Pieces of Happily Ever After

by Irene Zutell

  He sips his coffee. “And you know what happened a few days after I hung ’em up?”

  He waits for me, so I shake my head.

  “You were here. With your friends. Sure, you ran out as soon as you saw me. But still, I took it as a sign. And then when I found out you asked about my favorite one, well, it was . . . Forget it.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I’ve said too much as it is.”

  I wait for him to say more, but he doesn’t. He clamps his mouth shut for emphasis. My mouth instinctively curls in a goofy grin. It’s the kind of exercise my lips haven’t known since I was, well, single and flirting.

  After a few moments of silence, I say, “So, have you . . . changed, that is?”

  He takes a long sip of his coffee. “Two days ago, I drove right by Kitson’s just as Lindsay was coming out. And guess what?” He leans in towards me like he’s about to divulge some great piece of gossip.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t even stop. I kept on going. Okay. I did slow down a bit, but only for a second.”

  “Wow,” I say sarcastically.

  “I know. Although I did feel a little sick about it. It would have been an easy few grand.”

  I laugh.

  “So anyway, we can be friends, if you’d like. No expectations. We can have this sort of hesitant friendship for two people who don’t believe in love or romance anymore.”

  I wince a bit. Here the guy has spent the last half hour wooing me, for what? To be friends? How anticlimactic. Here I thought he’d already fallen madly in love with me and then he tells me he doesn’t even believe in love?

  But isn’t that exactly what I want?

  His eyes move over my face like he’s reading me. Then he smiles. “And if somehow we end up screwing like rabbits on Viagra, so be it,” he says. “So let’s just have some coffee, and if there’s no bad omens, we’ll take it from there.”

  My phone rings as if on cue. I check the number. It’s my house. Trinity.

  I snatch it. “Trinity? Is everything okay?”

  “Yes,” Trinity says.

  I sigh.

  “It’s just that your mother is going to die in about an hour.”

  “What?”

  “You mommy is going to die very, very soon.”

  “Is the doctor there?”

  “No.”

  “Well, how do you know then?”

  “Missus, I know these things. I’ve been around death all my life. It is time. You should hurry home.”

  I stand. My hands shake. My head feels woozy. “I’ve got to go,” I say. “My mother . . . is going to . . . die.”

  Johnny drives because my hands tremble so bad I can’t get the key into the ignition. We pass Gabby’s school, so I jump out and retrieve her. I know she’d want to say good-bye to Gaima.

  She climbs into the car. I’m about to explain what’s going on when she practically shouts, “It’s the man who rescued us!”

  Johnny grins while he squints at the road.

  “He didn’t rescue us,” I say.

  “He’s the prince! He’s the prince! Are you going to marry him, Mommy? Is this why you picked me up? Are we going to live happily ever after?”

  Johnny stares hard at the road, pretending to be preoccupied with driving.

  “Gabby, stop it,” I say a little too sternly. “Grandma is really, really sick.”

  “I know, Mommy,” Gabby says quietly. “She’s been really, really sick for a long, long time. Almost as long as I’ve been alive.”

  How do I explain?

  “Well, it looks like she’s going to die very soon. Maybe today. Maybe in just a little while. I wanted you to be able to say good-bye.”

  “Okay,” Gabby says, as if none of this is really a big deal, as if Grandma’s going on a trip somewhere.

  There are cars parked in front of the house. I don’t recognize any of them. When I head inside, I get that Trinity has called her friends, all the caregivers she knows. There are about ten people huddled around Mom’s bed.

  “Who are they supposed to be,” Gabby whispers in awe as she enters the guest house. They’ve lit candles and are praying around Mom. Their faces flicker with the candlelight. It is quiet and serene. The only sounds are the murmur of prayers, the soft smacking of lips.

  “Gaima,” Gabby whispers.

  Mom’s eyes blaze with an awareness that disappeared years and years ago. It makes me shudder. I can feel her presence in this room like I’ve never felt it here, in this house, before. Life is burning inside her.

  Somehow, Mommy is back.

  “She seems, well, so aware,” I whisper to Trinity.

