by D. Love
They look at each other and say simultaneously, "Bow chica wow wow."
We all bust out laughing. I’m not at all certain what they’re laughing at, but the sight of them giggling fills me with a feeling that’s warm and peaceful. I’m happy to laugh along with them. If Rye’s eyes are beautiful, her smile is breathtaking, and I realize this is the first time I’ve seen her smile since we met. Why don’t I remember her being this pretty from school?
The rest of our lunch remains upbeat. We laugh, eat and talk. The longer we’re there, the more time I want to spend with them, especially if I have the chance to get to know Rye. Although quiet, she’s gentle with her often-dramatic daughter and genuinely kind.
When everyone has finished and the plates are gone from the table, Rye excuses herself for a moment to go to the restroom. She calls out to her aunt on the way, asking her to keep an eye on Em.
Once she’s gone, I pull out a piece of paper that I’d written on in the truck, before entering the café. During our walk, I rescued the paper Em dropped and returned it to her. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I read it. It gave me an idea in the truck, where I hastily scribbled down something I thought was important.
Day 253: Mom met Jett.
I’ve been waiting to give it to Em and pass it to her now. She opens it curiously, reads it and then gazes at me, eyes widening.
"Did you read my paper?" she whispers, a look of uncertainty crossing her face.
"Only glanced at it. Not sure I understand what it is. But I thought this might be important to you," I say and motion to the paper she clutches.
She appears thoughtful for a long moment. Her eyes drop to the paper, and she re-reads it. She smiles suddenly then folds it and places it in her pocket, but not before tearing off a small piece. She scribbles what looks like a phone number down and hands it to me.
"Just in case you want to call Mama." She gives me a knowing look, and I try not to smile. I don’t imagine a ten-year-old can understand the dynamics between two adults attracted to each other, which makes me wonder if I’m being too obvious about my interest in Rye.
If so, it’s a good thing. Em isn’t as reserved as Rye. I’m wondering if I would have gotten a phone number, if not for little Em.
"Thank you," I tell her and put the number in my pocket.
Rye returns to the table looking flushed. Em reaches into her mom's purse, takes out a pill and hands it to her. Rye places it in her mouth, tilts her glass back and takes a long drink. Medicine is my field, so I’m naturally curious but ask nothing, assuming it’s none of my business.
"Aunt Kim, can I get the check?" Rye calls to the woman behind the counter.
Her aunt returns with the bill and a smile. Rye reaches for it. I grab it instead. My mother raised me to respect women and treat them all like ladies. It’s old-fashioned, but it’s just how I am. It doesn’t hurt that I spent next-to-nothing while stationed in Iraq and can afford to take out the pretty woman and her daughter.
I leave a huge tip for Aunt Kim. Okay, so maybe it’s more than being a gentleman. I want to make a good impression on Rye and her aunt. I managed to earn Rye’s phone number from her little girl; I want to make good on it and make sure I don’t lose the honor of calling.
Rye blushes enough to make her eyes sparkle even more. That alone is worth it.
We leave the restaurant without saying another word and walk to the parking lot. Rye manages to look at me at last.
"Thanks," she says softly. "For lunch and hanging out."
"Thank you, Jett!" Em choruses. "Don’t forget … you know."
Rye gives her The Look again, and I laugh. With a shake of her head, Rye herds her daughter to their car. I retreat to my truck and climb in, watching them leave the parking lot from the rearview mirror.
I pull out a receipt from my wallet and grab a pen from my cab then write on the back of it.
Day 1: Had lunch with Rye & Em.
I let out a deep breath. I don’t exactly know what possessed me to do that. Today, though, is important. Not because of the Walk, but because of who I met there. It was important enough for Em to record. I suppose I feel inspired to do the same.
There’s no second guess as to why. As I'm leaving the café, I can only think about Rye. It sounds strange, but I want to spend time with her. It’s more than physical attraction. There’s something about her I can’t quite place. I can’t remember the last time I met a woman who intrigues me like she does.
