by Ayesha Patel
I jerked away, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Pree, what happened?”
I didn’t reply and tried to walk past him. He took hold of my elbow and brought me back. He kept trying to look into my eyes, his head moving as I turned, until he held my chin in place and lowered himself to force eye contact.
“Babe, talk to me.”
I shook my head out of his grip and lost it. I yielded to sobs again, not even to the front door yet.
Ty wrapped his arms around me and kissed my forehead. “Pree.”
I shook my head fiercely. “I have to go.”
“Where?”
“Austin.”
“You’re gonna drive?”
“I have to go now.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“Not necessary.”
“You’re going to get into an accident if you can’t see or think straight. Come on.” He flung the backpack over his shoulder and led me outside. “You gonna stay a few days?”
“Yes.” The word came out shaky.
Getting out of Houston was a nightmare while I silently cried. It wasn’t until we were on I-10 that I managed to control myself. I no longer sobbed, but the tears wouldn’t stop.
On the country road, wide open at this time of day, Ty rested his hand on my thigh and squeezed. “You don’t have to tell me, but I’m here if you want to.”
I cried some more. A few minutes of crying tired me out, an entire thirty minutes knocked me out. I dozed off and on until we reached 290. Ty had his hand on my lap and the music turned low.
“My mom’s really sick, Ty.”
“Babe, I’m so sorry. Let me know if I can do anything for you and your family. She’ll get better though, right? Things will be okay.”
“I don’t think so. It’s really bad.”
“What happened?”
“She’s struggled with diabetes and stopped taking medication after our fight because it depressed her even more. She got really sick and passed out a couple of times and my dad took her to the hospital. Papa said the doctors don’t think she’ll make it,” I choked out. “Because of me.”
Without saying a word, Ty took my hand and squeezed. I never knew what to say when friends, coworkers, and acquaintances lost loved ones. I offered generic condolences. Some people said God called for an angel, but that was pure BS. Others offered their own religious or personal beliefs—resting in heaven, reincarnated into a higher being, asleep to be resurrected later in a perfect world, etc. It didn’t ease the pain or stop the suffering. Even people of the most devout faith and spiritual strength broke down.
Ty didn’t believe so much in religion, though he believed in some form of higher power. I wasn’t sure how he viewed death and the afterlife and found myself waiting for his failed words of encouragement. He never commented on it.
Whenever I hiccupped toward crying, he squeezed my hand.
“Which hospital?” he asked when we turned onto I-35.
Reading the information Papa had texted, I replied, “The one by their house.”
Ty followed my turn by turn directions and drove around once before stopping at the front entrance. “You go while I find parking.”
I nodded. He ran a hand down the back of my head and pulled me in for a brief hug.
“Room four-twelve,” I muttered without looking at him.
In my heightening swell of emotions, I climbed out of the car and somehow found my way to the right set of elevators in a teary mess. I didn’t care if people looked at me, or how little kids stared the way they did when they knew something was wrong with a person but knew better than to say something.
I concentrated on breathing, too shaky and numb to text Papa. People stepped on and off the elevator at every flipping floor. When it finally chimed on the fourth level, I pushed through. Maybe someone huffed, but one look at my swollen eyes, and they immediately offered a sympathetic, almost pathetic, expression.
The elevator opened up to a broad waiting room. A few people paced the area, others sat. Some ate, some read, others nervously twiddled their thumbs.
This hospital was large, clean, and smelled fresh. The stench of death, medicine, and chaos didn’t linger in the air. Doctors and staff appeared calm, professional. At this time of day, when lunch carts huddled against the walls, the hallways were crowded. Large paintings hung on the walls. Tall shrubs grew in corners and nooks.
Room four-twelve kitty-cornered the waiting room, separated by one other patient room. The door was cracked open. I inhaled and stared at the numbers for a few seconds, trying to rebuke the tears and forcing them to stay put.
“Can I help you?” a nurse asked.
