She stomped on the papers that flew the farthest away, while reaching for the largest clump next to the car, not wanting any to blow in the winter breeze or tumble into one of the slushy puddles dotting the parking lot. She scurried to collect them all, finding a brown paper grocery sack in her backseat to hold the ruined accordion file and stray papers. She didn’t want to, but she’d have to stop and replace it—her mother’s lecture about not taking immediate steps to fix her clumsiness practically echoed in her ears already. But, then again, she’d need to stop for flowers anyway.
When her mother had had her appendix removed ten years ago, Gina had arrived without a bouquet. Her mom lay on the hospital bed waiting for the surgery prep to begin. Vicky already sat at her side in the only visitor’s chair.
“Hi, Mom. How are you?” Gina had leaned in to kiss her cheek.
Her mom rolled her eyes.
“Why did you even bother to come if you weren’t going to bring flowers? I taught you better than that.” Gina met Vicky’s eyes over her mother’s horizontal body, conveying all she needed to know. She had screwed up royally. “Victoria brought me some, even if they are carnations.”
Sure enough, a cheerful arrangement of lilies, fern fronds, and carnations sat in the window nook.
“They’re not all carnations, Mother,” Vicky said.
“I suppose it’s too late to say they’re from the both of us,” Gina joked, hoping to gloss over her mom’s ire with humor.
“That would be even worse. If anything, you should bring extra to fill up this drab room.”
And that was the core of her mother’s life philosophy—always make sure you present your best side at all times.
Which was why Gina purchased a ridiculously overpriced gift box decorated with a colorful Noah’s Ark scene. It was the only container they had in the hospital gift shop that would hold all the papers. She didn’t want to make additional stops, and she had also bought two bouquets of stargazer lilies and combined them in one opaque green vase. One bouquet had seemed too scant.
Carrying the overstuffed vase, the crammed overnight bag, the brown paper bag stuffed with papers, the Noah’s Ark box, and her purse, she arrived at the emergency desk out of breath and sweaty, even though the temperature outside was well below freezing. As she joined the short line of worried faces and grumpy children, Gina fretted she was being too optimistic to think that her mom would even need any of this stuff. She probably shouldn’t have even stopped at the gift shop. She should have come straight to the emergency room and not worried about disappointing her mother with flowers or a torn folder. Besides, she had been a disappointment all her life, she was used to it. What if her mother had died while she debated over roses or lilies? Surely missing your own mother’s death while shopping was the greater sin.
At last she was at the front of the line. She felt ridiculous, like the camel from the ark had shown up at the reception desk.
“Hi, I’m Gina Zoberski. My mom was brought in by an ambulance. Her name is Lorraine Price.”
The woman hunt-and-pecked the information into her computer. Gina hadn’t typed that slowly even when she’d learned in high school, but she stuffed her irritation down.
“A nurse will be out to get you as soon as there is any information.”
“Right. Thank you. I’m sure she’s fine, so sorry to bother you, but do you know if she’s all right?”
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I can’t disclose that information, even if I did know—which I don’t. A nurse will be out when there is any information to share.”
Gina nodded and forced a smile. The woman was just doing her job. Surely the nurse would be right out.
“Thank you.”
She nestled into a chair as far as possible from the other waiting people. With each passing minute, she became more and more convinced she should have come straight over. How long would she have to wait? Would Vicky be waiting around, or would she demand to be let in?
Vicky.
She hadn’t called Vicky. In the rush to pack her mom’s bag, dash to the hospital, and, of course, buy flowers, she had completely forgotten to call her sister. Gina dug her phone from her purse and gathered her thoughts as she waited for Vicky to answer.
“What did Mom do now?” she answered followed by a sigh.
“Vic, she’s in the hospital.” Gina took a deep breath, gave the news time to sink in. “I don’t . . . I don’t really know what happened.”
