What is Love?

by Saks, Tessa

  Ellen couldn’t hold back her smile. “That would be a real treat, should I bake a cake?”

  “Can’t bring ‘em anything ‘cept books and magazine subscriptions. Benny still likes those big truck ones and Bob, you could bring him a couple of girlie ones, good to trade for shit.”

  Ellen’s joke sailed right over her frizzy head. No surprise really. Ellen stood. “I need to go. Thanks for helping … er, Mom.” She leaned over and air-kissed Mrs. Miller goodbye.

  As she set money on the table, Mrs. Miller touched her hand. “I’ll try, baby girl, I’ll try. Say, you got some extra in there?”

  Ellen looked at the bills visible in her wallet, her cab fare home. She needed this woman to help more than she needed to avoid a grim bus ride. She handed most of her cash to Mrs. Miller. “Hey, Mother, how about a lift to the bus stop?”

  Mrs. Miller smiled and downed her beer, then put her arm around Ellen. They left the bar and Ellen climbed onto the bike, her arms wrapped around this tough mother’s waist as they sped to the bus stop on a loud, rumbling motorbike.

  Ellen waved goodbye to Mother and boarded a bus for home. Her thoughts of death ping-ponged around in her head as the bus pulled away from the stop. Her death. Sam’s death. It was real … but who would ever believe it. As the trip home dragged on, Ellen thought of the words Samantha’s mother said as she was leaving.

  “Sammy, I’m proud of you.”

  “For what?” Ellen had pressed, curious what could make her proud.

  “For getting yourself a rich man. I shoulda done it myself. I sold out to love, and look what I got all these years—nothing. Never sell out to love.” Mrs. Miller had taken Ellen by the shoulders and held her as she repeated, “Never. Okay? Promise me? It ruins your life.”

  Ellen had nodded. Every mother’s dream … marry your daughter to a rich man. She held that same dream, except Brianna insisted on love. “I’ll never be in a loveless marriage,” she would exclaim. The underlying message made abundantly clear—never in one like yours.

  Ellen stared out the window of the bus and tried to imagine what would happen. The future suddenly contained more questions than answers, so full of problems and fear. Yet, in spite of all of it, she hoped that no matter what happened … that she would, at the very least, be happy. Why couldn’t she? Why was it always so difficult, so challenging, just to be happy?

  ***

  It had been two days since Brianna’s visit. Sam couldn’t stop thinking about the baby. She hadn’t heard from Jonathan. She rode a roller coaster of emotion as she imagined Jonathan having a baby and getting married. She chided herself for feeling hopeful. A baby. In her body!

  She would never have a baby in this decaying body. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair.

  I should be getting married. I should be pregnant. I should be young. The more she tried to console herself, the worse she felt. Everything was out of her control. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t have anything she wanted … and far worse, everything she ever loved was gone. Anyone whom she ever loved was gone. No friends, no lovers, no family except for Brianna. Thank God for Brianna. She felt more like a sister than a daughter. The irony, Sam laughed—she’d hate me if she actually knew who I was. Despise wouldn’t be a strong enough word.

  And Jonathan. In her heart, Sam believed Jonathan would see “her” inside this crappy shell of a body. Was he really so shallow to only love the outside shell? Sam tried to defend him, but she couldn’t, not anymore. He never really tried to talk to me. He never really got to know me; if he did, he would see, I’m not Ellen. I’m nothing like Ellen. And Ellen—he still judged her based on the past forty years of routine. A habit so deeply entrenched, a set way of thinking, so stubbornly strong, he couldn’t even see his Ellen had changed, had improved.

  Does he treat her, the Sam imposter, as if she were me? Didn’t he notice I was gone? In reality, what was I to him? It scared her that she had truly been just a body, a young body, but only that, nothing more. The exterior far more important than any interior. How could no one notice either of them had actually switched? Was everyone really that blind?

  Sam lay on her bed, staring mindlessly at the ceiling lights, when a nurse came in.

  “Here you go, Mrs. Horvath,” she said, setting the tray on the table over the bed. “Supper and medication time.”

  Sam sat up and pushed the tray away. “I’m not hungry.”

