by Becky Siame
Without acknowledging one another’s existence, Tiresa and I unload the refrigerator and pile enough food to feed an army on the table. Even when Mama Rose leaves the room to call everyone inside, we avoid looking at or speaking to one another. I do it out of guilt: I might as well have a scarlet letter pinned to my shirt.
While everyone piles food on paper plates, Mama Rose approaches me with an extremely tall, chubby young man in tow. “Isabella, I want you to meet Harrison. He lives just across the street. Harrison, my granddaughter, Isabella.”
“Howdy,” Harrison grins and thrusts out a meaty hand to shake. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.” Harrison may work with computers - his wire-rimmed glasses and pocket protector were a dead giveaway - but he dresses like a cowboy, complete with shiny new boots, stiff cowboy hat and a cowboy twang to his New Zealand accent.
“How do you do?” I reply, leaning back to look up at him. I’m surprised his name isn’t Stretch. He pumps my hand like he’s drilling for oil.
“I’ll leave you two alone to get acquainted,” Mama Rose says and slips away. I love her but I could kill her.
Harrison pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Your grandma sure is a swell lady,” he smiles again, revealing deep dimples in both chubby cheeks.
“She certainly is,” I sigh.
“She’s told me all about you,” he says and looks me up and down. I’m startled by his audacity but he likes what he sees because he nods and licks his lips. “I see she hasn’t exaggerated. I like a woman with a bit of meat on her bones. There’s more for me to get my lasso around.”
“Oh, that’s, uh, nice,” I murmur, unsure how to respond to being favourably compared to a cow.
“She says you have a computer.”
I nod. “Yes. But most people do nowadays, don’t they?”
“Oh yeah, but not like mine.” He leans toward me conspiratorially. “I have my own server. I do web hosting on the side.”
Cow porn, no doubt. “On the side of what?” I ask to be polite.
Harrison hoists up his pants and sticks out his chest. “I’m a game designer at a major corporation.”
“How interesting,” I feign interest in a bowl of sliced fruit.
“Sure is. I’m working on a top secret game which is going to be bigger than World of Warcraft. It’s going to make all other online role playing games go out of business for sure.”
“That’s pretty amazing,” I nod and inch away. Harrison sticks close.
“You want to know what it’s about?”
“It won’t be top secret if you tell me,” I try to discourage him.
He doesn’t take the hint. “It’s about the Old American West. Yup, it’s a multiplayer game with cowboys and Indians and cattle barons and sheep ranchers and farmers and the railroad and bounty hunters and the Pony Express and miners during the Gold Rush and saloons and Indian reservations. It’s a massive geopolitical concept which also deals with macroeconomics and the societal impact of the American model of Imminent Domain. And you can only use period weapons. No laser guns or bazookas allowed. It’s gonna be the next big thing. I’m a walking advertisement for it. Yes siree, forget Dan Carter’s jocks: I am the real deal.”
“That’s great. When will it be released?” When will I be released from this torture?
Harrison’s smile falters and he tugs at his shirt collar. “Um, well, um, it hasn’t been approved yet. So it may be a year or two or more. But I know it’s gonna be a real humdinger.”
“Good for you,” I nod, trying to disentangle myself from this cowboy wannabe loser with a bigger “L” than my own stamped on his forehead. I’m unsuccessful.
Harrison becomes my new best friend, following me around with an affected bow-legged stagger and cowboy movie manners. At one point he puts a pinch of chewing tobacco in his mouth and spends the rest of dinner spitting it out into a plastic cup.
I avoid looking at Tiresa; it’s mortifying knowing there’s probably a smirk on her face at my ill-luck. I prepare for her to drop some snarky comment about not inviting John Wayne as my date to her engagement party and wedding. The thought of her doing that makes me want to invite him out of spite.
Through a freakish twist of fate, when it’s time for Fi to rip open her gifts in the living room, the only place left for me to sit is on the love seat - next to Tiresa. If it was anyone but her, I would have been grateful to escape having to sit next to Harrison. She makes a disgusted sound as I drop down next to her and scoots as far away as she can, which isn’t far, since my weight pulls the cushions down, sucking her into the vortex of my body mass. She looks around the room for another place to sit, but every chair and space is filled.
