“Rach, I’m back,” my brother called from the front hall.
I heard the door slam and the grocery bags he was carrying fall to the kitchen counter a moment later. Chase was staying with us for the week. He didn’t have to be back in New York for school until the following Monday, and Rachel didn’t have anything to do this week, having quit Gamma Pi over the summer, but they’d both wanted to come back to school with me. I knew they hadn’t wanted me to be alone and were tag-teaming their efforts to cheer me up or at least keep me from spending the entire week in bed with a tub of Ben and Jerry’s.
“In here, baby,” Rachel called out, her arms still around me, as my tears slowly stopped falling, and I was able to sit up.
“I’m not sure I’m ever going to get used to you calling Chase ‘baby’,” I said, and she hugged me tighter. We both knew it was a good sign that I was making jokes.
“What happened?” Chase asked, dropping to his knees next to me, the concern apparent on his face.
I glumly held up Zack’s sweatshirt, and my brother sighed.
“Give it here,” he said, reaching for the sweatshirt that I clung to like a lifeline. “I’ll burn it in the fireplace.”
“No!” I said, pulling away from him and narrowing my eyes. How could he even suggest that?
Chase rolled his eyes. “Come on, Em. Holding onto things of his won’t help you get over him.”
“Chase,” Rachel said, putting her hand on his arm and shaking her head. “She just needs time. You can’t rush getting over someone, and as cathartic as burning artifacts of your relationship might be in the moment, it doesn’t make things better in the long run.”
“She’s right,” I said, looking up at my brother who was staring at us both like we were aliens. I wiped my nose, feeling silly that I couldn’t keep it together. I wanted one day where I didn’t cry over Zack, just one day, but so far that day hadn’t come. Hopefully tomorrow would be the day, but I doubted it. “I just need time.”
“Well, can I at least take this stuff down?” Chase asked, standing up and walking over to my desk where three pictures of me and my other ex-boyfriend, Ben, sat in frames.
My shoulders sank as I looked up at them. Ben. I hadn’t thought about him in weeks, and now reminders of our failed relationship, one I’d sabotaged so I could hook up with Zack and be carefree, were staring me in the face.
I hadn’t been back to my apartment in three months, and when I’d left school at the beginning of the summer, Ben and I had been together, and we’d planned to get engaged and move in together after graduation. The traces of him and our five-year relationship were all over my room, mocking me, telling me that I’d thrown away a great guy just so I could have some fun. And look how great that turned out for me.
“I never should have let Ben go,” I sighed, leaning my head on Rachel’s shoulder.
She pulled back from me. “Uh, yes you should have.” Then she directed her attention to Chase. “Take them down – now.”
I looked at her in panic, afraid she and Chase were going to burn my memories of everything Ben and I had together.
“Relax,” Chase said, as he unceremoniously grabbed all three pictures, leaving three empty, dusty spaces that were a cruel reminder of everything I’d given up, everything I’d lost. “I’ll put them in a box, we’ll put it the top of your closet and eventually you can pull it out and remember that you made the right decision in breaking up with D-Bag Ben, okay?”
I nodded, but I didn’t agree with him – about the break-up or Ben being a d-bag.
“Come on,” Rachel said, standing up and extending her hand to me. “Let’s get your laundry done, so you can go before the firing squad and hear what a complete fashion failure you are.”
She tried to sound cheerful, but I could hear the mocking in her voice. Rachel had had it with sorority life and was loving that she didn’t have to partake in the finer parts of Rush Week. I was envious of her. It definitely wasn’t my favorite part of being Greek either. Luckily, I had gotten out of prep and practice the week before. I’d lied and told Brynn, our president, that I was still away with my family. So tonight, along with Ellie Scott and Lindsay Winters, I had to go to the house for a crash course on the week’s events. I just couldn’t wait.
