“Your lovely daughters are here,” Nurse Brynner said. She was just as warm as ever. Unlike my mother, she seemed healthier than before. As we entered, she whispered to me, “Maybe you can talk some sense into her.” I had no idea what she was talking about.
When she saw us walking in together holding hands, Mom looked pleased. We sat down by her bed. She seemed to be resting well and no longer in pain.
“It’s mostly just dehydration,” she said, as if that was an explanation for her condition. “I’ll get back on my feet soon.”
“Dr. Newton doesn’t think so,” I said. I guess I had lost all my reticence in talking to Mom the way I used to. Courtney was horrified.
“Don’t speak to her that way,” she said.
“I’m just saying there’s more going on than that,” I responded, defending myself.
“Well, you don’t have to talk about it now!” she demanded. I thought she might start screaming at me, and I winced a little. I could see Mom knew what was going on. It was like she always knew what went down between Courtney and me but was just so messed up in her own life she couldn’t acknowledge it.
“No Court, sorry. Lisbeth is right,” she said. “There is something we need to talk about.” I braced myself, terrified at what she might say next.
“I told the doctors and the nurses and everybody that I don’t want a transplant.”
“Are you crazy?” Courtney said. Now she was really angry.
“I don’t deserve it, Court. They shouldn’t waste an organ on me.” I could tell she had been thinking about it for a long time. “A transplant isn’t like other operations. I’ve seen the patients that need them and how difficult the surgery is. There’s a terrible shortage of organs, and many people who are a lot more worthy than me are waiting for them. I’ll just do the best I can.”
The wind seemed to go out of Courtney. I was devastated, too. We didn’t know what to say. I listened to the various medical monitors beep and whirr, making a symphony of sadness in the room.
Slowly, I found myself trying to unravel the logic of what Mom was saying. I knew she was trying to do something noble. It seemed selfish of me, but I was starting to get mad that she was bailing on us. Sure, it was the “good nurse” in Mom who was trying to do the right thing, but she was giving up on us, too.
“It’s not fair,” I said determinedly. “You’re saying that we’re not worthy. I know I fucked up royally. But I need you more than ever—Courtney and Ryan, too. Nan for that matter, not that you ever think of her.”
Mom looked at me astounded. Courtney didn’t know what to make of it. I’m not sure Court understood what I was trying to say. She was so used to being left behind, and although she was always mad about it, in some way she expected it.
“I can’t sit here with you,” I said. “If this is the way it’s going to be, I’ve got to go.”
68
I expected Jess, but I hadn’t dreamed that Jake would show up with her.
I mean, Jake was an effin’ rock star practically. I was surprised that the press wasn’t following him. Of course, by now my story had been replaced with other headlines, like the one about Kim Kardashian dancing with Kanye at a Miami disco even though she’s eight months pregnant with another baby. The TV news vans and reporters’ cars were no longer hanging outside the house.
Jess and Jake sat down on the couch in the living room. I couldn’t help realizing that when I was younger we never sat in the living room. I never spent any time downstairs if I could help it.
Jess was wearing all black. Since the runway show, she had dropped out of FIT and become even more devoted to her fashion line, if that was possible. Judging by her clothes she had definitely made the transition to being a city dweller. After all, in New York City black is always the new black.
Jake wore his usual jeans and flannels, which kind of pegged him as dated, in a Seattle grunge kind of way. But it suited him. With his dark hair and smoky eyes he seemed different, too, even more “Jake,” his presence bigger somehow. I guess that’s what happens when you get to quit being a waiter at a cheapo diner and dedicate your life to your music. My friends Jake and Jess were moving on with their lives, as opposed to you know who.
“How’s Nan?” Jess asked.
“She’s more upset about how angry Grandpa would have been that the bracelet he gave her is sitting in a federal lockup somewhere than anything else,” I said. “On the plus side, an old NYPD sergeant in the precinct where they questioned her said that she had the nicest smile he’d ever seen from someone not high on something and asked her for a date.” Jess and Jake laughed.
It felt unbelievable to be sitting so close to Jake again, watching him. I kept flashing back to the Talkhouse, where he leapt around the stage like a panther, ripping the music out of his guitar like it was a screaming beast. That song of his started repeating in my mind.
“Is she here?” Jess asked. “It’d be so cool to see her.”
“Nah, she’s at the hospital with Mom,” I said.
“And your mom?” Jake piped up. He caught me looking at him, but I averted my eyes, worried I’d fall apart if I actually met his glance.
“She hates that she’s crossed over to the other side of the bed rails. I think the problem is that she’s flat-out scared of all the stuff that can go wrong in surgery. She keeps telling us these horror stories from her years on the ward, about catheters that kink, wrong medicines being prescribed. She’s a mess basically.”
Jake just sat there staring down at his shoes, pretty quiet. I didn’t know what else to talk about. I was starting to feel really pathetic.
“Thanks for getting me fired at the Met, by the way,” Jess said.
“I’m sorry. I kind of screwed things up for everybody.”
“Just kidding, actually. I was going to quit anyway. I think they transferred Myers to the Met Museum Design Store at Newark International Airport, Terminal C,” she said, smiling. “So what’s next for you?”
“Just waiting to see what the court does. Pretty much being at the hospital all the time, seeing if Mom gets a transplant and cooperates, trying to make things up to Nan. Thinking about college, I guess.”
Jess gave me a woeful look and I could see Jake fidgeting.
“You know, Lizzy,” Jake said finally, as if he were lifting a heavy weight. “I asked to come along with Jess to see you because I wanted to say that I know you’re in all this trouble for what you did but I think it was actually pretty cool. You lived your dream. It’s got to count for something.”
Same old Jake—sincere, earnest, heartfelt—but I couldn’t stand it. He was being supportive like always, but I couldn’t look at him. After all, I blew it. I didn’t see how to put a good spin on that. I wanted to ask him how Monica was. That would have been the civil thing to do, but I couldn’t.
“Thanks,” I finally stuttered out. “So how’s the big-rock-star tour going?”
Jake excitedly went on about the cities they were hitting and everything about the tour bus and the band. I didn’t really hear any of it.
For some reason I couldn’t help thinking about the final scene in Roman Holiday, when Audrey faces the reporters and she and Gregory Peck share that unspoken feeling between them. They shake hands, pretending as if they never met, even though he’s been the love of her life, and then she leaves him alone standing at the rope, gazing at the empty spot where she was last. After everyone is gone, he leaves, taking the long, endless walk out of the palace hall, contemplating what might have been if life were different.
But life isn’t different. And there I was, still thinking that everything in my life was like a scene from an Audrey Hepburn movie.
I realized Jake had stopped talking moments ago, and I felt awkward. Jess piped up to fill in the uncomfortable space.
“Have you checked Limelight recently?”