Nice. Real classy, I grumble. She thinks I’m embarrassing? What about her lack of manners?
Mama Rose sits in a chair on my other side and nudges me. “Talk to your sister. It will make me feel better,” she whispers.
“How do you think it will make me feel?” I whisper back. But in a spurt of gumption and spite, I know exactly what to say. I may feel guilty for having sex with Mika, but I’m not responsible for her actions, especially ones which have nothing to do with him.
“So, did you find anything to buy at AmandaE the other day?” My question is razor sharp and laden with accusation: Did you enjoy being a spectator while I was embarrassed? Me, your own sister, the one you used to help dress, the one you said you’d buy a dress for? Are you proud of yourself?
Tiresa reddens but doesn’t make eye contact. “No,” is her curt reply.
The wall of silence remains intact throughout the party, though the other relatives watch us like they’re hoping for a fight to break out at any moment. A Samoan smackdown will liven up the party. By the end of the evening, they are visibly disappointed.
“There, that wasn’t so bad,” Mama Rose congratulates herself. “You two get along just fine, so there’s no need to worry about the engagement party.”
“I can hardly wait,” I mutter.
We stand at the front door and wave goodbye to the guests. “It’s been a pleasure, ma’am,” Harrison tips his hat to Mama Rose and turns to me. The stench of tobacco wafts over me as he leans closer. “May I be so bold as to ask for your email address so we may correspond, cowboy to cowgirl? You may get lucky enough to meet my prized bull one day, ha-ha!”
I am deciding whether to knee his prized bull or slap him like a saloon whore when my cell phone rings. The screen reads “Mika”. At this point, I figure it’s better to talk to him than Harrison, so I turn away and hit the accept call key.
“Hello,” I say, none-too-friendly.
“Bella, where are you?” Mika asks.
“I’m at your daughter’s birthday party. Where are you?” I snap, taking a swipe at his notable absence. “What do my whereabouts have to do with you anyway?”
“Listen,” he ignores me, “I just got a call from Nelson Hospital. Your dad’s been taken to A & E by ambulance. They wouldn’t tell me why but they called the house looking for you. Your dad listed it as a next of kin emergency contact number.”
“Dad!” I gasp and hang up without even a thank you or a goodbye. My mind is in a haze and I can’t think straight as I haul my mass back inside, full steam ahead, to grab my purse, knocking into Tiresa, who is walking out the door with the kids behind her.
“Uff!” she exclaims as my belly plasters her to the door.
“Pa’s been taken to the hospital,” I blurt.
“What happened?” asks Mama Rose from behind me.
“I don’t know but we’ve got to get there fast.” Tiresa jumps out of the way as I race through the door.
“What’s wrong with Dad?” Fi calls after me. “I want to see Dad.”
“You will, sweetie, you will. Come on,” I grab her hand but Tiresa holds her other hand and stops her from going with me.
“It’s Mika’s weekend with the kids. You can’t change the visitation arrangements on a whim,” she says.
“Fi
wants to see her grandfather and I’m taking her to him. Don’t you want to see him, too?”
Tiresa eyes me coldly. “Frank means nothing to me. The kids can see him when we know for sure he isn’t going to keel over in front of them. Come on, kids. Your dad is waiting.” She pulls Fi toward her car. Abe follows, looking at me with sad, knowing eyes as he passes by.
Mama Rose put her hands on her substantial hips. “Tiresa, how can you say that? He’s their grandfather and your father. You should go to the hospital with Bella. “
Tiresa whirls around. “Frank has not been my father for years, so don’t tell me what I should do. Mika has just as much right to see his children as Bella does, so if you want to disregard the terms of visitation, then go right ahead. But know that you’re dealing with a lawyer who knows a thing or two about courts and judges.”
“Tiresa, for shame!” Mama Rose exclaims.
Anger rages within me but there’s no time to argue. “Fine, just get out of here,” I growl. “Kids, I’ll call you to let you know how Dad is, okay?”
“Okay, Mummy,” Abe and Fi reply as Tiresa hurries them to the car.