I pull up to my house. Today was my day off work. I signed up for the walk to support a great cause but also so that I didn’t have to be alone. Overseas, people constantly surrounded me, and it’s been hard adjusting to a quiet house. I sit in my truck. I dread going in, and then decide I’d rather be inside than hanging out in the driveway.
I open the door to my house. The first thing I always see is my mom's beautiful mirror, hanging over the fireplace. I placed it there, thinking it would help me deal with her death, help me not to miss her so much. But it never seems to work. If anything, it reminds me of a sad time in my life.
I signed up to go overseas in hopes that it would take my mind off Mom’s death. But the only thing that did was bring more heartache. Every time we lost one of our soldiers, my empathy would churn inside me, almost making my heart stop. I always think of the loved ones, whether it’s a wife or a child or parents. I lived through their pain when my mother died. I’m not sure how I survived it; I don’t think I could go through something like that again.
Working at the hospital and my mother’s death have given me a personal understanding of death. Every day, I see the loved ones of patients trying to deal with the deaths of those they love. I help everyone I can, but people still die. It causes me a great deal of turmoil. I don't know how I would deal with it now, especially since I never really confronted my mother’s death.
Returning home from Iraq, I realized the trip overseas was a distraction. The pain didn’t heal, and every time I’m alone or see my mom’s mirror, I remember it. Meeting Rye today brought a little light of hope to me. Now I just have to find away to make her notice me.
I’m thinking about her as I walk through my house to the stairs and climb them towards my bedroom.
Chapter Three: Rye
Em and I arrive at home. Now is the time for strength. I’m exhausted, but I’m doing my best not to let my pounding head and shaky step drag down my mood. As we walk in the front door, Mom is there as always, waiting to see if I'm okay. She jumps up from the comfy recliner in the living room and hugs Em.
"How was the walk, girls?" she asks.
"We walked allllll the way down the river," Em says. "Now Mama has a headache."
Mom questions me with nothing more than a look. Her eyes are expressive, like Em’s. I can almost read her mind. I resist the urge to roll my eyes at her in response, like I did as a teen. Either I’m frowning at her or she senses my mood. Her attention returns to Em.
"What are we going to do, watch a movie or play a game?" she asks Em instead of interrogating me, like I’m pretty sure she wants to.
Em starts giggling.
"What's so funny?"
"Nana, Mama found a BF today!"
"What’s a BF?"
Em giggles so hard, she snorts. We all laugh.
"A BF" – she uses her fingers to create quotation marks in the air – "is a boyfriend, Nana."
Though clearly surprised, Mom joins Em, as my daughter starts singing, "Bow chica wow wow!" They wiggle their eyebrows and make funny faces.
I laugh, until I’m almost crying. Life has been like this since my diagnosis: Bursts of laughter, rounds of weeping and constant love unlike anything I’ve ever known. My mom went from my number one enemy as a teenager to my mentor when I had Em to my best friend as an adult. I love her more than she knows. Much of my strength comes from her.
"About this new BF," Mom says, winking at Em.
"He’s no one, Mom." I try to shrug it off. The thought of Jett, though, makes
my pulse quicken. "Just someone I used to know from school. We ran into him at the Walk and had lunch wi-" Before I can finish, Mom and Em start again with the bow chica wow wow song.
When they finish, Em is almost bursting with her desire to relate everything that happened at lunch.
"Nana, he’s a military man!" she exclaims.
I feel my face turn hot. Both of them laugh. I’ve always told them that it was my dream to meet a military man and live on base. I faithfully watch Army Wives every Sunday night, even though everyone in my house makes fun of me the next day.
Jett all but fell into my lap today. Briefly, I let myself imagine what life would be like with him, if things were different.
Mom and Em are still at it. Their happiness makes me smile, but the toll of today’s activities is beginning to make me feel ill.
"Mom, I’m going lay down," I say. "Will you be okay with Em?"
"Of course, honey," Mom replies, as always.
Mom is so strong. Not for the first time, I realize how lucky we are to have her in our lives. It gives me some peace to know she’ll be here for Em, once the inevitable happens.