  “Mrs. Horvath, you haven’t eaten for two days. I won’t leave until you eat something.”

  Sam looked at the nurse, who had her arms folded across her chest and the strong look of determination. “It’s your favorite, macaroni and cheese.”

  Sam lifted the lid and looked at it. Her stomach flipped twice. “I can’t.”

  “You have to. You need to take your prescriptions, and they must be taken with food. Here, these first.” The nurse handed her a glass of water. Sam swallowed the pills followed with cool water. Then she picked up a fork and pushed the noodles around, as if looking for something lost. “A few mouthfuls,” the nurse said.

  Sam took a deep breath and lifted a forkful of pasta into her mouth. She closed her eyes. It tasted good … until swallowing, then it landed in her stomach with a heavy thud. She tightened her face. “One more,” the nurse demanded.

  Sam picked up the fork and put one more bite in her mouth. As she chewed, the taste turned from pleasant to bitter. The texture seemed mealy and thick, almost sticky, like wallpaper paste congealed into clumpy blobs. Her throat tightened. She swallowed hard as the lump of food fought its way down to her stomach. Sam held her hand up. “No more. I can’t … I just can’t.”

  “Okay, we’ll try again later.” The nurse said, picking up the tray. “You have to eat, you can’t be all skin and bones.”

  Sam tried to force a smile. “Skin and bones? God, I’m a good hundred pounds of flab away from skin and bones.” She lay back and rested her hands on her stomach. She squeezed the fatty layer, a plump ten-inch handful of flab. No, she’d have to wait awhile for skin and bones. The nurse mumbled something as she took the tray away. Sam was watching the room tilt up and down, then side to side. She closed her eyes to make it stop. She prayed to feel well again. She prayed to feel happy. She prayed to be herself again.

  ***

  Several days later, Ellen sat in the clinic rubbing her stomach. There was something magical about a life growing inside you. She smiled at Sienna, reaching for her hand, “Here, feel … feel a new life.” Ellen put her hand on hers.

  Sienna put her hand on her stomach and closed her eyes. “Nothing, sorry.”

  The ultrasound technician entered the room. “Let’s have a peek at this baby of yours.” The technician lifted Ellen’s shirt and squeezed the warm gel onto her belly. “Have you had an ultrasound before?” she asked, as she spread the clear liquid.

  “Years ago,” Ellen said with a smile.

  Sienna looked at her. “I thought you never did.”

  “Oh, I mean I was here with a friend. She had it done.”

  “Well, let’s see how your baby is doing.” The screen showed a small grey and white shape within a dark oval surrounded by more grey and white static. “That’s the baby here.” The technician pointed to the spot on the monitor.

  “That’s a baby?” Sienna laughed. “It looks like lint on a screen.”

  “See, here … the head and spine. And here … this is the heart.”

  “I can’t believe you can see it already,” Ellen said.

  “Yes,” the technician said, marking points for measurement. “It’s ten weeks old.”

  “Ten weeks? No, it should be seven weeks.”

  “Well, it’s at least ten weeks. It has a thirty-one millimeter crown rump length.”

  “But … that’s impossible.” Ellen looked at Sienna and said, “Grab my purse.” She pulled it up beside her and Ellen rummaged through it, finally pulling out a calendar. “If that’s correct—when was I sick with that bad fever, do you
remember?”

  Sienna looked up at the ceiling as she performed the mental math. “Oh, June I guess. I was away at that stupid audition in Philly and then we went wedding dress shopping … around the twentieth, I’d say.” Ellen dropped the calendar by her side and closed her eyes.

  “We’re all done.” The technician handed her a towel. “Here, wipe the gel off with this.”

  Sienna moved to the chair across from Ellen. “Sam?” she asked as the door closed behind the technician. “What is it? You look as white as that paper sheet.”

  Ellen looked at Sienna. “It’s nothing. I’m just surprised by the dates. Today is September fifth, and if my fever was twelve weeks ago, that means—”

  “You still have time, right?”

  “You saw the baby … it’s already ten weeks …” Ellen let out a deep sigh and collapsed back, covering her face with her hands.

  Sienna got up and sat beside Ellen on the bed. “What are you going to do?”