“Oh, Mama Rose,” I begin to cry.
“Now, now, put it behind you. This is no time for a fight.” She hugs me. “I’ll handle Tiresa. You go see your Dad. Call me when you hear anything.”
I’m crying so hard that I can barely see the road as I drive. Fear that Dad will die before I arrive, anxiety at not knowing why he’s in hospital in the first place, and rage over Tiresa’s hardness threaten to overwhelm me.
When I pull into the hospital car park, I hope I am not too late.
CHAPTER NINE
“Besides your badonkadonk butt bumping a friend into on-coming traffic, there doesn’t seem to be any legitimate, empirical evidence that proves obesity harms other people.”
FROM BELLA’S BLOG
http://www.thelightersideoflarge.com/ch9
I burst through the Casualty Ward doors at the hospital and rush through the crowded waiting area to the front desk. “My father, Frank White, was brought in not long ago?” I gasp for breath.
The receptionist looks up from her files. “Yes, ma’am, they took him into surgery right away.”
“Surgery!” I exclaim. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
The receptionist keeps her cool, professional demeanor. “He broke his neck in a fall.”
I grip the desk as fear washes over me. “Fall? Where? My God,” I start to cry. A hand on my arm distracts me.
“Bella,” says a soothing voice. It is Mika.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, unsure whether to be angry that he’s here or relieved to have someone with me.
He gently pulls me aside. “I got the call about your Dad, remember? He was outside watering the lawn when he stumbled over the hose or slipped on the wet walkway and hit the fence. He blacked out briefly and can’t remember exactly what happened. It was about twenty minutes before a neighbour heard his cries for help and called an ambulance. Bella, calm down, he’s in good hands now. The surgeon is inserting bolts into the bones to keep his head stable.” He grips my shoulders because I start to hyperventilate.
“Oh Dad, oh Dad,” I repeat over and over. “Did they say how long the surgery will take?”
Mika nods. “It’ll be a couple of hours and I’m staying right here with you. You’ll need to fill out some paperwork on your dad, but first let’s get some coffee.”
I rummage through my purse for a tissue. “I don’t want any coffee. I just want to see Dad.”
Mika asks the receptionist for the paperwork, who hands it to him on a clipboard. He takes me firmly by the arm and leads me down the hallway. “I know you want to see him but you can’t right now. You need something to settle your nerves.”
He takes me to the hospital coffee shop since the cafeteria is closed. He parks me in a chair and goes to the counter to place an order. I stop and start crying again several times before he returns to our table with the drinks.
“White Chocolate Cappuccino - next best thing to a mocacchino,” Mika says, handing me a cup.
I take it, amazed that Mika remembers my favorite coffee drink. “Thanks,” I murmur and glance through the papers. Basic ID forms, insurance forms, DNR agreement. I shudder and shove the clipboard aside. “First cancer and now this? His medical bills are already bad. He’ll never be able to afford to pay new ones and keep the house. Poor Dad,” I say. My hands are shaking.
Mika reaches across the table and takes my left hand. “It’s going to be all right. I’m a lawyer; I know how to deal with insurance companies and hospitals. Don’t worry about it, okay?”
I nod, the tears flowing again. It’s a minute before I calm down enough to speak. “Tiresa wouldn’t come. You called and she was standing right there and she refused to come. How can she be so heartless? What do you see in that bitch?”
Mika sits back and sighs. “Bella, now isn’t the-”
“I want to know,” I demand. “Tell me. Please, enlighten me on her virtues, because I really don’t know her anymore.”
He takes a sip of his coffee and leans forward with his elbows on the table. “She’s strong - like you. She’s beautiful. She knows what she wants in life.”
I snort. “Yes, we all know what she wants, she gets, which is why she got you. Hang the consequences and forget who it hurts; it’s all about what Tiresa wants. So that’s it? Strength and beauty attracted you to her? Any other redeeming qualities?”
Mika shakes his head. “What do you want me to say, that’s she’s great in the sack? Is that what you want to hear? Will it make you feel any better? Of course not, so let’s drop this conversation. If you need me to fill out those forms, I will.”