I go to my room and change my clothes. I climb into bed and am pulling the covers up, when Mom comes in.
"Book time?" she asks.
"Sure, Mom," I say, touched. She’s read to me every night since that fateful visit to the doctor’s office almost a year ago, like she did when I was a child. "I would love to hear you read."
Mom snuggles into the bed beside me and opens a book, then pauses.
"Or you can tell me about this Jett," she says, trying to keep a straight face.
"Mom! There’s nothing to tell," I insist.
"Are you going to see him again?"
"No, Mom." I feel like a teenager again. "He had lunch with us, and that’s it. No seeing or hearing from him again. It was just a nice day with someone I knew from school." Who just so happens to be the most handsome, politest and nicest man I’ve ever had lunch with. These thoughts I keep to myself. It’s not like I can start a relationship with anyone, anyway. Any notion I have about meeting the perfect man and living on base are nothing more than unattainable dreams.
I accept that. I don’t regret the life I’ve lived. I have too much to be thankful for. Though I’ll admit, Jett … he’s something else.
Em’s slippers slap the wood flooring as she runs down the hall towards my room. I hear her long before she reaches us.
"Mama!" she hollers at the top of her lungs. She barrels into my room, my cellphone in her outstretched hand. "Phone Mama!" She’s grinning from ear to ear.
I take the phone, curious. "Hello?"
"Hi Rye," Jett’s warm voice makes my breath catch. "I hope I am not bothering you."
"Jett, how did you get my phone number?" I ask instinctively.
"Well, a beautiful little birdy gave it to me." He even talks with a smile.
"Oh, Em?" I’m giving my daughter The Look. She can’t sit still; she’s too excited. And proud of herself.
"Yes. She gave it to me today, at lunch. I hope that’s okay?"
"Umm, sure," I reply. "What can I do for you?"
"Well, actually, it's what I can hopefully do for you," he chuckles nervously. "I was wondering if I could take you two out to lunch again tomorrow?"
Mom and Em make a show of sneaking out of the room to give me some privacy.
"Oh. I’m sorry, but we already have plans." I could feel my smile turn upside down, along with my spirits. Silently, I’m hoping he takes the hint and disappears, the way he suddenly appeared in my life this morning. It bothers me to think of him running off to be happy with someone else. Yet, it’s not fair to him to pull him into my life, when it’s not likely to last much longer.
"What about tomorrow night?" he asks.
"Jett, I’m sorry, but I’m very busy. Thank you for lunch today. I’ll talk to you later." I rush through the words and hang up fast. Not because I don’t want to talk to him, but because I’m almost afraid that I’ll find someone who upsets the hard-won inner peace I’ve managed to create about my illness. I know I’m dying. Jett doesn’t. He has a chance to live the life he deserves. For all intents and purposes, my life is over.
I set the phone down and snuggle deep beneath the covers. I finally have a chance to rest. It’s hard, because my thoughts keep going back to Jett and how much fun we all had today. Was it so wrong to wish that the remainder of my days were happy?
The sound of Mom’s belly laugh comes from the living room. It makes me smile, and I yell to her,
"What’re you doing? Are you posting naked cowboy pictures on Facebook again?"
"Don't forget the chocolate!" she shouts back.
It’s an inside joke, one I no longer remember the source of.
A few months ago, I talked Mom into starting a book blogging and review page on Facebook, to help take her mind off me. She loves reading and has always hated reading bad reviews. We used to talk for hours about how people would belittle authors and their stories, even though those writers had poured their hearts and souls into the stories they released to the world.
Creating her own page online, where she could talk to other readers who love books, was a natural fit. Mom is determined to help make a difference. So, off she went on this adventure. At first, she was reticent about talking to complete strangers online about anything, let alone books. Now, she has a lot of writer and reader friends. She’s built an entire community that thinks like she does about books. They trade funny stories and pictures, too, which is where a lot of our inside jokes come from.
I smile and sink back into my bed. I’m thrilled to hear her laugh. Her online community gives her some peace and happiness, which she deserves. I’m no longer afraid she’ll waste away, taking care of me, instead of continuing to live, even after I’m gone.
