The Optimist's Guide to Letting Go

by Amy E. Reichert

  In the twenty years that Roza had worked for them, Gina had never once seen her speak to their father. On his part, though, he never spoke to her either, or even acknowledged she was there.

  “I’ll ask Mom first,” Gina said. Vicky settled into a chair, picking at an invisible speck of dust on her sweater. “What are we going to do if Mom doesn’t get better?”

  “I’m sure she has instructions in that file of hers. We can find her a good facility.”

  “We can’t put Mom in a home.”

  “I love Mom, too, but do you really think it’s a good idea to have her live with either of us? She might require a lot of extra care, and we both have families that need us, too. I have four kids, remember? Besides, if I tried to bring her home with me, Jeff would leave me for sure.” Vicky frowned at the thought.

  “You say that like he’s already contemplating it,” Gina said with a smile, expecting her sister to come back with a quick retort.

  Vicky shrugged.

  “Wait, is something going on?” Gina’s forehead wrinkled. “What happened?”

  “Nothing, really. The usual I suppose. He’s been working later than normal. Not as interested in me. Doesn’t text me back as quickly as he used to. It’s probably just the big project he’s been working on, but this time feels different somehow.” She nibbled her lip, a bad habit she and Gina shared. “Or maybe I’m the one who’s different.”

  “What if you surprise him at the office for dinner sometime? Pull the ole’ naked-under-a-trench-coat trick?”

  “When would I have the time? Between ballet and soccer practice? After cutting up the orange slices but before doing the laundry? My entire life is keeping them out of his hair so he can work all the time. We’re not a family, we’re a corporate day care. I can’t remember the last time we did anything just the two of us.”

  “The world wouldn’t end if you skipped some obligations for a date night. I promise the kids won’t require therapy—at least not because you missed a library hour or a second grade basketball game.”

  Vicky bounced her foot, ignoring Gina’s suggestion. It was clear she didn’t want to talk about it anymore—at least not while they were already worrying about their mother. “Well, I’m here for you. Whatever you need,” Gina said.

  Her sister nodded as the nurse wheeled their mom back into the room, finally returned from her CT scan. Her eyes were wide and found Gina’s immediately.

  “How did it go?” Gina asked.

  “Dr. Patel will be in shortly to discuss the results, but your mom did great. She’s a real trouper.” The nurse smiled down, securing the bed and making sure all the tubes and wires were connected as they should be. “I’ll get some fresh water for you, Mrs. Price.”

  Gina picked up the picture and birth certificate and held it out to her mother.

  “Mom, I found these in the file, but I don’t know who this man is or why this birth certificate is different. Was there a mistake at the hospital?”

  She laid the papers on her mom’s lap where she could reach them. Her mom patted them but didn’t pick them up. Her eyes grew watery. She must be frustrated because she can’t grasp them, Gina thought, scooching them closer.

  “Can you tell me who this man is?”

  Her mom worked her lips and a low hum came from her throat.

  “Fa . . . Fabershim. Fabershim.”

  “Fabershim? That doesn’t make sense.” Gina looked at Victoria. “Does that sound like a name? A word? Maybe she’s slurring. Fab he is? Favorite him?”

  “Please don’t ever go on game shows,” Victoria said. “You’re the worst guesser. Dr. Patel said she might only be able to speak gibberish. We’ll need to be patient. Let’s just ask Roza, she’ll probably know.”

  Gina nodded and kissed her mom before picking up the papers. Tears dripped from her mother’s cheeks, so Gina wiped them away with a tissue.

  “I know, Mom, you’re frustrated. I promise we’ll get you the help you need so you can get back to normal as quickly as possible.”

  “Fabershim.” Her mom’s voice was much softer.

  Dr. Patel breezed into the room, her dark hair pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, and displayed the images of Lorraine’s scans on the large TV in the room. Even Gina could see something wasn’t right, and a glance at Vicky’s face told her that her sister saw it, too. On the screen was a brain shape with the exception of a large shaded blob on the left side, like someone had set a drippy coffee mug on the film. It didn’t look good.