  “Yes,” Trinity whispers. “I’ve seen it many, many times before. It is all your mommy’s energy pouring out of the body. The body is getting rid of everything it has.”

  For a moment I had almost wanted to believe in a miracle. But now I remember hearing about this before. The rush of life before death. A fierce, brilliant energy burns through Mom. It’s just like a candle that flickers the brightest right before it expires. Or a light bulb that blazes before it burns out. Mom’s face glows. Her eyes are clear and lucid.

  Gabby and I move closer to Mom. The Filipinos look at us to see if they should leave the room, give us privacy. But I don’t want them to go. They are comforting, like priests and saints and angels standing vigil. They are not afraid of Death who hovers around us.

  “We love your mommy very much,” one of them says to me, tears glistening in her eyes.

  I believe her, even though I’m sure she’s never met my mom before today.

  Gabby and I each hold one of my mom’s hands. Trinity puts an arm around Gabby. And while I watch Gabby as she strokes my mother’s face, I suddenly think about Alex, how upset he’d be by this if he still lived here. He’d insist Mom die in a hospital so we wouldn’t subject Gabby to this unpleasantness. But why? Why should she be shielded from this? It’s part of life. It’s a much better part of life than divorce is. Death is natural. Divorce isn’t. Why should Gabby be denied her chance to say good-bye?

  My mom squeezes Gabby’s hand. She hasn’t done this in a long, long time. She beams at Gabby. And it dawns on me than that Gabby is in dress-up clothes from school. She’s a fairy with nylon wings and a halo of plastic flowers on her head. She looks just like an angel. I wonder if Mom imagines she’s come to fly her away.

  Then Mom’s lips begin to tremble. She is struggling to say something to Gabby.

  Please, Mom, please don’t say cocksucker, I pray. Please don’t let that be your last word. Please, please, please.

  Mom closes her eyes in fierce concentration. Her face tightens and her lips quiver. She’s using all her remaining energy to tell my daughter something.

  The praying becomes louder. I look up at the faces around me. The room is dark except for the candlelight, and the Filipino faces flicker with the flames. I see some people are crying. Tears stream down Trinity’s face. But most of the people are smiling, despite their tears. These people are around death and dying so much that it is not something foreign or frightening or horrible to them. They see it like a friend who has come to visit yet again. They know what it looks like and sounds like and smells like. They nod to me and tilt their head towards my mother. They are silently telling me not to look away, to watch, to not be afraid, to savor every moment of her extinguishing flame.

  Her lips continue to quiver. She squeezes her eyes and tenses her mouth. She wants to tell us all something.

  The prayers stop as if someone has given a signal. We wait, expectantly. Gabby leans in closer. Mom’s face relaxes. She smiles at Gabby as if she’s never seen anything so beautiful before. As if she’s a new mother looking at her baby for the first time. She opens her mouth and sucks in air. She lifts her hand and touches Gabby’s cheek.

  “Life is sweet,” Mom whispers. “Life is sweet.”

  She tilts her head back onto the pillow as if to rest from this exertion. She looks li
ke she’s sleeping peacefully. But I know she is gone.

  9

  Life Is Sweat

  The Laugher is laughing at all the wrong moments. The priest tells us that while death may be frightening, Jesus is always with us. “Jesus holds our hands throughout all our trials and tribulations.”

  The Laugher is hysterical. This is the funniest thing she’s ever heard. Even better than Dr. Phil. People shush her. Father Gregory looks flummoxed.

  My Aunt Maddy jerks her head around and gives The Laugher a dirty look. “Shhhh.”

  “Aunt Maddy, she has Alzheimer’s,” I hiss.

  The church isn’t packed, but there are more people than I ever imagined. Trinity must have invited every Filipino in the San Fernando Valley. There are close to three dozen. I was shocked to see The Laugher and The Satellite. Surprisingly, Hilda’s son, Hans, has brought them with him. Thankfully, I don’t see Hilda. The Satellite makes everyone uneasy as she does laps around the casket.