  Ellen turned away. “I don’t know.”

  “If you can’t go through with it … you know … you could go stay with your mom.”

  Ellen turned and faced her. The thought of having to live with Sam’s mother sent a chill through her body. “I don’t know what to do—what to think. I don’t think I can do it. I know I should, but for the life of me, I just can’t imagine.”

  Sienna reached her arm over her shoulder and held Ellen. Ellen silently hoped things would change. Hoped Jonathan would change. Hoped for a miracle.

  ***

  In the several days since Brianna visited, Sam still hadn’t heard from Jonathan. She lay in bed, unable to move. The vomiting had stopped, but she was weak and disoriented. Her stomach felt raw and punctured. How many times had she been sick in the night? Too many to count. She leaned over and tried to reach for the nurse’s buzzer. It was already flashing. Where the hell were they? She needed to get to the bathroom—now!

  Sam tried to concentrate on something besides her discomfort. She imagined Jonathan coming. He’d see her, realize how cruel he was and take her home. How long had it been since she had seen him? Had he come since she was first checked in three weeks ago? Checked in—hah! A jolt of pain stopped her from laughing. She tightened her arms around her stomach. How had she allowed this? She tried to remember what started all of this. Her mind was full of thick, foggy patches. Sam rolled onto her side. Damn them, where are they?

  She tried to put her feet on the floor, but the room took hold of her and pulled her into it. She could only see black and white crystals dancing in front of her eyes, until the stars stopped abruptly as pain exploded in her head and shoulder. She felt the cool smoothness of the linoleum floor pressed firmly against her cheek. She would sleep now, falling deeper into a soothing gentle slumber.

  ***

  A sharp tug on Sam’s arm woke her. “Oww!” she cried out as pain shot through her sleepy body. Everything was black, her eyes unwilling to open.

  “She’s hurt,” a voice called out followed by other voices.

  “Damn it. Get a gurney.”

  “Here, lay her on her back.”

  “Call housekeeping to clean up this vomit. We better change her. Ellen? Ellen?”

  She felt a hand touching her face, resting on her forehead, a tug on her eyelid and the shock of bright light followed by darkness. Then another try on the eyelid and more brightness.

  “She’s conscious.”

  Sam tried to open her eyes voluntarily. They seemed heavy and immovable. She tried a few more times before finally giving up. “Where am I?” she asked in a faint whisper.

  “You’re in the hospital, you’ve fallen. You may have a broken arm or shoulder. We’re sending you for x-rays. Can you open your eyes?”

  Sam tried again, willing her eyes to open. At first only the right eye responded, then slowly the left. She blinked, several heavy and slow blinks.

  She felt the cool, smooth vinyl of a blood pressure cuff as it was Velcroed around her arm. “Now Ellen,” a voice spoke. “We’re going to take some blood. You have the flu.” Someone attempted to tie a rubber band around her bicep.

  “Oww!” she screamed.

  “Not the broken arm,” a voice yelled.

  “Sorry. Sorry Ellen,” another voice said with some compassion. She felt the rubber on the other arm, below the cuff.

  A nurse came and leaned over Sam. “Ellen, we’re taking you downstairs now for x-rays. You will be on an IV for a few days, alright?”

  Sam nodded. “Where were you when I needed you?” she gasped. Where was he? Johnny. “Call my husband. I need to see him.”

  As they wheeled Sam down the corridor, she prayed that this would bring Johnny to his senses, or at the very least … bring him in to see her.

  CHAPTER 32

  “Thanks for coming,” Rory said, as he turned the keys in the locks, all six of them.

  “That was a great show. I love your work and I think you have a lot of talent.”

  “Well, you do, too. You just don’t trust yourself.”

  The door to his studio opened and he stepped aside to let Ellen enter. Sunlight shone in through large, naked windows. The room was bigger than the apartment Ellen shared with Sienna, and was open, filled with canvases and easels. A worn leather couch sat below the tall windows, while the wall on the left had exposed brick where several large canvases hung from a silver cable. In the middle of the room was a large table with low legs, covered in spilled paint.

  “Is that where you dine?” Ellen laughed, as she pulled her jacket off.