  “Here, you can see, is the damage from the stroke.” Dr. Patel directed her comments toward her mom, as if she could follow along. That must be a good sign. “This confirmed it was ischemic, and it’s quite large, which explains why your motor functions and speech have diminished.”

  She kept talking and gesturing, but Gina’s mind stared at the blob, absorbing its enormity. There was so much she didn’t know about her own mother, and now she might not be able to ask her ever again. How could a brain sustain that much damage and ever recover? Each sister stood by their mom as Dr. Patel explained the upcoming rehab, tests, possible surgeries. Best- and worst-case scenarios. The worst case was bad—one out of four stroke victims would have another, usually fatal, one. Gina took notes and asked questions as the doctor spoke. Somehow a part of her brain was able to stay present even as another part adjusted to her new reality.

  “But she spoke. She just did it before you came in. That has to be a good sign. She said ‘Fabershim,’ ” Gina said.

  “Yes. She is trying to communicate.” Dr. Patel looked at Lorraine. “You know what’s happening and understand, but your brain is blocking you from getting that information out. It’s called apraxia of speech, and speech therapy will help you rebuild those connections. Your brain underwent a lot of damage, and older patients don’t always bounce back fully. Now, I’d recommend all of you get some rest.”

  “One of us should stay with her,” Gina said. “She shouldn’t be alone. I can stay tonight.”

  Dr. Patel rubbed Gina’s shoulder.

  “Your heart is in the right place, but there will be some long days coming and a lot of decisions to make. We’ll call if anything changes, but she’s stable for now. You should both go home and get some sleep.”

  The sisters nodded.

  “And Gina,” Dr. Patel continued, almost visibly shifting gears from doctor mode to fellow-parent mode. “I’m glad our kids decided to hang out today. I worry about Connor when he has to spend these long school-break days by himself. And Connor always says the nicest things about May. If he’s still there when you get home, can you send him home for a late dinner, please?”

  What was she talking about? May had never returned her text and certainly didn’t say that she was having a guest over. Gina smiled and nodded, pretending she knew what was going on in her own house.

  “Off to finish my rounds, then I’m home for dinner,” Dr. Patel said with a smile. “See all three of you tomorrow.”

  Before Gina’s mind could adjust to the topic change, Dr. Patel had left, moving on to her next patient. It must be a good sign that May was hanging out with someone, right? And Connor was a good kid, but it would have been nice to know before being blindsided by his mother. And May wasn’t really supposed to have friends over without asking first—but Gina was too happy to find out her daughter was doing something normal instead of closeted up in her room.

  Gina tucked the birth certificate and picture into her purse and gave her mom a kiss on the forehead.

  “Vic, the key is in its usual spot. I’ll get your room ready so you can slide under the covers when you come in. Take your time.”

  Vicky nodded absently, still looking over the scans hanging on the screen.

  As Gina drove home along familiar dark streets, she reached for her phone, wanting to call Drew and tell him about everything going on with her mother and with May, but she paused. Right. He wasn’t there to answer. Using her right hand, she rubbed the two wedding band
s on her left hand, wishing she could just ask him a simple question again.

  After she graduated college, Gina was hired by Harley-Davidson as a technical writer in their IT department. It wasn’t glamorous, but it paid well enough for her to have an apartment far enough away from her parents’ house that it was inconvenient to swing by or join them at the club—that had always been more Victoria’s scene. She’d never cared enough about who was marrying whom, or who was vacationing in the Caribbean. More often than not, it seemed like a bad parody of Dirty Dancing. And not the fun dancing parts.

  She had a small group of work friends who would go to movies or out to the bars on the weekends, but she would also host mini dinner parties, cooking wonderful meals on a budget, like lasagna or beef stew. She’d supply the food and her friends would bring the wine.

