by Amanda Tru
Finally, she said, “I like things the way they are. This works for us. It works well.”
Squeezing her hand, then releasing it, he leaned back in his chair and casually crossed his legs out in front of him. “It’s worked well, yes. But, Traci, there is a level of intimacy that being married will bring us. You say you like the way things are now. I don’t. You’re satisfied with our relationship as it is now. I’m not. I’m ready for more. Aren’t you?”
Was she? What was she afraid of? Was it that level of intimacy he referenced? Did he know what year this was? Why did that have to come with a lifetime commitment? “You know that my parents were never married.”
“Your parents were fifteen years old. We’re not. And it might have made a difference if they had gotten married. It would have been harder for your father to abandon your mother if she had legal ties to him.” He waved a hand in the air. “That’s beside the point. I’m not your father, and you’re not your mother.”
She snorted. “That’s for sure.”
He leaned closer and said, “That’s another thing. What’s with the hostility toward your mother? What don’t I know?”
She thought about it. Her mind went over her childhood. “Do you know why my name is spelled T-r-a-c-i instead of with a ‘y’?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Should I?”
Scowling, she said, “So that she could dot the ‘i’ with a little heart over it. She actually said that to me once. She’s always been this way. Frilly. Pink. Exterior more important than interior. When I was little, I wanted to play baseball. She put me in dance, then gymnastics. Finally, when I was old enough to play girls softball instead of baseball with the boys, she let me sign up. Out at the ballpark one day, I saw my dad. I hadn’t seen him in years. He was coaching his son’s little league team.” The words left a bitter taste on her tongue. “I was never good enough as a girl for him. He just wanted a son. And I have never been good enough for my mom. She just wanted a frilly daughter.”
She scrubbed her face with her hands. “I know I said yes in the diner. I had ‘no’ on the tip of my tongue until I saw the ring. Then I realized how well you knew me. But I seriously need time to think about it, now that I’ve not been sprung with a question in front of a handful of people. I never planned to get married. I never intended to have a family.”
He stared at her for several seconds, then nodded. “Okay. I’m sorry.” He leaned forward and rested his hands on her knees. “I don’t want a frilly woman. I just want you. But, Traci, I want you.” His hands squeezed her knees, and she stared into his eyes, reading the intensity on his face, understanding the hidden message. “I want you to be my wife. To sleep next to me at night. To travel the world with me as we get old and ugly together.”
Traci pursed her lips, and before she could stop herself, she blurted, “I am absolutely content with the way we are.”
He stared at her for so long she almost started speaking again. Just as she opened her mouth, he stood and leaned down over her chair, putting his hands on the arms and bending down until she could feel his breath. She stared into his green eyes, noticing the little brown flecks in them that she loved. But they didn’t hold their usual warmth. Tonight, they were hard, serious. Finally, he said, “I’m not.”
He straightened and slowly walked off the porch and down the stairs. She went back to staring at the barge, battling back the tears that swarmed her eyes, understanding that he meant they would either get married or break up. No more in-between.
Travis called the white belts, the brand-new class members with absolutely no experience, to the front of the class and had them line up. “Kibon Poomse. White belt form.” Naming the form was the command to begin. Moving slowly, he went through each step with them, pausing to correct the newest students on proper stance, arm placement, and leg placement. At the completion of the form, he bowed, they bowed, and he dismissed them to their spots on the mat, calling the yellow belts up. Each rank came and performed their form all the way through to the black belts. Again, he noticed Traci’s absence in the class. He thought she had today off and had anticipated seeing her. Her absence concerned him.
For the thousandth time, he thought about their conversation two nights ago. He had needed to have it with her, but he didn’t need to have it with her on the same day that a drug-crazed man shot himself in the head right in front of her. What had motivated him to have that conversation with her right then? He needed to be there for her, to support her, and to love her through a hard night, not give her what essentially turned into an ultimatum he hadn’t intended to deliver.
He dismissed class five minutes early and took his time closing up the school. Thursday was a long day for him, longer now that he’d added the homeschool group to his schedule. His body felt fatigued, but his heart and soul felt it more.
After changing out of his dobak, he decided to try to go find something to eat. As he walked out of his school, he very nearly ran into Michelle Winston.
She wore a red and blue polka-dotted dress belted at the waist with a red belt. She had her hair pulled back and tied with a red ribbon and wore a pair of high heels the color of her belt. Teetering a bit on them, she put her hand on his arm and laughed. “I’m so sorry. I thought you heard me say your name.”
“No, I, uh, guess I was in my own head.” He put a hand on her elbow to steady her. “Sorry.”
“No problem.” Looking him up and down, she said in a breathless voice, “I’m just leaving your sisters’ place. We were discussing wedding flowers.”
With a raised eyebrow, he asked, “For my wedding or someone else’s?”
“Well, not yours, though the subject did come up.” She gestured toward the bench next to his door. “I’m sorry. I need to sit for a second. Feeling a little bit tired and having a hard time catching my breath. I guess you startled me more than I thought.”
He sat next to her because leaving her felt wrong. “Michelle, I don’t think you understand that your daughter truly does not want a wedding ceremony.”