“Start at the beginning.” Vicky’s voice became all-business, acknowledging this was not the typical bitch-about-Mom call. Thank God for Vicky.
“She didn’t answer my calls, or the door, so I used my key. I found her on the floor trying to reach the phone—or the coconut oil, it’s hard to be sure. She couldn’t move or talk. Vic”—Gina dropped her voice to a whisper—“she’d peed herself.”
“Did the EMTs see her like that?”
“No, I was able to clean her up and put her in a skirt.” The seriousness of the situation started to pull at Gina. Her voice shook. “Our mother is in the emergency room, and I don’t know what’s wrong with her. No one’s told me anything yet.”
“Do you at least have flowers?”
“Of course.” They paused in their conversation. “I had to find her end-of-life documents. What if this is her end of life?”
“Gina—don’t be dramatic.” Vicky’s voice was so no-nonsense, she could have been explaining to her daughter why she couldn’t wear her princess dress to school. “Mom will outlive us all. I’ll find a sitter and get up there as soon as I can. Jeff can be in charge for a few days. Which hospital?”
“St. Al’s.”
“I’ll text when I’m on my way.”
“Thanks, Vic. Love you.”
Gina ended the call and held the silent phone in her hands. She should let May know. Knowing she wouldn’t answer a call, she sent a text.
Grandma in hospital. Not sure when I can leave. Aunt V is on her way. She can pick you up if you want to come.
Gina didn’t expect a response, and she didn’t get one. Seconds, then minutes, ticked by. Maybe she should insist she come to the hospital—not give her a choice.
“Ms. Zoberski?” A businesslike nurse stood by the entrance to the ER, her tone the same as the ladies behind the deli counter calling out the next-to-be-served number, but she lacked the solemnness of someone about to give bad news. That had to be a good sign, right? “Gina Zoberski?”
“Me. That’s me. Coming.” Gina gathered the assorted items, shoving her phone back in her purse. Truthfully, she didn’t have the energy to think about both her mother and her daughter. One thing at a time. Tomorrow, she’d deal with it. She started a mental list.
1. Bring May to hospital to visit.
The nurse waited patiently as she juggled the flowers and bags and led her to a room where her mom lay on a hospital bed, wires leading to several different machines. Her clothes had been replaced with a worn hospital gown, and a skimpy blanket covered her. Everything about her seemed thin, from her hair to her skin to her lips pressed together even in unconsciousness, as if Lorraine had sensed the poor quality of the hospital linens. She passed judgments even in a coma.
“Thank you, so much. Is she asleep?” Gina stared at her mother, her arms already aching from keeping the flowers in the crook of her arm.
“I’ll let Dr. Patel update you.” A tiny part of Gina eased. She knew Dr. Patel—they would be in good hands. “If you have any insurance papers, or power of health care forms, we’ll need them. Someone will be in to help you get all the admission paperwork filled out.”
Gina dumped the bags on the floor and set the flowers on a small counter, making sure the bouquet’s best side was facing the bed. Questions popped into her head, but she didn’t want to bother the nurse as she flitted about the room checking the machines. By the time she found the courage to speak up, the nurse had left her alone with her mom. She expected some beeps, maybe a whir, but all the machines were eeril
y silent, working their magic without a sound. There were two hand sanitizer dispensers stuck to the walls—a not-so-subtle hint to de-germ. She released a blob into her palm and rubbed the foam between her hands until it evaporated. A ghost of a smile twitched at her lips as she remembered the days when May referred to it as hanitizer. Little May would have loved the never-ending supply of hanitizer. Gina marked it as her happy thought for the day, something she could use to cheer herself up if needed.
Lorraine appeared comfortable and content—maybe she was overreacting and by the time Vicky arrived her mom would be complaining about the lack of flowers and scolding her for snooping through her condo. Gina settled into the corner chair and pulled over the rolling table. She should make use of the time and at least do something that might be helpful. After setting the Noah’s Ark box in front of her, she began to empty what hadn’t fallen out of the accordion file, making one large pile she’d sort later.