I shook my head.
“Are you here for Mrs. Patel?”
I nodded. My lips quivered and my fight waned. I tried not to hate the nurse when she placed a hand on my shoulder. She didn’t say anything, just walked away, and I was glad for that.
Maybe I waited for a long time, unsure if I was more afraid to find Mummie dead or being here to watch her die.
Ty touched the small of my back. “Do you want me to go in with you?”
“No.”
His chest deflated with a defeated sigh.
“Because this is a private moment,” I added. We both knew my parents didn’t want to see him after what happened, but the truth was just that: this was a private moment.
“I’ll wait out here.” He went to the waiting area.
I pushed open the door to find all the fois and fuas on the chairs and standing against the wall. They muttered and conversed but fell silent when I entered. Their eyes glimmered with hints of tears. I heaved and compressed my indignation. Why the hell were they here?
Ignoring them, I went to Mummie’s side. Papa watched me from the other side of the bed as I took her hand. Oxygen tubing was in her nostrils. Her dry, parted lips remained still. Her eyes glazed over.
“Mummie,” I whispered as I crouched down.
Mummie squeezed my hand and turned toward me. “Beti?”
“How are you feeling?” What a dumb question.
“Nothing hurts anymore, just my heart.”
Tears slid down my face. I swallowed, my throat dry and raw.
“But you came.”
“Of course I came.” We weren’t a family who verbally expressed sentiments, so it had always felt awkward to utter the three most important words in life. But I didn’t feel weird saying, “Mummie, I love you. Don’t leave me.”
Mummie patted my head with a weak hand. “It’s my time.”
“No, it’s not.”
More people arrived, mainly those from mandir, annoying me. The room was small, and they didn’t have the right to take away these last, precious moments with Mummie.
“Can you all please leave?” I asked.
“We’d like to be here,” one foi said.
I shook. Adrenaline pumped so hard through me body that it literally ached. “Don’t you have some gossiping to do?”
They were appalled, as if my words were a physical slap. They must have known about my decision to be with Ty, which would have fueled their gleeful ammunition at Mummie. What she must have suffered for my deeds. They surrounded her now when she needed peace the most.
I looked to Papa to take a stand, but he was lost in torment, his gaze fixed on Mummie’s pale face.
“Please leave,” I said in a firmer voice.
“Beti,” another foi said, taking a step forward and wiping a tear. An emotionless tear.
I effing lost it. “Get the hell out, now.”
My behavior shocked them. Sweet, obedient Priya, who had lived a life sheltered from her beastly aunts, snapped. For once, I spoke out against my elders. For once, I put my foot down, made a stand. For once, I didn’t give a crap about what they thought or what they would say about Mummie as a reflection of my actions. Maybe I should have stepped up before, despite Mummie’s adamant pleas against it. Maybe then they’d know not to screw with us because I wou
ldn’t put up with them.
I glowered at them as they nervously chuckled under the watchful eyes of those from mandir. “Forgive her, she’s in pain,” a foi said.
“You hurt her enough. You’re not going to hurt her again. Get out.” I took a step forward. Those from mandir emptied out first, but not fast enough. I grabbed all the purses in the room and dropped them outside. The family shuffled out and I closed the door behind them before dragging a chair to the bed and taking Mummie’s hand.
“My girl,” Mummie mumbled.
I rested my forehead against hers and wept.
“Don’t cry. I’ll be in a better place, right?”
“But we won’t. You’re not supposed to leave us yet.”
Papa leaned over Mummie and hugged me from the other side. Papa never cried. I had seen him at his parents’ deathbeds, their funerals, and memorials for friends, and he had never shed a tear. He was hardcore and never wore frail sentiments on his face. Yet now, he bawled and shook over his girls. And together we cried, our faces red, the sheets damp with tears.
Mummie coughed and we eased away to give her room to breathe. “Beti, promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“Take care of your papa.”
