Return To You

by Leia Stone

  I wish I could swipe off the cherry red color in her cheeks as if it were washable marker. Teach my girlfriend’s mom how to smoke weed? Sure … no big deal, and not awkward for either of us.

  "Of course, Faith. No worries." I hold out my hand and Faith gives me the bag. It crinkles in my grip as I lead her through the house and out the back door.

  "You'll want to be outside," I inform her, holding open the door to allow her to step out. "It's pungent."

  "Right," she nods. "I smelled it in college."

  She gets settled into her favorite seat underneath the canopy, and I reach into the bag. Pre-rolls. Good. She got something easy. I had my fair share of experience in college, before I got super serious the last two years of undergrad and beyond, but I was terrible at packing the bowl. Ace always did it for me, and teased me mercilessly.

  “Didn’t want any gummies or brownies? A vape perhaps?” I grin at her.

  She shoos me off with a hand. “The girl tried to give me the gummy bears. I told her I wasn’t a child.”

  I grin. “Smoking is good. It helps a lot of my patients with pain and appetite. But the gummies are good too, I hear. Eating it feels different than smoking it.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “Is that right, Dr. Miller? You seem to know a lot about this.”

  Now it’s my turn for my cheeks to flame red.

  "Lighter?" I ask, holding out my palm like I'm in surgery.

  Faith mouths the word oops and I chuckle, running inside to the junk drawer in the kitchen and grab a lighter.

  "Okay," I tell her when I've returned, "you're going to hold it between your lips, and when I light it, you're going to take a drag. A lot like a cigarette."

  Faith eyes me appreciatively. "Is it safe to bet you haven't done this with many of your patients?"

  I pinch the pre-rolled joint between two fingers and hold it out to her. "You are definitely the first. And you don't need to feel embarrassed. You're in pain and you don't need to be. There are no prizes for enduring pain, Faith."

  Even the morphine patch doesn’t seem to do much, because she won’t wear it in the day around Autumn. She wants to be mobile and coherent in her last days with her only child. I don’t blame her.

  She sighs deeply, psyching herself up, then takes it from me. Tucking it between pursed lips, she leans closer to me. I flick the lighter and watch the flame singe the ends of the small joint.

  "Inhale," I instruct.

  Faith listens, and as soon as she breathes it in, she begins to cough. I run back into the house for a glass of water, cursing myself for not thinking of it ahead of time.

  "Here," I thrust the plastic cup at her. She's mostly recovered now, just clearing her throat every few seconds.

  She drinks deeply, finishing it in one go. "Thank you," she says, setting the empty cup on the table. "Is it always like that?" She glances at the joint on the table as if it offends her.

  I shake my head. "It takes practice. Maybe get some gummies on your next run." I wink.

  She bends over and grabs it from the table, lifting it up between us. "Won't you join me?"

  I put up a hand in protest, but the look she gives me stops me in mid-air.

  She accompanies the look by saying, "You aren't going to make me do this alone, are you?"

  I cock an eyebrow. "What was it you used to say to Autumn in high school? Something about never succumbing to peer pressure?"

  Faith makes a sound, something like a psh, and brushes her hand back and forth in front of her, as if sweeping away my words. She raises her eyebrows and says, "Are you telling me you're going to deny the wishes of a person facing imminent death?"

  I groan playfully, hiding the painful pinch of her words. "Don't tell me you're going to use the dying card."

  Faith laughs and pushes the joint into my hand. "Gotta play dirty while I have the chance."

  It feels like college again, minus the presence of Ace and cheap beer. Luckily the hospital doesn’t drug test, so I’ll have this one memory with Faith and never speak of it again. Pulling the joint to my lips, I inhale the way I showed Faith, and she nods like she's impressed. Imagine that, my girlfriend's mother is dazzled by my weed smoking prowess.

  A small cough racks my body just as I see Faith’s eyes go wide. She’s looking at something behind me.

  "What the hell is going on here?"

  My head swivels to the sound of Autumn's voice. She's standing halfway across the yard, hands fisted and propped on her hips, mouth agape.

