by jc santo
I have just enough time in Atlanta to grab some food, scarf it down, and then board my connecting flight. The entire time, I mentally bitch for not telling Tegan to avoid this airport. Typically, I do unless this is my starting or ending destination, but usually when I travel home, I fly into Jacksonville, Florida instead. Atlanta International Airport can only be described as chaotic on a good day; it’s a headache getting from one gate to another. One that I don’t want or need today.
On the second leg of my flight, from Atlanta to LAX, I think over the advice my mom gave me when I called and informed her of my change of plans. While I didn’t come right out and say that the girl I’m in love with is going through hell and I need to not only be there for her but also confess my love, I did tell her that my best friend Jo is dealing with her mom’s illness alone and I needed to go help.
I’m sure my mom would have been supportive, right up until the point that I told her I had not only gotten Jo pregnant out of wedlock but then that I chose to cause a fight and run away from the situation.
That’s when my mom would have gone from the sweet, southern debutante to an angry, wooden-spoon flingin’, ass whoopin’, pissed off woman.
I feel as though I’m carrying around enough guilt about the way things were handled, and I’m disappointed in myself; I can only imagine just how upset my mom would be by it. And to be quite honest, I don’t know if she’d be more upset by my behavior or the fact that this is the second time I’ve encountered an unplanned pregnancy.
No, it’s better to not tell her the entire story.
Mom ain’t dumb, she’s knows I don’t keep women around long, but she also knows that Tess and Jo are the two exceptions to that rule.
She and Dad were both understanding though in my decision to go to California instead of coming home. I promised I’d make it up to them both soon. I just hope this trip has some positivity to it.
My main reasoning for flying out here is to be with Jo during this difficult time, but I know if the situation arises, I will take the opportunity to discuss us.
The flight lands in Los Angeles International Airport shortly after midnight. Knowing there is absolutely no way I’m going to her mother’s house at this time of night, I decide to hail a cab from the plethora of them parked outside the airport.
I can come back and rent a car in the morning if I want, I’m too exhausted to try to navigate my way through an unknown city.
I’m dead on my feet. Trying to adjust from being at sea and the time changes we go through out on the water is rough, then to add in jetlag and jumping into another time zone is enough to put me on my ass.
As soon as I’m checked into a quaint little resort near the famous Venice Beach, I take a hot shower and then pass out.
Tomorrow will be a long day.
I’m up, showered, dressed, and waiting for a cab to drive me to a rental car place by 9:00 A.M. My dreams were filled with ideas of how today will go.
This day feels like it’s taken forever to get here; I’ve waited over six months to not only see Jo again, but to be able to talk to her, too. I thought I missed her while I was deployed, but being back stateside and having not seen her yet has been pure agony. We don’t even need to discuss all of the shit going on between us, not right now; I just want some sense of normalcy back.
An hour later, I’m situated in my rental, a God-awful little Prius, with my phone’s GPS locked in on Jo’s home address.
Time to do this.
Pulling up outside the quaint, single story home, I take in everything possible. The front yard consists of a small, overrun rose garden with a weather worn wood wishing well. To the side, in the two car driveway, sits an older model truck with the hood popped up and a newer Ford Escape.
My nerves are all over the place as I ring the doorbell.
After a few moments of waiting, the door swings open to a young, blonde girl dressed in scrubs.
“Can I help you?” she questions as her eyes scan my body.
“I uhh, I’m looking for—”
“Who is it, Kandice?” a voice from inside calls out.
The young girl, Kandice, turns to the side and acknowledges the person inside before turning back to face me and telling me to hold on as she shuts the door in my face.
I hear muffled voices among other sounds before the door reopens to Jo’s mom standing there. Her smile is instant the moment she realizes I’m the unknown person.
“J.C.!” She already sounds winded as she calls out my name and holds her arms open for a hug.
“Hey, Mrs. Fuentes. How’ve you been, causing any trouble lately?”
I wrap my arms around her as we both laugh. I’ve met Jo’s mom a couple times previously during her visits to Norfolk and we instantly started joking with each other.
We walk into the house with her leaning most of her weight against me. Again, I don’t know how severe her diagnosis is, but it seems she’s smiling through the pain.
Like mother, like daughter.
Getting her settled into a recliner in the living room, I take a seat on the worn leather couch just as the young nurse comes back in.
“How’re you feeling Ms. Patricia?”
She takes a deep breath before answering.
“You know, I’m okay, but I could use some tea and a pain pill while I catch up with J.C. please.”
She nods her head and walks back out just as quickly as she came in.
We sit chatting for about thirty minutes, with minimum interruptions from the young nurse named Kandice before the front door flies open.
“Mom?” a familiar voice calls out.
“In here, Joey,” Patricia quietly responds. Her eyes shine with mischief as she watches; waiting for the moment Jo walks in and sees me sitting here.
In the brief time we had alone, I told her that Jo had no idea I was here, amongst other things.
I feel the exact moment my stomach drops to my feet; it’s the instant Jo, the girl I’ve dreamed about over the past six months, comes into view.