“Mummie,” I groaned.
She coughed again.
“Save your strength.”
“There’s nothing to save it for. Promise me, Priya.”
“I promise, but you have to fight.”
Silence overwhelmed us as Mummie shivered. Papa drew the blankets closer to her face and tucked her in. I held her hand beneath the covers.
We wept off and on for a long time. Mummie didn’t say anything, and the eeriness of the quiet room made the situation even more devastating. Her vitals dropped by the end of the hour. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket, but nothing else mattered right now.
Mummie convulsed, and we drew closer to her in panic. The nurses ran in without being summoned. I stepped aside and turned to Papa, who held me. He pressed my face against his chest so as not to see Mummie like this.
One nurse reached up. She had the code blue button in sight, but Mummie breathed again. Her heart rate returned to normal. The nurses fixed the pillows around her and checked her fluids and tubing, then gave us a comforting nod and left.
“Priya,” she groaned.
I fell over her. “Mummie, I’m here.”
“One more promise.”
“Anything.”
“Don’t waste your future. Please marry Manuk,” she begged with her last breath.
“Mummie…”
“Promise me these two things.”
“I promise.” How could I say no? How could I argue?
“You’ll be happy and successful. That’s all I ever wanted.” And then she was gone.
The machines went off with loud, haunting beeps as she flatlined.
I quivered and stared down at her. Mummie looked at me with half-open eyes, a partially opened mouth, her hand still wrapped around mine.
Death. It hovered over every hospital and lingered around every patient. I had seen it many times, and my eyes had welled up with sadness for people I didn’t know and for their weeping families. Death had finally affected me in a way I didn’t think I could survive.
I turned rigid as nurses moved around me, bumped into me, asked me to step aside. Papa grabbed my shoulders and jerked me back, but my stare never left Mummie’s face. The world slowed down. The pulse behind my ears muffled all the noise. Reality slowly settled in.
Mummie was dead.
The best mother in the world had died in one, excruciating moment. The woman who had protected me, nurtured me, loved me, laughed with me, was gone. Mummie wouldn’t wake up one day and call me to scold me for choosing Ty. I couldn’t stalk the house until she spoke to me. She’d never get over my decision.
Reality punched me in the chest. I groaned, stumbled back, and fell into a chair. Two effing months had gone by without talking to her. Two effing months Mummie had hated me. Two effing months she’d been depressed and hurting. And where the hell was I? Sleeping with Ty. Giggling with Ty. Living life with Ty. All this while Mummie had suffered because of me.
Mummie had once told me she was immune to pain. No one could hurt her except Papa or me. Papa never would, but me…
I hated myself.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Priya
The nurses offered condolences of little value. They removed the IVs and tubes, and pulled a sheet over Mummie’s face.
“Please take your time,” they said and left.
But I knew the staff didn’t want us to take too long. They couldn’t say so, but a hospital always needed another free room. Mummie had to be transported to the morgue soon, then a funeral home, if not straight to the funeral home. We had to make arrangements.
Papa sat beside Mummie’s still body. He wept over her when the door closed. Her death, his crying, everything about this broke my heart, which wasn’t whole to begin with.
“I’ll give you some time,” I said, but he didn’t budge, didn’t glance at me.
I stepped out.
“Sweetheart, can I do anything for you?” one of the nurses asked.
“Funeral home.”
She nodded, left, and returned with a brochure. I barely skimmed over it when, to my complete surprise, Manuk and his parents hurried toward me. Madhu, in her awkward way, hugged me while Deepak patted my head.
“Can we see her?” Deepak asked.
“No.” It was difficult to push words through numb lips.
They didn’t seem to expect that answer. Manuk gently asked, “Is it too late?”
I nodded, staring at his collar, which was at eye level. His mother clasped a hand over her mouth and quietly cried. His father led her away.
Manuk gave me a bouquet of white roses. I gaped at the color. White symbolized purification, a new beginning on the foundations of one life ending. Death.