  "It's Owen's fault," Faith says, and I shoot her a dirty look.

  She laughs, not a normal laugh, a stoned laugh, and I can’t help but feel my lips curl into a smile.

  "It's not really Owen's fault," she explains as Autumn walks closer, her eyes screwed up as she absorbs what she’s just walked in on. "He wrote me a prescription for medical marijuana.”

  Autumn sends a shocked look my way. “You what?”

  Is marijuana gluten free? Seems like it should be.

  "I'm in pain, Autumn," Faith adds, knowing this will help Autumn understand, and my heart aches when I see my girlfriend’s face fall.

  "Mom," Autumn whispers, her eyes filling with tears automatically.

  "Marzipan," Faith declares.

  Did I hear that right? Marzipan? Is this weed laced with something?

  Autumn nods, wiping away the moisture stuck in her lower lashes. "Marzipan," she repeats.

  I still don't get it, but I don't think I need to. Either I’m stoned as hell or they have a code word.

  "Why are you home so soon?" Faith asks Autumn. "Aren't you supposed to be eating dinner with Livvie?"

  Autumn settles into a chair across from the couch where Faith and I sit, tucking her feet underneath herself. "She ended up canceling. A situation with her husband."

  "Uh oh," Faith says, making a bare-teeth face.

  "Actually, I think it was good. She sounded happy when I talked to her."

  "That's nice." Faith holds out the joint. "Want some?"

  Autumns head jolts back slightly. "Mom? For real?"

  Faith shrugs. "Why the hell not? Owen reminded me that I taught you not to give in to peer pressure, but I also taught you to share, so this is me sharing…" She pushes her arm a little further out in Autumn's direction.

  Autumn laughs, but it's honestly more like a disbelieving giggle, and it's about the cutest damn thing I've ever heard.

  “Why not?” She takes it from Faith and inhales the way I did.

  Faith's eyebrows shoot up. "You do that a little too well."

  "College," Autumn answers.

  Ten minutes later, it's apparent Faith is high. She wants to order pizza, then changes her mind and asks for Chinese food instead. She then asks if Baskin Robbins can deliver a birthday ice cream cake.

  It’s not even her birthday.

  I get out my phone and call Faith's favorite spot, just glad she has an appetite again. I’ll do anything to get her weight up.

  "Egg rolls," Faith calls out, even though I'm only two feet away. "Beef and broccoli. Black bean chicken. Lo Mein."

  She keeps calling out dishes and I keep ordering. I pull my credit card from my wallet while Autumn clutches her waist and laughs so hard no sound comes out. I think now I can officially add spending one hundred and fifty dollars on a single order of Chinese food to the list of things I never thought I'd do in my life.

  Right after that, I call Baskin Robbins and give them a sob story about Faith and that this ice cream birthday cake is her dying wish. They agree to have it delivered.

  Once I’ve ordered all the food, and lectured Faith on pacing herself, I leave her and Autumn talking while I run into the house to use the bathroom. Is it really my fault that at the exact second when I pass by the kitchen, Autumn's phone that had been lying on the counter lights up with a message? I grab it with the intention of taking it to her, but when I glance down, I see it's a text from Jeanne Chapman, the old boss.

  Have you given more thought
to what we discussed?

  My heart flipflops in my chest. There has been a discussion? The woman left a voicemail in Vegas, but clearly now there’s been a discussion.

  A knock on the front door startles me and I drop the phone.

  Shit.

  Picking it up, I toss it on the counter and answer the door. It’s the Chinese food.

  I set it on the counter and run to the bathroom like I’d originally intended. On my way back into the kitchen, there is a knock at the door again.

  It’s the ice cream birthday cake, with a get-well-soon balloon. Clearly they didn't understand my message that Faith is terminal, but it’s the thought that counts.

  I bring all the food to the kitchen, feeling more sober than I wish to be right now.

  Reaching up, I pull plates from the cabinet, open boxes of steaming, fragrant food, and get out utensils. All the while, Autumn's phone lies there on the countertop, holding a secret.