“What? What are you doing here?”
Now’s the perfect opportunity to confess. Tell her I’m sorry for the way I acted. Apologize for not getting in touch with her sooner. And beg for forgiveness and a second chance. But I’m stunned to silence by simply being in her presence once again.
Jo
As soon as Mom’s hospice nurse arrived at the house today, I left to run a few errands around town. Nothing that was really a big deal or couldn’t wait, so part of me really didn’t want to leave my mom’s side, but she insisted that I get out of the house for a bit.
I’m going to be here with my mom until my leave times comes to an end. I turned in my emergency leave paperwork yesterday morning and requested two weeks’ time off for now. My Chief told me if I need more time than that, he’ll handle it. The time is passing by quicker than I expected.
Although, being here now, Mom doesn’t act like someone in need of Hospice. Yes, she’s slower getting around and tires out very quickly, but nothing is standing out to me that shows she’s dying.
Dying.
My mom is dying.
I feel as though I just wrapped my mind around this two year battle she’s been fighting; finally acknowledging that she is struggling through this vicious disease. And now I have to convince myself that it’s no longer a battle; the fight is coming to a close, and unfortunately, Mom isn’t going to be victorious like we’d all anticipated.
Being here the last few days, seeing her in that hospital, has finally forced my brain to accept that this is the God-awful fate my mom will have to deal with.
When I left the house this morning, mom appeared to be having a good day. I know all of this is just an illusion; Mom’s good days are numbered. A fluke in cancer’s plan to overtake her body.
We really have no idea how much longer we have with my mom, all we know is that her team of doctors and her have decided they’ve come to the e
nd of the road as far as treatments go. And with what little medical knowledge that I have, I do know that hospice is called in to help the patient stay comfortable and maintain the pain until the end.
I’m still struggling to accept her impending death. I want my mom; I need her around. How am I supposed to get through life without her there?
It’s crazy, in the four days I’ve been here, she’s been her normal self with the exception of her pain. Each day is a game of Russian Roulette with how she’ll handle it. Luckily, the hospice nurse is great about keeping her medication on schedule.
Hearing her laughter when I open the front door this afternoon, a sense of relief washes over me. I know without seeing or speaking to her that today is a good day. My mom has a distinctive laugh that is genuine and a polite laugh that she uses when she’s trying to please others. The laugh I hear as I head into the living room is her genuine, real laugh. And as cheesy as it sounds, I relish in the sound of it.
I know I won’t have too many more opportunities to hear that laugh.
I assumed it was Kandice who was sitting and chatting with her. She’s quickly carved out a soft spot in my mom’s heart. However, when the sound of a deeper voice echoes off the walls, I know my assumption was incorrect.
I never expected to turn the corner and see J.C. sitting on the couch in the same living room I grew up in.
What in God’s name is he doing here?
Our eyes immediately find each other’s, and both fill instantly with desire laced with something else. Is that hope I see in his? Mine, on the other hand, have guilt entwined with the desire.
Coming face to face with him, here in my mom’s house, can only mean one thing. It’s time to face the music. J.C. and I have to talk.
But I’m not ready for it. I’m terrified to hear what he’ll say to me after all of these months. The fact that he has refused to speak to me up to this point can only lead me to believe that he won’t have anything nice to say. And even though I know our relationship, as well as our friendship, is over, I don’t want to hear him say the words.
They will be what causes that final string to snap on my sanity.
“What are you doing here?” I finally find my voice, still unable to pull my eyes away from the man who’s haunted my dreams lately.
“Joey! Be nice, young lady! J.C. came all the way here to visit,” my mom says, breaking the trance.
“Sorry, mama.”
Of course my mom defends J.C.; I think she’s always harbored a sweet little crush on him. But ever since I told her months ago about our tainted past, she’s been the leader of the J.C. fan club. While I love that she loves him, I know it's all a moot point now because we aren't and won't ever be together.
Kandice chooses this awkward moment to step into the small, crowded room and although she questions how my mother is doing, her focus stays on J.C. This makes me question the friendly nature she and I have developed over the last few days.
Unfortunately for her, J.C. doesn’t seem to notice her constant looks of desire. His eyes are focused on me instead, as if I’m the only person in this room.
And that scares the shit out of me, because I know if anyone can see through the facade I’ve spent the past six months building up, it’s J.C. And the way he’s looking at me, I already know he’s doing just that; looking through the wall I've constructed inside to see the real me. The one who’s still suffering. The one who’s terrified of losing her mother. The one who’s heartbroken.
“Kandice, dear, I think I’d like to go lay down for a bit.”
Of course my mom is going to make her exit, leaving me alone with J.C. My first instinct is to run away, but that isn’t me. I don’t, or didn’t used to, run away from my problems. Running wouldn’t help anything anyway. If I want to keep my friendships within the group I’ve come to claim as family in Norfolk, I have to work something out with J.C. At least be able to be in the same room together without the animosity we had before the holidays.