Without waiting for my reply, he picks up the clipboard and pen and starts filling in the blanks. We spend the next twenty minutes on the task: Mika writing while I dictate, a total one-eighty from the usual way we do things. Used to do things. When we finish, he takes the forms back to the desk and we wait another hour in the coffee shop. The Casualty waiting room is too crowded and depressing.
After an hour a doctor in scrubs approaches us. “Are you Mr White’s son and daughter?” he asks, holding out his hand. “I’m Dr Sullivan. I performed the surgery on your father.”
“Is he all right?” I ask.
Dr Sullivan nods. “He’s in a stable condition and in the recovery room. I’ll take you to see him in a minute. It was a clean break so we had no trouble resetting it. The head and neck brace is rather large and cumbersome, but he’ll have to wear it for several weeks and he must remain immobilised and in the hospital.”
“Oh, Lord,” I moan. Mika places his arm around my shoulder.
“There’s something else we must discuss,” Dr Sullivan begins, and my stomach, which already sank to my knees, plummets to the floor. “We performed a CAT scan to ascertain if there were any more broken bones or internal hemorrhaging. According to his records, Mr White was diagnosed with cancer five years ago, correct?”
I nod. “Yes,” Mika replies.
The doctor’s face tightens. “The CAT scan shows masses on both lungs and on his brain stem. Lab results show that it is cancer. He can begin chemo once his neck heals.”
The doctor says more, but I can’t hear anything. Cancer. Again. Did chemo work on the brain stem? Can they do surgery? Why Dad, my wonderful, loving Dad, who didn’t deserve this? He is too young to die, too good a person to have such misfortune inflicted on him.
Mika leads me down the hallway as we follow the doctor to the elevators, up four flights, and into another white, antiseptic hallway. The doctor shows us to a room near the nurse’s station. Inside the room, Dad is asleep on the bed. The head/neck brace is a giant monstrosity, a cage of metal with bolts poking through Pa’s bruised and reddened skin. I can’t see how he can lay there with that thing on, but I can see why he must be kept immobilised. It doesn’t seem like a person can move with that thing attached to them.
I pull up a chair next to the bed and gently take hold of Pa’s hand. “Dad, I’m here,” my voice chokes.
I feel a hand on my back. “Doc says he’s heavily sedated and won’t wake up for several hours. You can stay as long as you like.” I glance up at Mika. “I know you didn’t hear the doc. You never listen when you’re really upset.”
I turn back to Dad and wait. There’s nothing left to do.
“Do you want me to stay?” Mika asks.
I shake my head. “No. I want to be alone with him.”
The door opens behind me. “Call me if you need anything. I won’t tell the kids about the cancer.”
I nod and the door shuts. I appreciate Mika’s kindness and consideration but can’t think of anything right now but Dad. He looked frail before, but now he looks worse. Maybe if he wasn’t hooked up to machines and that cage he’d appear better, but he is and that is that.
I don’t pray a lot, but I feel a driving need to pray now. “Please, God, please don’t let him die,” I plead. “Please make the cancer go away. Don’t take my Dad from me. Not yet. He’s still got so many years left and his grandchildren to be with. He helps so many people. Please, please help him now.”
Dad, despite his battle with cancer and being retired from a career as a historian and curator of the history section of the University of Otago library, still finds time to tutor students and assistant graduates with research. He is a man who gives because he has so much to give and has a loving heart. I can’t imagine him not being there for Abe and Fi as they grow up, imparting his knowledge and wisdom to them. They love their grandfather, the only one they had, since Grandpa Vaega passed away before they were born.
I look at his pale complexion and dark circles under his eyes and shake my head. Dad seemed so healthy before the cancer. He took very good care of himself - ate right, exercised, took vitamins. The diagnosis was as unexpected as this fall. Who could have ever imagined what was in store for him? Unlike you, a voice accuses inside my head. It is easy to imagine what will happen to you. Overweight, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, can’t walk a few steps without getting short of breath. What are the odds you’ll live as long as Dad? The voice continues. Not good, that’s for sure, I think in reply. And with my luck, I’ll fall over from my weight while trying on shoes or something equally ridiculous and break my own neck.