  I spot Johnny in the back row and smile. The day Mom died, he had stayed at the house, playing Barbie dolls with Gabby. Gabby told me later he talked dolls better than anyone she ever met.

  “You could learn a lot from him,” she had said.

  “What?”

  “You could learn a lot from him about talking dolls. He really knows what Barbie likes. And he can do a really good Barbie voice, too, much better than yours.”

  Ruth, Renee, Nancy, and Amy are here. Judy didn’t show up, although she sent an enormous bouquet of flowers. Claire is here. Lauren flew in from Rochester and has been taking care of Gabby.

  And then, just as the service began, I heard the church door creak open. For some reason, I shivered. Then Aunt Maddy made a loud tsking sound. A hush seemed to fall over the church. I turned just as Alex snuck into the same pew as Johnny.

  This morning, as we prepared for the funeral, Gabby handed me a piece of paper. It was a painting of Mom right before she died. She lay in her bed, a stick figure with a smile on her face, surrounded by candles and angels. Above the picture was a title in Gabby’s childlike handwriting: “LIFE IS SWEAT.”

  I chuckled. Gabby looked at me strangely. I didn’t feel like explaining her faux pas, so I just hugged her tight.

  “It’s beautiful. We’ll frame it and hang it on one of our walls. We have so many walls to fill with your beautiful pictures.”

  After the service, as Mom’s body is loaded in the back of the hearse, Hans comes up to me. Despite his lineage, Hans is okay, and it was very nice of him to attend the service. I actually feel sorry for him, with his doughy countenance, nondescript features, and inability to look me in the eye. But he was gentle and patient with Mom.

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” he says, staring at his worn loafers. “She was a very nice person. I’m also sorry about what my mother did. It wasn’t very nice of her. I want you to know, I tried to talk her out of it. But you know my mother. She doesn’t listen to anybody.”

  Just as I’m about to reply, his whole body twitches and his face contorts. “Cocksucker. Motherfucker.”

  Everyone within earshot snaps their heads toward us in horror.

  “Hans?”

  “Yes,” he calmly says, looking at his shoes. He lifts his head up and sees all eyes are on him. Horrified.

  “Oh,” he says, as if he’s realized something. His face turns purple. He quickly looks down again. He kicks at some pebbles. “Did I just, well, curse or something?”

  I nod slowly. “Um, yeah.”

  He laughs nervously. “I have Tourette’s Syndrome and it somehow comes out when I’m nervous. I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hirsh.”

  “You know, your mother kicked my mother out of her place because of her language. And all the time, she was imitating you.”

  Hans’s gaze stays glued to his shoes. He nods his head.

  “My mother knew it, too, but she wouldn’t accept it. She’s been in denial about it for a long time. Her son can’t have a flaw. She thought I was doing it on purpose for some reason or another. But why would a forty-year-old man work for his mother, changing diapers and cleaning bedpans?” He forces out a laugh and then shuffles his feet along the gravel. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for everything.”

  I give him a quick hug. “It’s okay, Hans. Forget about it. It worked out for the best. I got to have my mom live—and die—in my house. So thank you for that.”

  Hans picks his head up and smiles, but he still won’t look me in the eye. “Well, I’m glad,” he says as other people begin to approach. They wait for Hans to step aside, but he remains there, pushing gravel with his feet and staring at his shoes.

  “Well, it was nice seeing you again. Thanks for coming,” I say as I look at the line of people collecting behind him.

  “Well, sure. I’m glad to be here,” he says, intent on kicking pebbles. He coughs into his hand. “I, um, was wondering if maybe you and I, well, could go out for drinks or coffee sometime. Maybe in a week or so?”

  I am too stunned to say anything. The man who polluted my sweet mother’s vocabulary is asking me out on a date! At my mother’s funeral! Before I can respond, Johnny puts his arm on my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry, but you’ll have to fight me for her,” he says, kissing my cheek and pulling me closer.

  Hans mumbles something, says good-bye, and walks away.

  Johnny kisses my forehead. “Don’t read anything into what I just said. I could see you were struggling and I was just helping a friend.”

  I smile at him. “Thanks, buddy.”