The uncertainty of her mother’s future threatened to pull her into the emotions she kept carefully tucked under her smiles and lists. She had to focus on what needed to be done, not on what she couldn’t do. Gina pulled a notebook and pen from her purse and got to work.
1. Sort documents into new box.
2. Fill out admissions paperwork.
3. Change guest room bedding for Vicky.
4. Prep coffeemaker for a.m.
5. Update Grilled G’s website.
There. Maybe she couldn’t make her mother better. She couldn’t wake her up right now. She couldn’t make May answer her phone. But she could make a list.
CHAPTER FIVE
May didn’t even glance when her phone choo-chooed. That was the sound it made when her mom texted—a train whistle. It made it easy to ignore messages from her mom and still read the ones she wanted, not that she got many.
May wrapped a blanket around herself and wandered from room to room in their home, walking in circles, dragging the blanket train behind her and leaving a trail on the dusty floors. She would never give her mom the satisfaction of knowing, but being home alone was super boring. She ate another brownie.
Her phone dinged. It didn’t choo-choo. But it only ever choo-chooed. She raced to the kitchen table where it sat, sliding on her stocking feet to see who it was.
It was a text from Connor Patel.
A text from Connor.
Connor.
What r u doing?
Connor Patel wanted to know what she was doing. She couldn’t tell him she was dusting the floor with her blanket cape, watching YouTube, and eating bacon caramel brownies. What would an interesting person do while home alone on winter break? Remixing songs or painting or practicing guitar, something effortless and not dorky. Those all sounded cooler. But, then again, she didn’t know anything about guitars to fake a conversation if he asked. She thought about the engine in the garage, her last real project, but the memory was too sharp.
She should call Olivia. Olivia would know what to say. But they hadn’t talked outside of school in months. She’d have to handle this on her own. Her thumbs twitched above the letters as she figured out her response. Okay.
Watching videos and making bacon brownies.
Ugh. That was such a dumb answer. She should have made up something, but his response was almost immediate.
I like brownies and web antics.
OhmyGod. Oh. My. God. Did he mean what she thought he meant? Did Connor Patel want to hang out? With her? A part of her, way down deep where she used to frantically anticipate a new Pixar movie or Santa Claus, stirred, slow at first but picking up momentum until actual butterflies took flight. In just a few seconds, her irritation with her mom seemed more like mild annoyance, the day was less boring, and she had no idea what would happen next. May was excited.
I can share.
Her chest thumped as she waited a few seconds for his response. The emptiness and loneliness from earlier was gone, replaced with Pop Rocks in her stomach.
Cool. Be over in 20.
May dropped the blanket and stared down at herself, taking in her rainbow leggings and old T-shirt. She couldn’t face Connor in this. Racing to her room, she grabbed her best jeans and a blue sweater from the clean pile of clothes. She shook them out and sniffed quickly. These would do. Her body felt like a Katy Perry song come to life. She ran from room to room looking for what to do, but accomplished nothing. No time to shower, she managed to brush her teeth, wash her face, and pull her hair into a bun on top of her head, so it looked casually messy. She slathered on her favorite strawberry lotion and lip gloss just as a knock sounded at the back door.
As she opened it, a flash of worry burst in her conscience—her mom didn’t like it when she had people over while she was home alone—not even friends like Olivia, let alone a boy. If Mom found out, May would definitely be in trouble. Maybe she should send a quick text, just letting her know what was happening. Then she thought about how her mom didn’t even bother to make her get dressed that morning, or even get out of bed. If she really cared, she wouldn’t have left May to fend for herself. She pushed the worry away and opened the door to the cutest boy at school.