Of course, I'd never tell her that. I seem to have accepted what’s happening to me better than anyone else in my life, maybe so I could help my loved ones understand how to move on.
My eyelids grow heavy as I think. I fall asleep to the sound of her musical laughter.
The next morning, I awake to the sunshine streaming through my window. I follow my morning routine and am just climbing out of the shower when Em comes in.
"Nana wants us to come eat, Mama," she sings to me.
"Alright, honey. Tell Nana I’ll be right there," I reply. I take more care in how I dress today, wearing my favorite jeans and the blouse that complements my features. I then go to sweep my hair up in the typical ponytail I wear every day. I stare into the mirror and find myself thinking about Jett, wondering if he’d like my favorite shirt, or if he preferred my hair up or down. In the course of a lunch, he somehow managed to make me feel special.
Embarrassed, I banish the thoughts, put my hair in a ponytail, and go to the kitchen.
"Good morning, Mom!" I call out.
"Wow. You look beautiful today, Rye," she says, looking me over. "What's the occasion? "
"Nothing, Mom. I'm going to the doctor’s and coming back home. I thought Emily and I could go to the store while we're out. Maybe see if we can find a graduation dress for her."
"Alright, but I want to know what the doctor has to say," she says firmly. "Are you sure you don't want me to go with you?"
"No, Mom, we’ll be just fine," I reply in the same tone she used with me. "You need to go to the office, so you can catch up on Facebook. I’d hate for your friends to post a pic of a sexy guy, and you miss it. I know it would throw your whole day off."
"Ha!" Mom grins. "Don't be a smarty pants."
"Speaking of pants and sexy guys, how is your penis club going?"
"Rye!" My mom gasps. "Watch your mouth! It’s not a penis club! That’s only the password to get into the club’s page."
We both crack up laughing. My mom’s face is red. Teasing her used to be commonplace for me, and this morning, I feel rested and cheerful, almost like I did before I became ill. Silently, I thank Jett for ma
king me feel good yesterday.
"Alright. Enough, kid," Mom says. "Call me as soon as you can. I’ll be waiting."
"I will, Mom," I promise and then tell her what I do every time I leave. "I love you."
Em and I get into the car and start our drive to the doctor’s office. Em starts talking immediately, her happy voice filling the car.
"Mama, I’m going to do cups in the talent show this year," she informs me with all the gravity a ten-year-old believes such a serious topic deserves.
"That’s great, honey," I reply.
"Then I’ll graduate and be in the sixth grade. Then you know what happens, Mama?"
"What?"
"I become a tween. An official tween."
"A tween?" I ask, amused by her seriousness. "What is that?"
"I won’t be a teenager yet, but I won’t be a little girl, either. It’s where I’m growing up."
"I’ve never heard of that!" The rite of passage strikes me as funny for some reason, and I begin laughing.
Em appears offended. Before I can apologize, my whole world shatters.
The sickening crunch of metal against metal is followed by the sound of glass exploding. I’m flung to the side but trapped by my seatbelt. My ears ring, and I watch pieces of the windshield break apart and fall in slow-motion, like they’re snowflakes tumbling from the sky and not fragments of glass flying by my face fast enough to cut me as they pass.
Sudden silence fills the car. I’m completely lost as to what happened, my mind unable to catch up to the physical destruction around me. There’s some kind of strange pressure in my side, and something warm sliding down my face.
Car accident! It clicks, and I look quickly to Em.
Her head lolls to the side. She’s unconscious, and a thick rivulet of maroon blood travels down the side of her face.
My baby is hurt.
Panic replaces the eerie calm I feel, and I try to reach out to her. My body won’t move. I can’t help her. I can’t do anything, except scream.
"Help!" The cry is so loud, it hurts my throat. "Emily! Please answer me, Emily!"
No, no, no! Emily! I have to help my baby! I try again to reach her and still am unable to move. My world starts to flicker. Light, dark, light. I’m losing consciousness, but I fight it.