler says carefully. “Much less tell me.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
A pause, and I know Tyler’s sifting through his words, and that pisses me off even more. “I don’t need fucking kid gloves,” I snap. “Just say whatever it is you want to say.”
“Fine,” he says, and I’m a bit pleased to hear that I’ve made him snappish too. “I think you haven’t dealt with the fact that Mom’s going to die.”
“Everybody’s going to die, kiddo. Or did you forget that part of being a priest?”
“Sean, I’m serious. I know you think this boils down to having the best doctors, the best treatments—the most money—but those things might not change anything. You get that, right? That you can’t control what happens next?”
I don’t answer. I can’t. My hand is gripping the phone so hard I can feel the edges of the glass pressing against my fingerbones.
“There’s no agenda for life, there’s no itinerary, there’s no strategic plan,” Tyler continues. “Everything can go perfectly…until it doesn’t, and there’s nothing we can do to change it. There’s nothing you can do to change it. Don’t you see that?”
“I see that you’ve given up on Mom already, and you aren’t even fucking here to actually know how she’s doing.”
“It’s okay to feel angry,” Tyler tells me quietly. “And lost.”
“Don’t do that priest shit with me,” I hiss, pacing across the room, wishing he were here, because I’d hit him, I’d hit him right in his fucking know-it-all mouth. “You’re not my fucking priest, Tyler. You’re not even a priest at all anymore.”
“Maybe not,” he replies calmly, “but I’m still your brother. I still love you. And God still loves you.”
I snort. “Then He needs to try a little fucking harder.”
“Sean—”
“I’ve got to go. I told Aiden I’d call.”
And then I hang up before Tyler can answer, which is a dick move I know, but he was a dick first, bringing fucking God into this. A god I don’t believe in, a god I hate, a god who let one of his priests hurt my sister over and over again, and then instead of comforting her, let her cinch a noose around her nineteen-year-old neck to escape the pain. A god who’s now killing my mother in the slowest, most dehumanizing way possible.
Fuck Tyler and fuck his god, I don’t need either of them and neither does Mom.
“Mr. Bell?”
I look up to see someone in scrubs standing at the door.
“Yes?” I say hoarsely.
“Your mother’s in the post-op ward now, and she’s sleeping, but she’s doing great. Would you like to come up and sit with her?”
“Of course.” And I go to my mother, leaving all of Tyler’s lectures and my anger at God behind, knowing they’ll be waiting for me when I come back.
Chapter 3
Harry Valdman is a selfish, greedy asshole who cheats on his wife, ignores his children, and routinely swindles people out of their hard-earned money—but he’s a fairly decent boss. As long as I bring in lots of money, he doesn’t care what I do or how often I’m in the office, which has been immensely helpful over the last eight months since Mom was diagnosed and I became Son in a Leading Cancer Role. I’ve still been nailing big deals and even bigger clients left and right, even if I’m doing most of my work now from various infusion rooms.
So I assume it won’t be a problem when I leave a message with his secretary that I won’t be in to the office that day, but then I get a call back from Trent the Secretary right away.
“Good morning, Mr. Bell.” Trent the Secretary sounds a little nervous. “Mr. Valdman says he wants you in his office as soon as possible. Something big’s come up and it’s an emergency.”