Connor Patel played baseball in the spring and performed in the school play in the fall. He was athletic and artsy and smart. He was in all the advanced classes the school offered, and volunteered at the Humane Society on the weekends. Actually, she didn’t really know about that last one, but he probably did—or maybe he spent time reading to the elderly at a local nursing home. He was literally perfect. His dark brown hair swooped above his forehead, his long lashes brushing his cheeks and framing his understanding eyes, one dark brown the other a warm blue. His family must have traveled somewhere tropical for winter break because his skin was more tan than usual. Both his parents were doctors at the nearby hospital, so when they had the time off to travel, they went big.
The collar of his navy-blue winter coat was pulled high around his ears against the cold wind with his hands shoved deep into the pockets. They usually had a bunch of the same classes together, ever since middle school started, so she’d seen him sprout from short and scrawny to taller than she was in just a few years. His lips were a rosy peach that matched the cold-sparked color on his cheeks, and they smiled wide when she opened the door.
They’d always been friendly, especially in elementary school, but ever since her dad died, she didn’t really talk to many people, and now he was standing on her doorstep all of a sudden. “Come in. Did you walk here?” she asked, nervous in the best way.
He stomped his snowy feet on the rug and nodded. They both lived on the east side of Wauwatosa, not far apart, but far enough that it wasn’t a fun walk in midwinter.
“I may have cut through a few yards to make it shorter.”
“Do you want some hot chocolate or tea to go with your brownies?”
“Hot cocoa. Do you have marshmallows?”
He unzipped his coat. Underneath it he wore a sweatshirt for Tosa (short for Wauwatosa) East High School, where they would both be going next year. She could see a white T-shirt peeking out from underneath. She liked the way it looked against his smooth brown neck. Her cheeks warmed with the thought, and she hoped he didn’t notice.
“Plenty of marshmallows.” She looked at the floor, praying her blush would fade.
Taking his coat, she hung it in the front hall closet like her mom did when guests visited. When she returned to the kitchen, he stood in the middle, studying the pictures on the fridge.
“It smells amazing in here,” Connor said.
“Bacon makes everything better.”
He laughed a little and turned back to the picture. Why did she say something so dumb? He probably already regretted coming over. May warmed the milk and stirred in extra powdered chocolate mix from a large yellow tub, heaping the cup with marshmallows. Connor leaned in closer to study one of the pictures, the one from a few years ago when she, her mom, and her dad had gone to their church picnic. In the picture, she was ten and wearing a w
hite sundress covered in mud, and her dad and mom were almost as dirty.
It had rained that day—no, poured. She could still feel the mud squishing between her toes. Her mom had been volunteering in the beer tent, and May and her dad had been playing the carnival games when the storm hit. It had been one of those summer rains that felt like a warm shower and drenched you before you had time to find shelter. Her dad had picked her up and run—not in the direction of a tent, but into the baseball field on the edge of the parking lot. He stopped on home plate and said, “Race you around the bases.”
She was giggling even before they started running, and the laughter only made it harder. The mud was slippery, and as she turned the corner on third, her dad obviously letting her win, her heel hit a slick spot and she went down. Her eyes widened in worry because she was now absolutely covered in mud. Instead, her dad slid down right next to her, laughing.
“You missed a spot.”
He smeared some mud on her nose.
“You missed a spot, too,” she said, making a streak on his forehead. The falling rain washed some of the mud off, but they would only replace it, laughing so hard her sides hurt.
When the rain stopped, her mom came out from under the tent carrying a roll of paper towels and with a face as dark as the sky.
“Mom looks mad. I ruined my dress.”
“Nah. Sometimes you have to get a little messy. Even Mom.” He winked at her, then stood. When her mom finally reached them, he gave her a big hug, wriggling against her for maximum mud transfer. May jumped in the middle, squishing her mom in a hug against her halfhearted protests. The picture was taken a few moments later. Why couldn’t Dad still be here instead of Mom? The thought pulled her back to the present, shocking herself with the horror of what she had just thought. She blinked, almost missing when Connor spoke again.
The Optimist's Guide to Letting Go Page 4