“Oh, she’ll come around. Every girl wants a wedding.” She sat back and put her hand on her chest. “I’ve been planning my own wedding since I could hold a crayon. Isn’t that silly? And here I am, forty-years-old, still single.”
He sighed. “Michelle—”
She put a hand on his arm. “It’s okay, Travis. I know her. I’m not stupid like she thinks. I’m actually quite intelligent. The thing is,” she said, putting a hand on her chest and taking a breath, “when it’s said and done, she’ll realize that sharing something like this with her friends and family, even if it’s not fussy like I would do, is important to her. She just needs to get over the whole not wanting to get married at all thought she has.” Her voice sounded weakened at the end of the sentence.
His eyes widened. “How did you know that?”
Waving a hand in the air, she said, “Oh, Travis. I told you. I know my little girl.”
Suddenly, the color fled from her face, and her eyes widened. “Travis,” she whispered a second before she slumped forward.
“Michelle!” When he touched her shoulders, she didn’t respond. Leaning her back, he pressed his fingers onto her neck and found her pulse. Very weak, thready. Using one hand to support her, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called 911. “I need an ambulance.” Reciting his address, he explained, “I think she’s had a heart attack.”
As soon as he heard the sirens, he hung up the phone and called Traci. The call went immediately to voice mail. “Hey. It’s me. Your mom is with me. I think she had a heart attack. The ambulance is just getting here. I’ll text you more info.”
As the ambulance pulled up, he waved them to him and reluctantly moved out of the paramedics’ way.
Traci rushed into the emergency room and scanned the crowd, spotting Travis. He stood when he saw her and walked toward her. “What happened?” she asked without preamble.
“She collapsed on the bench outside of my place.” He rubb
ed the back of his neck and gestured toward the doors. “I don’t know anything else.”
She went to the reception desk. The woman sitting behind the counter wore scrubs covered in balloons. Her badge identified her as Patricia West, LPN. She looked up at Traci with a stoic expression. “May I help you?”
“Hi. My mom is Michelle Winston.”
Nurse West glanced at a sticky note, then nodded and stood. “I’ll meet you at that door over there.”
Traci identified the door and started to leave the waiting room but turned and looked at Travis. “Aren’t you coming?”
A strange look crossed his face, and he started to shake his head, but then nodded. “Of course.”
They walked together to the door. The nurse let them through and took them down the hallway of the emergency department to Michelle’s room. Her mother lay slightly inclined, wires coming out from sensors attached to her chest and connecting to the monitors next to her bed. She had an IV in her arm and a nasal cannula strapped under her nose. She looked drawn and pale, and her eye makeup smudged under her eyes. Traci’s breath caught in the back of her throat.
“Mama?” she said gently, coming into the room.
From behind her, a man’s voice said, “She’s sedated right now. We’re about to take her to surgery.”
She turned, and her eyes skimmed the name tag of the doctor, Paul Lewis. He had curly dark brown hair and hazel eyes behind black-framed glasses. He appeared very young. “Surgery?”
“We have to perform an angioplasty. We’ll put a balloon into her artery and inflate it, helping the blood to flow properly again. She’s had a pretty major heart attack. She should feel better as soon as she wakes up.”
A heart attack? Surgery? “She’s only forty.”
“Yes. She’s young. That will help.” Two men in blue scrubs entered the room, and a woman in magenta scrubs hovered at the doorway. “Jeanette, here, will take you to the surgical waiting room.”
Her mind remained blank. Why wouldn’t her brain function? Didn’t she have any questions? Anything intelligent to convey? She turned and looked at Travis, silently pleading with him to help. He immediately stepped forward and put a hand on her waist. “Thank you, doctor. We’ll get out of your way.”
She let him guide her down the hall, following the nurse who badged them through two doors until she stopped next to a room with a sign that said, “Cardiac Care Family Waiting Room” where the nurse announced, “Someone will be in here to talk to you when we finish. There’s coffee over there. Just pick up that phone and dial 4-4-4 if you need anything.”
Traci stared at the empty room, numbness creeping into every extremity. Finally, she turned to Travis, and immediately his arms came around her. She couldn’t begin to explain how much better she felt in that second. She inhaled and breathed in his scent and put her arms around his waist, stepping even closer to him.
Doctor Lewis sat next to Traci and angled his body toward her. He wore green surgical scrubs and had a blue and white scarf covered in the University of Kentucky symbol on his head.
Traci frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Your mother’s condition is grave. She had to have been experiencing symptoms for years.”
She turned and looked at Travis. He looked as concerned as she felt. He asked, “Congestive heart failure? Can you give us more information?”
“Her heart is weak. It doesn’t pump blood properly. And, unfortunately, in this late stage, there is nothing we can do to fix it.”
Traci closed her eyes and shook her head. “That’s just not possible. What do you mean, ‘nothing’? Can’t you prescribe something?”
“We can give her medication that will make her more comfortable. Unfortunately, everything at this point is too far gone. I cannot do anything to reverse the damage. If I were being generous, I’d say she has maybe three or four months to live. Her condition is so advanced, it could be just a matter of weeks.”