  Sure, she wished she had more dates, but she hadn’t met someone worth spending more than an evening with until she was assigned to a project for a new engine. She walked into the first meeting with the mechanic who would be her resource. She didn’t know what she’d expected—not much of anything, really—but it certainly wasn’t the tall, blond man she met. At the time, his sun-kissed hair was long enough to tuck behind his ears. His gentle, blue eyes made her feel safe and welcome immediately. Never mind the stunning black-and-white tattoo that covered his very well-muscled arm. A winding road twisted up his forearm where a motorcycle, complete with waving flags, cruised. The winding road disappeared under his black T-shirt’s sleeve, and she, from the first moment she saw it, longed to pull up the cotton and follow its trail.

  Gina knew she was ogling. She also knew the ogling was not professional. Still, it took her a full minute to care and pull it together enough to speak.

  “Hi, I’m Gina Price. I’ll be writing the documentation for the new engine.”

  He wiped his hand on a rag from his back jeans pocket before extending it toward her.

  “I’m Drew Zoberski.”

  His hand was rough and warm, and grasping it made her knees wobbly. Or maybe the wobble came from his smile. Or his fitted T-shirt. There were so many reasons to wobble, the urge to make a list of them coursed through her.

  “I guess I’ll give you a rundown of the engine, then you can let me know if you have questions.”

  Gina nodded and diligently took notes.

  Then the next day she came back.

  “Um, Drew, I have a few follow-up questions.” Today his shirt was blue, and it made his eyes electric. How could eyes be that color without the help of Photoshop? They were like when there was no line between the water and sky on a clear summer day at the beach—just perfect blue for a perfect day. That’s what seeing his eyes felt like—the perfect day. She realized he was waiting for her question, a smile in those eyes twinkling at her. “Could you explain what a piston does, again? So sorry to bother you, but my notes from yesterday don’t make much sense.”

  He scrunched his forehead, and Gina knew why—you didn’t work at the greatest motorcycle company in the world and not know what a piston did. Drew patiently explained, Gina thanked him, and returned to her desk, mortified and victorious at the same time.

  The next day she asked about valves. The next day about spark plugs. The next day about bolts.

  The next day he asked her out.

  When he picked her up on his Harley, she heard him coming well before she saw him. He handed her a leather jacket and helmet, making sure she was well protected before they rode the rolling hills around Holy Hill, enjoying the fall foliage, and stopping for the best bar burgers she had ever had in one of the small towns that dotted the area. After dinner, he held up the jacket as she slid her arms into the stiff leather sleeves. He straightened her collar and slowly zipped the jacket closed, her heart racing as he finished. Standing so near to him, surrounded by the scent of leather, she swayed into him, her face turned up to his. His lips found hers, soft and eager. His arms wrapped around her, leather creaking on leather. She never wanted it to end. It was the perfect first kiss—all leather and sunshine.

  After that, they spent time together every day. She loved how when he really smiled, his eyes almost squinted closed, and how his kind soul saw the best in her, and how he could fix anything with a motor, from the broken KitchenAid mixer she found at a rummage sale to an antique Indian motorcycle engine.

  On a June evening, he came to her apartment after work and ended up under the Civic her parents bought her as a bribe to go to college. She had wanted to go to culinary school, or anywhere that didn’t involve more essays and struggling for decent grades, but she had wanted a car more.

  He slid out from beneath the car and stood, his fingers greasy, and wiped them on a towel already covered in dark streaks. She loved watching him wipe his hands, even if it was on one of her towels.

  “I’m going to need to replace your muffler. I’ll pick up the parts and do it this weekend. It’ll be fine, just noisy until then.”

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close so their bodies aligned, stretching up on her toes so she was closer to his face.

  “You’re too good to me. I think you’ll need a reward.”

  “I’ll take it, but let me get cleaned up or I’ll get you covered in grease.”

  “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

  She reached for his lips and he bent to meet hers, careful to keep his hands off her grease-free clothes. Before she could completely distract him, he pulled back.