Chapter Two
Zack
God dammit! I wanted to scream as I let the screen door slam behind me. I wanted to punch something and curse until my throat was raw, but I couldn’t. She’d hear me, and I never wanted her to know how much I was hurting. I couldn’t let her see how much pain I was in.
Hospice had brought in a bed and an IV and a heart monitor and every other friggin’ contraption to hook up to my mother just that morning. They’d practically met us at the door, and I wanted to tell them to back off, let us get settled, but I could see how tired my mother was, how ragged her breath was just from the short walk from the car. I couldn’t fight them.
Instead I’d gotten her comfortable on the couch, propping pillows behind her and turning on the TV before I went to make her some soup, hoping she could keep down the few bites she might be able to swallow. She hadn’t been eating well, and the hospital had been hesitant to let me take her home because of that, but I’d fought for her, knowing she loathed the idea of meeting the end in a sterile hospital room that smelled overwhelmingly like rubbing alcohol. She wanted to be at home in our little beach cottage that was filled with happy memories, where she could watch the seagulls and hear the waves crashing and be at peace when the cancer finally took her life.
Knowing this, I pleaded and begged the doctors to let me take her home, and finally they had let me, but only if we agreed to let a nurse live at the house with us. At that point, I would have agreed to anything, so I said yes in under two seconds. Then the doctor had ordered something called TPN that would be fed to my mother through her IV, so she would get the nutrition her body needed. It would arrive tomorrow, so today was the last time my mother would likely eat food, and the thought of that nearly made me break down. Even if she only ate a bite, I was going to make her favorite meal for dinner tonight. It was the least I could do.
The nurse who would be staying with us round the clock had set up her things in my mother’s room before she started to arrange the hospital style bed in our living room. The minute I saw her go into my mother’s room, the place where she’d slept for the past seven years, I almost lost it. Then my mother had placed her thin, fragile hand on my arm and shook her head. She knew it was the best arrangement. Our house only had two bedrooms, and one was mine. I told her I would sleep on the couch. I didn’t care, but she’d just given me that look she’d been giving me for twenty-four years that told me not to argue with her, and I knew fighting her on this would not do me a bit of good. I got my stubbornness from my mother, but when it came to a battle of wills, she won every time.
Instead of pounding my fist on the porch railing like I really wanted to, I sank down onto the steps and put my head in my hands. I was exhausted. Nearly three weeks in the hospital had felt like endless torture as I watched my mother get weaker and weaker. I knew this was coming. I’d known for some time what would happen. I’d mentally prepared myself for what the end would be like, but I never could have prepared for how I now felt. It literally felt like my insides were being ripped out with each ragged breath she took.
Her weight had plummeted, her bones poked almost through her thin skin, her cheeks were sunken in, and her skin was sallow. The cancer had taken nearly everything from her. She needed help walking, struggled to sit up, and even swallowing was difficult. It damn near broke me every time I looked at her, but because I didn’t want her to know how much her illness was affecting me, I never let her see me lose it. I worked my ass off to keep a smile on my face and crack jokes when I was around her. Then I’d escape outside, under the pretense of smoking a cigarette, and allow myself to fall apart.
She hated that I smoked, but it was the only way I could justify leaving her hospital room,
and because I think she knew what I was truly doing when I went out to smoke, she didn’t fight me on it. And she never questioned me when I returned with red, puffy eyes.
Now that we were home, I could escape to the porch or the beach, but I was afraid to go any farther. I never wanted to be so far away that I couldn’t get back within five minutes. At this stage in the game, it could be any time, and I needed to be by her side when the moment we’d been dreading for months was finally upon us.
She wasn’t scared. She’d told me that time and again, because I think she thought it would make me feel better. It didn’t. Nothing did. My mother was fifty-one years old. Nothing about her death would make me feel any better, no matter how many times she told me she loved me and smiled at me when I walked into the room. I was sad and scared and felt so helpless at times that it made me sick to my stomach. Nothing was going to help me in that moment.