  I'm not going to listen to Autumn's voicemail, so I'm left with no choice. I have to ask her what the hell is going on.

  I pull open the sliding glass door and stick my head out. "Food," I yell to Faith and Autumn.

  We sit around the small table in the adjoining dining room, barely speaking as we shovel the food into our mouths. Autumn catches my eye and smiles at me, and though I manage to return the smile, my heart isn't really in it.

  My heart is terrified Autumn's going to leave me behind a second time, and this time … I’m scared I won’t survive it.

  Chapter 24

  Autumn

  I can’t believe yesterday I smoked weed with my mom and Owen, and tonight she smoked again and ordered a bunch more food. It’s amazing. She’s laughing, her appetite is up, and I think she might actually gain some weight, which Owen said could prolong her life.

  I skip to the kitchen after asking my mom to pause the movie so I can make popcorn. Owen is working a late night, doing rounds at the hospital, and I’m getting just what I need. Quality time with my mom.

  As I toss the popcorn in the microwave, my phone buzzes in my pocket. When I see it’s from Jeanne, I hightail it to my bedroom to talk in private.

  "Hi," I say quietly, the phone pressed to my cheek. I close my bedroom door softly so I don't draw attention to what I'm doing.

  "Autumn, hello. Is this a bad time?"

  "No, no, it's fine," I answer, even though it's really not fine. I've already told Jeanne I don't plan to return to the city. I have no idea what I'm doing here in Sedona, but I know I can’t live without Owen. I need to tell him about Jeanne and the job offer, but I know what he will say. He'll tell me to go for it, that we can figure out logistics, that I can't pass up an offer like this. He’ll tell me to follow my dreams—the same shit my mother did when I left for college. Well, look where that got me…

  Fucking marzipan. No way. Not leaving again.

  "I talked with a couple other members of the team and, despite what you've already said, we're hoping if we were to sweeten the comp package you might look differently at the offer."

  "Jeanne, I—”

  "Autumn," I hear my mother's voice through my closed door. Her tone doesn't sound like an inquiry as to why I'm taking so long with the popcorn. It sounds more like worry. Panic rises in my throat, filling the space, and I wrench open the door. My mom stands there, her expression blank.

  "Mom?" The panic I feel saturates the word.

  Her knees begin to buckle and, in the doorway to the room she painted lavender after I'd begged her to when I was twelve, she wilts like a flower.

  "Mom," I scream, catching her under the arms before she hits the ground. Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear my phone clatter to the floor.

  "Autumn?" Jeanne's voice floats into the air. "Autumn?"

  Holding my limp mother in one arm, I grab the phone. I hang up on Jeanne and dial 9-1-1. It's a sequence of numbers I've never dialed, and hoped to never need to.

  The woman who answers is kind, efficient, and knowledgeable. She stays on the phone with me until the ambulance arrives.

  My mom doesn't wake up, not when she's lifted onto a stretcher, not when I sob over her in the back of the ambulance, not even when Owen runs into the emergency room and tells the doctor about her current condition.

  I've never seen him so in command and confident. At least that's how he appears on the outside. But I know Owen. That authoritative exterior? A facade.

  On the inside, he's got to be as terrified as I am.

  I hear Owen before I see him. He's speaking to someone else, someone beyond the white and blue patterned curtain that gives my mother a bit of privacy in the emergency room.

  Owen's face appears around the curtain. He looks at my mom first, then at me, and straightens, pulling the curtain aside.

  "Good to see you awake, Faith." He smiles the easy smile of a man being handed a cocktail on a tropical beach. As if he doesn't have a care in the world, as if he isn't in a place that smells like cleaning products and sounds like scuffed shoes and beeping.

  I forget for a minute that he works here day in and day out among the dying.

  My mom returns his smile, but it's not like Owen's. Hers is weak. Tired. Much more appropriate given the situation. It occurs to me that Owen uses that smile to cut through worry. Maybe it works. When he smiles like that, it certainly doesn't seem like anything bad could truly be happening. He’s the doctor with the news, the keeper of her fate. If he doesn’t smile, then the world is ending.