  “I’m going to get cleaned up, then we can resume.” She followed him into her apartment. This was the perfect life. Working all day, then spending every night with Drew. She’d let her eyes follow him down the hallway—man, did she like to watch him go—before pulling the ingredients for dinner out of the fridge. Her kitchen phone rang, and she answered it, on cloud nine.

  “Regina, I want you to come to the club this Friday,” her mom said.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “A new family from Connecticut just joined. They have a son who is already a partner at one of the big law firms. I want you to meet him before the Meier girls get their hooks into him.”

  “I have plans that night, Mom.”

  She hadn’t told her parents about Drew. At first, she didn’t know if the budding relationship would last, but now she didn’t want to subject him to their scrutiny, at least not yet. She wanted to keep him to herself for a little while longer.

  “Break them. This is more important. You aren’t getting any younger. Even if you meet someone tomorrow, it’ll be two years to date, then at least eighteen months to plan a decent wedding, and another year before kids. You’ll almost be thirty by then.”

  Her mother made thirty sound like her ovaries would shrivel and fall out of her uterus, rendering her useless for the rest of her life. With every conversation, Gina felt like she wasn’t living up to her parents’ dreams of perfection. That Gina’s dreams were irrelevant—not that Gina had specific dreams for her future, but she knew she didn’t want to be like her parents, shuttling endlessly between the house and the country club.

  “Mom. No. I’m not interested in the Connecticut boy or anyone else from the club.” Fresh from the shower, Drew stood at the kitchen sink, the fluorescent lights bouncing off the plywood cupboards and bland cream countertops, but his damp hair making her heart thump. She took a deep breath. It was time for him to meet her parents. She twisted the phone cord around her finger, then let it unwind. “I’ve actually been seeing someone.”

  Drew turned with his eyebrows raised, somehow becoming even more sexy.

  “Oh, Regina. That’s wonderful. What does he do?”

  Of course.

  “He works at Harley, too, but he’s planning to start his own business.” Let her parse that out.

  “Why don’t the both of you join us on Friday, then?”

  “We really do have plans.” They were spending the day at Polish Fest, then meeting some friends for dinner and games later that night. “How about we stop in
for cocktails really quick so you can meet him?”

  “I’ll tell your father. And make sure to wear a color. All those neutrals wash you out. A skirt wouldn’t kill you, either, Regina.”

  Gina hung the phone back up on the wall, the cord swinging for a few moments before going still.

  “I guess I need to buy a sport coat, then?” Drew said.

  “I should have asked you first.” Gina scrunched her nose. “I can cancel.”

  She wrapped her arms all the way around his waist, and he threaded his fingers into her dark hair. He smelled like her shampoo—an ocean breeze, and his Drew-scent that no amount of soap could wash off. She loved when he showered at her apartment—it was like a preview of their future together, even if that preview included a wet towel on her bathroom floor. It was totally worth it for the breathtaking man in front of her.

  “Beautiful, these are the people that made you the brilliant woman I love. I want to meet them.”

  “I’m sorry in advance.”

  He smiled and kissed her nose.

  “I’ve ridden to Sturgis with guys who can make a man cry by just looking at him. Your parents don’t scare me.”

  “Would you be willing to sign a waiver? Or I could give you a reward for future bravery?”

  Her fingers curled around his belt loops, and she tugged him closer.

  “I’m all cleaned up, so I’ll take that advanced reward, if you’re offering.”

  Drew bent down to kiss her neck as she pulled him toward the bedroom.

  “For you, I’m always offering.”

  Gina missed his fearless attitude. Nothing happened in their lives together that could upset him, and his calm always brought her back to reality. She should have given him ten rewards for future bravery that day.

  Between her mom’s stroke, the mysterious birth certificate, and May’s rebellion, she needed to lean on some of Drew’s strength now more than ever, as the questions kept bubbling up from her brain to hover before her eyes.