Kandice assists my mom to her room and within a couple minutes she’s back and excusing herself for the day. I can’t help but feel that Mom may have said something to her, because she doesn’t even glance in J.C.’s direction. I somehow manage to keep my smile hidden; even in her sickness, she’s still looking out for me.
The front door clicks shut with her departure and the tension immediately climbs to a new level in the small living room. J.C. has yet to break eye contact with me.
“So,” I start aimlessly tidying up the already spotless living room just to avoid looking at him, “thanks for coming out here, it really wasn’t necessary.”
“Jo. Why didn’t you tell me what’s going on with your mom?” J.C. asks.
He knows more about my mom’s illness than anyone else in our group. During many of those late night, after sex cuddle sessions with J.C., I may have cried and leaned on him for support.
“You were deployed… and not speaking to me anyway.”
I keep my attention on mindlessly stacking the already showroom ready magazines, but it doesn’t work when a large hand settles on my shoulder blade. I freeze, lost in all of the feelings that his simple touch does to me.
“That's a bullshit excuse. You know damn good and well that I would have talked to you regarding this...it's your mom!” He throws his hands up, exasperated with my careless tone towards him. “Are you even gonna look at me? I came all the way out here to see you, it's the very least you can do,” J.C.’s voice is lined with hurt.
“No one asked you to come out here, J.C. I was handling everything on my own; I didn't need anyone to take care of me. So why are you here?”
I stand and cast a quick glance at him. His facial expression and posture now match the hurt sound in his voice.
He has every right to be; I've done nothing but cause him damage for the past year or so. First my refusal to admit we were anything more than a casual hook up, then the miscarriage, followed by six months of silent treatment. Although, I don't think the silent treatment can all be blamed on me, he had a part in that too. And now that he's here, effectively ending our stalemate silent war, I treat him as if I don't want him here.
“I know,” he sounds defeated. “But I wanted to be here. Hell, I needed to be here. I hate the way we left things and I'll do anything to get us back, darlin’.”
With a loud sigh, I turn to face him finally.
“J.C., what's done is done with us. Eventually I'll get past my hurt and we can go back to being friends, but it's gonna take time.”
My words cut deep, and judging by his expression, they bring out some anger. He runs both hands through the sides of his hair in frustration.
“You and I both know we can't go back to friends. And we both know that's not what either of us wants.”
The reality of his words shatter another piece of my heart, because I know he's right. We can't go back, and while I didn't know his feelings, I've known for a while I would never be happy with just friends. Part of me is excited to hear that he feels the same way, but ultimately he just told me what I feared, I've lost him for good.
J.C.
Fuck.
That was the last thing I expected either of us to say. This entire talk has been a disaster from the get go.
“I uh, thank you. For coming out here, I appreciate it. You probably made Mom’s week by showing up.”
There's an awkwardness lingering between us, something we've never had in the four years we've known each other.
This is the exact opposite of the reunion I wanted for us. Not that I had expected everything to fall back into our old routine, we need to talk over some things before that’s possible, but I didn’t think our friendship was at this level of distress.
“Well, I'm glad, but I'm here for you, too. Your mom filled me in on her health…”
This conversation is already so screwed up and emotional, and my genius ass decides now is the perfect time to throw in the fact that
her mom has been given a death sentence marked for two months from now.
That’d be the cherry right on the mother fucking top of this fucked up discussion.
“Yeah. Doesn't look good. I uh, I,” her voice trails off not finishing with the rehearsed, fake upbeat response. She sighs dejectedly while rolling her neck from side to side, “How am I gonna get through this? What am I supposed to do without my mom, J.C.?”
I’m actually impressed with her bravado; she’s trying her damnedest and, I’m sure, succeeding in making people believe she’s already come to accept her mom’s fate. However, I see through it. Jo is good at putting on a front, but not with me. I don’t know why or how, but we’ve always been able to call each other out on our bullshit from the moment we met each other. And right now, I know she’s lying through this; it’s killing her to know that her mom isn’t going to be around much longer.
Timidly, I place my hand on her shoulders. “Hey, your mom has an incredibly positive outlook on what's happening. She's ready to end this fight and you've gotta be supportive. I'll be here for you through it all, Jo.”
It's slight, but I do catch the stiffening of her shoulders.
She doesn't believe me.
And it's my own fault; I caused her to lose faith in me.
“Jo, I fucked up before. I left when you needed me. I should have been here for you and instead I ran like a coward. But I promise you, that won't happen again. I'm always gonna be here for you, whether it's as a friend or something else, you’ll always have me.”
She gives a half-hearted shoulder shrug and slight nod before walking away.
We've got so much to discuss, and I've got a lot to prove to her now. She needs to understand that what happened was a one-time deal; that I refuse to allow myself to let her down again.
Jo takes my silence as the end of our conversation and leaves the room. I'll let it go for now, but the conversation is far from over.
Two days later, I’m surprised when I pull up to the house to be met outside by Jo’s oldest brother, Miguel. We haven’t spoken much since my arrival and our first meeting, but he’s been cordial enough. It seems as though he’s waiting on me today.