  It only takes two steps before he stops at the side of her bed, his gaze on the monitors. "You gave Autumn a scare," he says, his tone playfully chiding. When my mom doesn't respond, Owen glances at her. Their eyes meet and a crack forms in his cheerful demeanor. I see inside, to the place where his anguish lives.

  "Just say it, Owen." Her resolute tone breaks my heart in two.

  Owen looks over to me, worry in his eyes.

  I nod at him, telling him I'm okay. I'm not, of course. I never will be. This is a cruel, slow torture.

  Marzi-fucking-pan goddammit.

  "You experienced something we call 'syncope.’ Basically, you fainted. But your encounter lasted longer than typical. A lot longer." Owen pauses, takes a deep breath, and folds my mom's hand into his. "I've been spending a lot of time around you recently, Faith. So I don't need to ask either of you the questions I would normally ask a patient and their family. I know how little you've been sleeping; I've seen how hard it is for you to walk … how much pain you’re in. You try hard to hide it from Autumn"—his gaze skirts over my face before returning to my mom—“but I know it's harder for you to do what you did even two weeks ago."

  Mom nods, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. I want her to look at me, will it in my mind, but she doesn't. "How much time?" Her voice is soft like a caress.

  "At most, three months. But I don't think it will be that long." His answer is a knife, slicing into me swiftly. He said six months just a few weeks ago. Now it’s three at most? The thought of only a few months left with my mother guts me.

  I scrunch my eyes against his words. The urge to be a child overtakes me, to stuff my fingers in my ears and tuck my knees to my chest.

  My mother.

  There is a touch on my shoulder and I open my eyes. Owen is bent down in front of me. His eyes are glassy, unshed tears dangerously close to spilling out. He pulls me in and my arms wrap around his neck. As quietly as I can, I cry. My mom watches from her bed, tears running down her face. She’s cried more lately than I've seen her cry in my entire life.

  I gather myself as best as I can. "What do we do now?"

  Owen stands at the sound of my voice, using the heels of his hands to wipe at his eyes. He opens his mouth to speak but my mom beats him to it.

  "I want to die at home." Her hands are folded in her lap, her face almost serene.

  It hits me that she has thought about this, has planned for the end of her life. I should've known that she would, because it makes sense, but the realizat
ion is painful. All of this is excruciating. For my mom, it must be almost beyond belief. I hadn’t really accepted it until now. We were in Vegas, laughing, then smoking weed. It didn't seem real, not in any tangible way. Sure, Owen would say the word terminal, but I conveniently thought of an airport terminal, not the termination of my mother’s life. This is it, I have to deal with it fully now.

  "How?" I ask, my own voice taking me by surprise. It's the first time I've spoken since Owen walked in. "How do we arrange for … that?"

  "There's something called hospice home care. A nurse will visit your house daily. Their job is to provide pain and symptom management. This will allow you to spend as much time with your mom as possible by removing some of the burden of caring for her."

  His explanation is clinical, but his expression is soft. He's doing his job right now, being Owen the oncologist.

  She’s not a burden, I want to say, but I know what he means. I can’t watch over her every second of the day and still get all the cooking and grocery shopping done.

  "Mom?" I look to her, promising myself I will be okay with whatever she chooses.

  "This is what I want, Autumn."

  "Then you'll have it." It feels as though the lump in my throat might choke me.

  Owen arranges my mom's discharge. I take her to the cafeteria for coffee while we wait for Owen's shift to be over. He has offered to drive us home. In the chaos and grief of this trip to the emergency room, I'd forgotten we didn't drive here. And until I looked at my phone and saw two missed calls and a text message from Jeanne, I'd completely forgotten about her too.

  Chapter 25

  Owen

  I tiptoe from the room and close the door quietly. It's the second time I've checked on Faith since I brought her and Autumn home from the hospital.

  "She's asleep, pulse is steady," I announce as I walk into the kitchen.

  Autumn has poured herself a glass of white wine. A very big glass.