He was so tall that he hovered over me. “I’m so sorry, Priya. Can I do anything? Arrange the funeral, pay for cremation costs?” He saw the brochure. “Call the funeral home?”
I gave him the paper. His words astounded me. “Why?”
“Priya.” He rubbed my shoulders. “This is not something you have to suffer through alone. You and your dad are suffering. Let me help in any way I can. My parents have gotten close to your parents over the past years. Let us help.”
Even after I’d refused the engagement?
“I’ve been busy and traveling for work. I haven’t even had time to text you or hang out. I’m sorry. I wish I’d known she was sick.”
He had no idea about my refusal.
“She felt so strongly about us getting married. I don’t see why we wouldn’t still, and supporting you in this time is my first priority.”
Such loving words. Mummie had picked a good man. She hadn’t pushed just any man on me, but one who could take care of me financially, love me, respect me, try to make me happy.
“Priya…” He stepped forward to hug me, but I stepped back.
“I’m sorry. I appreciate the gesture, I’m just not comfortable with touching.”
“I understand. Please, let me help you.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“You don’t have to be proud.”
“You don’t have to push the matter.”
“Sorry.” He held the brochure. “I’ll make the call.”
“Thanks.”
He rubbed my shoulder, the only physical way of comfort I allowed. “At least she brought us together and blessed our union before she passed. She was a wonderful woman, and I always knew that.” Manuk pressed his lips together sympathetically and met his parents at the far end of the waiting room.
From my peripheral, I caught Ty standing within hearing distance, his mouth dropped open. Crap! I could not deal with this right now.
I turned to duck back into the room, but he was in front of me in three long strides. I co
uldn’t meet his eyes, just watched his throat. “She’s gone.”
He moved to hug me, but I jumped back. “Don’t.” I spat the shaky demand, a lump so tight in my throat, it was a miracle I could even speak.
“Babe.”
I shook my head and infuriating tears fell. “I’ll lose it. Just please don’t.”
He swallowed. He didn’t ask about Manuk or push the matter. “Let me do something.”
“There’s nothing to do right now.”
“The mortician is on his way.” Manuk appeared to my left. He nodded at Ty, who clenched his jaw and stuffed his hands into his pockets.
Ty had a fire burning in his eyes. It held so many emotions, pain and sympathy for me, and anger toward Manuk. I could tell he wanted to say something to him, to shove him aside and stand as my white knight to take care of me. Maybe he even resented me a little for not keeping him at my side.
“Thanks.” I took back the brochure and pushed open the door.
Manuk took a step forward.
“Don’t. This is a private moment.” I closed the door and returned to Papa, who hadn’t moved from Mummie’s side.
I sat with him with an arm around his shoulders. He jerked every now and then between quiet sobs.
When the mortician arrived, the nurses came in with him. He discussed things with Papa, who sobered up enough to make decisions. Everything continued in a deadened blur.
The mortician and his assistant brought in a stretcher, laid Mummie on it, covered her, and drew a thick blanket over the four sides. She looked like a box, not a body. People wouldn’t know, wouldn’t get upset when they pushed her down the hall.
We followed them.
When we came out of the room, Tyler stepped forward. “Tyler?” Papa asked.
He shook Papa’s hand. “I hope you don’t mind, sir. I know you don’t want to see me, but Priya was in no condition to drive.”
“Thank you for bringing her here safely. You’re welcome to spend the night at our house.”
What? Well, Papa was gracious. He’d rather mourn in peace than snap at Tyler, who could easily be seen as the core of all his woes.
“I’ll be busy with arrangements. I’m sure Priya could use a friend to talk to.” Papa sounded dead, hollow, robotic.
His trail of thought continued to confuse me. Maybe he had come to terms with my decision, but he must’ve known that Manuk and his parents didn’t know, which meant they were under the assumption the engagement and wedding would go on as planned.