Despite the blow of the words, she appreciated the fact that he had not sugarcoated anything. After he left, she stood up on shaking legs and walked to the window, looking out at the street lights. Travis walked up behind her and gently laid his hands on her shoulders. “What can I do?”
“Wake me up,” she whispered, leaning back against him.
Dying? At forty? If her mother had symptoms for years to the point of a diagnosis that she was now dying, how had Traci missed it? Because, she said to herself in her firmest, meanest voice, you’re a terrible daughter who only ever selfishly thought of yourself. If you could avoid her, you did.
Despite the truth, it didn’t feel better to think about it. A tear ran down her cheek. “Thank you for being here.”
She felt his words against her back as he spoke them. “Of course. I love you, Traci. I can’t think of not being here.”
She turned so she could look up at him, searching his eyes for his thoughts. “But, the other night, it felt like you were basically saying get married or else.”
Cupping her face with his hands, he said, “This is not the time to talk about that. Right now, it’s time to talk about your mom and to go to her so that when she wakes up, you are right there beside her.”
Pressing her lips together, she nodded. “You’re right.”
She had never been present for her mother before, but she could fix that now. Determined, she swiped the tears from her face and squared her shoulders. A few minutes later, Nurse Jeanette appeared in the doorway. “I have your mother in her room now. I’ll take you there.”
Gripping Travis’ hand, afraid to let him go in case he disappeared, they followed Jeanette down the maze of hallways, up two floors in the elevator, to the intensive care unit, and to her mom’s room. A single chair sat next to the bed that held a thin, pale woman Traci did not recognize.
When was the last time she’d seen her mother without makeup? Five years? Six? Gone were the fake eyelashes, creams, and colors. In their place, the perfectly smooth skin of a woman who looked far younger than her forty years of age.
“Mama,” Traci whispered, sitting in the chair and scooting it as close to the bed as she could. She reached out and took Michelle’s hand. “I’m here, Mama.”
Travis leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “I’m going to go find something for us to eat. If you need me, call me. I’ll be back soon.”
She looked up at him and nodded, barely registering what he had said. “Okay.”
Then she refocused her attention on the woman who sacrificed her entire life to raise her. She pondered the fact that she could actually remember her mother’s 20th birthday. Her grandfather had given her a new car, a pink convertible that she’d driven for years. All of Traci’s friends loved that car so much, but Traci thought it made her mom look like a Barbie doll.
She remembered when her grandfather died and Michelle had to decide whether to keep his car dealership open or sell it. She sold it to her cousin, Charlie, and took the money from the sale to open her event planning business. The night before the official grand opening party, Michelle had sat Traci down and looked through the butterfly book, explaining how she’d drawn her first wedding dress sketch when she was younger than Traci’s then ten years of age. She remembered praying with her mom before the party and how the prayer centered on bringing joy to the family celebrations she’d help to plan. For a moment, her heart had softened dramatically for her mom, and she remembered wanting to like her more.
Tears streamed down her face, and she picked up her mom’s limp hand. “Mama,” she whispered, “I’m so sorry. I’ve never given you an ounce of credit you deserve. I see that now. Please, Mama, please don’t die. Show them they’re wrong.”
Traci sat in the lounge chair next to the hospital bed. The scent of dozens of containers of flowers filled the room and brightened up the stark whiteness of it all. She’d brought her mother’s favorite quilt to cover the bed. Purple and green butterflies danced all over the white flowers on the
quilt. That morning, she’d helped her change into pink silk pajamas.
“All this fuss,” Michelle said weakly, smiling around the nasal cannula. “I don’t like all this fuss, and I don’t need it.”
“Sure, you do. You do better with fuss.” Traci settled more comfortably in the chair. Sheriff Hughes had let her take a week of her annual leave, and she had three days left. What she’d do when that time was up, she had no idea. “Can I bring you anything else from the house?”
“My binder. You know the one.”
She knew. Her mom’s wedding binder. “You know I’m not—”
Michelle held up a hand to stop her. “It isn’t about you. It’s filled with thoughts and ideas I’ve had since I was five years old. It’s what gave me the desire to open my company. It brings me comfort. I just want to look through it while I have time on my hands.”
Pushing back the defensiveness, Traci said, “Sure. I’ll get it. Anything else?”
Her mom put a hand up against her head. “My shampoo. I don’t like the one they have here, and I want to wash my hair.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She stood, thankful to have a mission. She walked over to the bed and tapped the phone she’d plugged in and left sitting on the table next to her. “If you need me, call me.”
She shut the door behind her and stopped in the hall, leaning against the wall. She closed her eyes and took a deep, flower-free, cleansing breath. While thankful that her mother had moved out of ICU yesterday, once they got into a standard room the flowers had started arriving.
She forced herself to show patience at her mom’s need to be surrounded by flowers and pink things. She couldn’t imagine any of it would make her better. She honestly felt that if she had to lay in a room filled with flowers and pink satin all day, she would go insane. It fit her mom, her personality, and it all somehow made her happy. Determined to grasp some of that same happiness, Traci put on the mask and tried to ignore all the pink and the smell of the flowers.