  “Funny. No, on the sofa or over the sink.” Rory pointed to the galley of cupboards to her right, which held the fridge, small stove and sink, then he tossed her jacket onto a nearby chair.

  “And sleep?”

  “Ahhh,” Rory said, his face lighting up in a broad smile.

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  Rory pointed to the sofa. “Another of its many uses.”

  Ellen walked up to the large canvases hanging against the brick wall. “They’re exceptional. I didn’t realize you did such large-scale pieces. These deserve a large gallery, with high ceilings and lots of good lighting.” Her hand touched the canvas. “Such a luminous glaze. I love the texture and bits of metallic leafing hidden beneath the smooth surface.”

  “Come here,” he said and reached for her hand. “I want to show you something.”

  He walked her over to a smaller canvas covered with a sheet, and lifted it. “This is for you.” He revealed a canvas with a portrait. “Call it a wedding present, to both of you.”

  The image was clearly Samantha. “Rory, it’s beautiful. Thank you, and thanks for being such a good friend.” Ellen gave him a hug. “I really mean that, I’ve never known anyone quite like you before.”

  “Sam, cut the bull—”

  “It’s true.” Ellen grabbed his hand and looked directly into his eyes. “You have done something to me, helped me to see myself in a different way, in ways I never imagined. My art sales at the market are an example of that. I never imagined I could take pictures that anyone would want to buy. I have you to thank for pushing me and teaching me. And I don’t know how I would have fixed everything with Jonathan if you hadn’t helped.”

  Rory let go of her hand and flopped onto the couch. “I guess now you have everything you ever wanted.”

  “Not everything, not yet.” She sat beside him.

  “Oh?” His face softened and his eyes looked into hers.

  “I need to decide about the … baby …”

  “Oh, right.” Rory leaned back and put his feet on the low table splattered in paint. “Is that what it is—a baby?”

  “Of course.”

  “Funny … you wouldn’t call it that before. You said it wasn’t a baby until at least five months.” He turned and looked directly at Ellen.

  “What? I don’t understand.” Ellen looked away. “I don’t remember.”

  “Oh, right. I forgot about y
our selective memory.” Rory stood and went to the fridge.

  Ellen looked around at the objects in the room that weren’t related to painting, the Rory objects. In the corner, a bike hanging from its wheels, a bat and glove on a stand next to the door, tennis racquets and a long punching bag hanging from a chain in the corner.

  “You don’t remember?” Rory asked again, as he studied the contents of his fridge.

  “No, I don’t.” Ellen tried to sound convincing.

  “You’ve blocked it.” He grabbed a beer and shut the door. “I don’t blame you. I wish I could, too.”

  “What happened?”

  “You honestly don’t remember?” he asked and turned to her. “Wow.” He opened the bottle with his opener, his head swung side to side as if annoyed by this revelation. “Okay, you told me you didn’t want to have a baby and be a poor single parent … like I wasn’t up to the job.”

  He put the bottle to his lips and took a mouthful, then swallowed, wiping his mouth with his hand. “Then, as if that weren’t enough, you demanded I pay for the abortion.”

  “I did? And did you?”

  “Yes, I did.” Rory moved toward her and sat down. A long silence divided them as he picked at the label on the bottle. Finally, he spoke. “I almost wish you could remember so you don’t do it again.”

  “Do what again?”

  “It! The choice. End a life.” Rory slammed the bottle on the table. “I couldn’t believe how easy it was for you. You just marched in there and four hours later you came out—”

  “Upset?”

  “No.” Rory shook his head with a slight laugh. “No, relieved is more the word. You came out relieved of a huge weight.”

  “But I must have been upset. I mean, I had to be. Who wouldn’t be?”

  “Well, you sure hid it if you were.” Rory took her hands. “Look, I know why you did it. I understand—sort of. You have such high goals, goals that require sacrifice.” Rory sat back, pulling on a cushion behind him. “You need to do what you must do. I mean, he could reject you and leave you. I get that. You with a baby to raise and all … Or, if you give it up and he leaves, then what? I don’t envy you. It’s a tough call.” He punched the sofa arm a few times.