  After Mom is buried, everyone comes to my house where Ruth, Lauren, Nancy, and Claire have set out platters of sandwiches, salads, and lasagna. Trinity and her friends have brought some traditional Filipino food, too. There are eggrolls, paella, and pancit, which is stir-fried noodles with chicken.

  The smells hit my nose like a bomb. I am suddenly famished. I haven’t eaten in days and days. I haven’t even thought about food in weeks. Now I am ravenous. My stomach growls and my hands shake. It’s like I’ve been marooned on some island and am smelling food for the first time in a very long time. Garlic, onion, tomato sauce, peppers, noodles, chicken, beef, all mix and mingle and waft through my house for the first time in a long time.

  I grab a plate and heap mounds of food onto it. I eat it as quickly as I shovel it onto my plate. I stand in front of the platters and gobble it up there. Then I pile on more food. I don’t remember the last time I really enjoyed food, but it could be that night, more than a year ago, at a sushi restaurant when I first met a certain celebrity who told me how lucky I was to have Alex.

  I look around the room and I make a promise. No more bland smells. No more blank walls and empty spaces. No more abstinence from pleasure, from life. I exhale and smile.

  “You look great,” Nancy tells me. “How are you holding up?”

  “I’m good. Really good,” I say in between mouthfuls. “I just wanted to thank you for everything, but especially for helping me that day with my mom. I don’t know if I could have ever gotten her here without you.”

  Nancy smiles and brushes her hand in the air. “That’s what friends are for,” she says. “Besides, you would have managed fine. I’ll never forget that day when your mom danced around the room to disco. Remember? She seemed happy. There was so much love.”

  I take inventory of the room. More people than I imagined have shown up for Mom. I smile as I bite into an eggroll. When Mom died, I didn’t feel sad in the way I thought I would. Instead, I strangely feel happier than I have in a long time. Maybe because in the end she seemed happy. Even though she couldn’t taste mashed potatoes or speak or really move, there was still some joy because there was love. Maybe if you can be stripped of everything, you can still have something that can make you happy in the end—the love of a caregiver, a daughter, a granddaughter, even strangers. Maybe if you have that, death is not so bad. Mom still had something left. I saw it in the way she looked at Gabby. She still felt love. She still gave love
.

  Gabby squeezes my hand. I know she knows this, too, even if she doesn’t understand yet. But she will remember all this one day and it will comfort her. For now she takes an eggroll and looks at me strangely. It’s as if something’s been lifted off of me and she’s seeing me for the first time.

  “You look really beautiful, Mommy,” she says.

  “Thank you, sweetie.” I hug her.

  “Daddy and I are going to play outside for a little while with Connor, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  Alex is here? I hadn’t expected him to come back to the house. But then again, where else is he going to go now that Rose has dumped him? I watch Gabby as she heads toward the sliding glass door to go outside. Alex is in the yard. He’s taken his jacket off and is throwing a Nerf football to Connor.

  Just when I feel like I’m getting it all together, Alex returns. Isn’t this always how it works? He must sense my gaze because he turns, smiles, and waves at me. I give him a quick smile and turn my head.

  “No, Ally, you cannot go back to him,” I hear my mother say.

  “I can’t believe he’s got the nerve to be here,” Lauren says, as if reading my mind.

  “It’s okay,” I say.

  “Remember, you’re very vulnerable right now,” Lauren says. “Don’t let him convince you of anything.”

  I roll my eyes at her. Sherri, my neighbor, approaches. She’s brought a tray of some kind of casserole. She hands it to me then gives me a hug.

  “I’m so sorry, Alice,” she says. “My mother died a little while ago. No matter how old you are, it still hurts.”

  “Thanks, Sherri.”

  “I’m also sorry about how crazy I got. Hopefully we can get past it and work toward a great, festive holiday this year.”

  “Absolutely,” I say. “Now get yourself some food.”

  “Why hasn’t he left yet,” Lauren asks later as we carry plates into the kitchen. She’s talking about Alex. It’s been three hours since the guests arrived and most of them have left or are leaving, except for a few good friends—and Alex.