“Etta baby.” Aunt Viv’s face lights up. “Come on over and meet the doctor who’s been taking good care of your aunt Viv. He even brought me a cup of those ice chips I like so much.” Aunt Viv weakly waves Etta over. Her skin looks ashen to me, but you don’t tell that to a proud black woman; ashy elbows and knees being the sign of poor grooming and all. “Josie, you come over here, too, even though the one time you don’t answer that damn phone is when my life is teetering on the edge. Remind me to change my emergency contact.” Aunt Viv’s collapse has not affected her wit. That has to be a good sign.
Lola gently taps the doctor who is lost in Aunt Viv’s chart, so he’ll turn to greet me. Again with the weird giggle. I’m embarrassed for Lola and this flirty, awkward Catholic schoolgirl thing she’s got goin’ on. You think you know your best friend . . .
“Josie, this is Dr. Golden, the incredible cardiologist on call who has been helping Aunt Viv since she was checked in. He was able to get her out of the ER and onto the cardiology floor quickly. Dr. Golden, Josie Bordelon is Aunt Viv’s niece. They live together and Josie is Viv’s primary caretaker. I’m just the loving and dedicated best friend available for all birthday parties, child-rearing advice, and family crises.”
“I don’t need a caretaker, you watch your language,” Aunt Viv scolds Lola.
Shocked to see that Golden Boy is Aunt Viv’s doctor, I say the first thing that pops into my brain, “The last time I saw you, you weren’t wearing any pants.” The room drops dead silent.
Golden Boy, as it turns out, is a golden cardiologist. If I had actually taken the career conversation carrot he had dangled in front of me at the vegan food truck I would have known that. Lola is standing right behind him subtly thrusting her hips and licking her lips. No joke. Here we are on the UCSF cardiology floor with Aunt Viv confined to a hospital bed and Lola is thinking about grindin’ up on the doctor.
“The ex–track star turned director of admissions. Do I have it right?” Dr. Golden inquires with a grin.
“Well, there are a few other details before, during, and after those two life events, but more or less, yes, that’s me.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Josie.” Dr. Golden bypasses my hand and goes in for a hug. Over his shoulder I see Lola’s eyebrows shoot sky high. Later, I mouth.
“Not sure it’s that nice to see you again under these circumstances,” I say, cutting to the chase, but instead, come off sounding like a complete biatch.
“Of course. Let’s talk about today.” Dr. Golden’s smile disappears and he returns to the information on Aunt Viv’s chart.
“Good Lawd, Josephine, that’s no way to talk to the man who saved my life. You will have to excuse my niece, Dr. Golden, she left her manners I don’t know where. Josie, do you need to go look for those manners I taught you that you’ve clearly misplaced somewhere between the parking garage and comin’ on up in my room?” Lola and Aunt Viv have forgotten that we have gathered in this aseptic hospital room to diagnose why Aunt Viv collapsed at school, not to marry me off. Nor do they yet know that their efforts are futile.
“Dr. Golden and I know each other because he and his HUSBAND are applying their daughter to Fairchild,” I explain, scanning the room to make sure eye contact and complete understanding of the situation has been achieved with every female in the room. Lola drops her head in defeat. I know she had high hopes for this one.
“Uhhh yes, that’s right, we’re trying to get Gracie into kindergarten at Fairchild.” Dr. Golden seems to be growing increasingly uneasy in the company of four women stuffed into this tiny hospital room. I don’t know if it’s estrogen overload or if he has some really bad news to give us.
“I know more about medicine than I do about kindergarten, so I think I should stick to my area of expertise. Since Daniel’s running the kindergarten admissions show, I’m going to focus on your aunt Viv.”
“Excellent idea,” I say as I brace myself, desperate to hear that Aunt Viv is going to be okay.
“Your aunt Viv had a mild heart attack. Nothing that a couple weeks of rest and some lifestyle adjustments won’t help. Limiting stress, a healthy diet, an aspirin a day, and regular exercise will do wonders to decrease the chance of another, potentially more serious, heart attack.”
“You mean so that it will never happen again, right, Dr. Golden?” Etta asks, cautiously speaking up. She is tucked in tightly next to Aunt Viv. I know she’s praying that if she hugs her long enough nothing bad can happen. Etta has been doing that with her stuffed elephant since she was little. I choke up again; my whole life is clutching on to each other in a twin-sized hospital bed. None of us is ready to break up the Bordelon girl band on this particular Tuesday afternoon.
“I can’t say never. When there has been one heart attack the chances are increased of having another. What I can promise are lower chances of it happening again if you follow my instructions and take good care of yourself, Vivian. No going to work for the rest of this week or the next two. And when I see you for a follow-up appointment I want to hear all about how you are going to incorporate exercise and more fruits and vegetables into your daily routine.” Golden Boy affectionately squeezes her left foot. Clearly the good doctor does not know that Southern women of an older generation are allergic to exercise.
“Well, that’s not gonna work for me. Tomorrow is tacos and corn torte at school, all the kids love it. I even have fresh kiwis for dessert.” In fifty years at Fairchild, Aunt Viv has made every single lunch, except for two, for the 820 children. And those were my fault, temperamental appendix when I was ten. “Oh and then next Friday I’m caterin’ the heads’ monthly lunch meeting in Grierson Hall. The prosciutto and Gruyère quiche is not gonna make itself, and our head of school insists on it.” What doesn’t Nan insist on when it comes to her need to be the lead show dog? Does she really think the other Heads of School care what quiche is served? Or does she think that by serving Gruyère instead of common man’s cheddar she will establish some perverse private school dominance that is profoundly important to her but inexplicable to anyone else? At least there’s comfort in knowing Aunt Viv must be feeling okay because her constant state of ornery is pushing back hard over kiwis and quiche.
“Nor are you going to be making it, Vivian,” Dr. Golden insists, his eyes trying to bore a hole through Aunt Viv’s thick skull. Medical tough love trumping the scrappiest lady in town. Swoon.
“Are you going to come make it for me then? Those hands of yours don’t look like they’ve seen much time in a kitchen cookin’ food and scrubbin’ dishes.” Aunt Viv is not going down on our couch for the next three weeks without a fight.
“I will if I have to, young lady. And I’m sure Josie would be willing to help me cook if that means we can get you to stay home and rest. Josie, how are you in the torte and quiche department?” Golden Boy comes and stands next to me, looking for us to join forces in this argument that he has mistakenly picked with Aunt Viv.