I lit the cigarette I always kept stashed behind my ear, taking solace in the slight calm the nicotine brought as my whole body relaxed. Inhaling deeply, I filled my lungs with smoke and held it there until they felt like they might explode. Then I blew it all out in one long breath.
Thankfully the beach was deserted. The tourists had gone home for the season, and the island had returned to its sleepy state. The year before, when I’d first moved home to take care of my mother, I’d hated to see the tourists go, for the sounds of the summer to die away, but this year I relished the silence, the feeling of being alone. Alone. It was what I had wanted. My cousins had all offered to stay with me so I wouldn’t have to be alone, but I’d told them all no.
Molly had yelled at me, as she’d done most of our lives, screaming at me that I needed my family with me before she stormed off. Reagan had cried, because Reagan was always the most sensitive of all of us, and I knew she hated the thought of me having to bear the solo burden of my mother’s illness. Leo hadn’t said much, but Leo wasn’t really a talker, so it wasn’t surprising that he’d held his tongue. Leo was also my best friend, and the person who knew me better than anyone else, so with that he knew this was something I had to do on my own. Of course I also knew he was never more than a phone call away. When I needed him, and I knew I would, he’d be here.
The loud sound of a coughing fit pulled me back to the moment and my head jerked around in response, my heart squeezing in my chest. My mother’s coughing spells had gotten progressively worse in the last few days. I started to rise and go to her, but Anita, the Hospice nurse was already by her side, helping her through it, working with her to bring her breathing back to normal.
I slumped back down on the steps, the tears pricking the backs of my eyes. I could no longer hold them in. Allowing myself this small release, I let my head fall into my hands and the tears to come, hoping I would feel better after getting the pain out, but I knew I never would.
Inside the coughing mercifully stopped, but I could hear my mother taking in ragged breaths. Anita’s soothing words, floated through the open windows, allowing me to hear the care in her voice as she helped my mother to calm down. The coughing always got her heart rate going, and the nurses always knew how to bring it back to a steady beat. I was glad Anita was there, even if I still couldn’t stomach the fact that she was sleeping in my mother’s bed.
After a few minutes, I could hear my mother’s voice and could tell she was making a joke. This made the ache in my chest that much worse. I loved my mother more than anyone on the planet. She was the strongest person I knew, and she would fight to maintain what she could of her dignity and her personality until the bitter end. They were the last things she would let go of if she could help it.
“Mr. Easton,” a kind voice said from behind me, causing me to raise my head and turn around. Anita stood inside the screen door, appraising me with a look of pity that I hated.
“It’s Zack,” I said. “My father is Mr. Easton, and I’d rather not be associated with him right now if it’s all right with you.”
Anita nodded although she didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. My father, the man who had left my mother because he’d ‘fallen out of love with her’ nine years ago, had come to visit while she was in the hospital. Silly me, I figured since they’d been married for twenty years that he might know her just a little better, but of course he didn’t. He never had.
The asshole had actually brought his new wife, Sierra, with him. Sierra, who is twenty-eight, has really big tits, and is a constant reminder to my mother, that when she got older, she was no longer good enough for the man she married when she twenty-two, who she raised a child with and spent the better part of her life with.
But it’s not really Sierra’s fault. She’s actually a nice person. She also happened to be the last in a long string of girls more suitable for me to date than my father, but that’s beside the point. He should have had the foresight not to bring her, but he didn’t, and my mother didn’t bat an eyelash, but I knew how much it affected her. Because of that, I was currently not speaking to my father.
“Okay,” Anita said, and I was glad she didn’t ask for details. Knowing my state of mind in that moment, I might have told her everything, and that wouldn’t have been good for any of us. “Your mother is asking for you.”
I nodded. “I’ll be right there.”
Taking the last drag off my cigarette that had slowly burned almost to the filter, I stubbed it out on the wooden railing and tossed it to the sand before getting up to head inside. Pausing at the screen door, I rubbed at my eyes, hoping to hide the fact that I’d been crying.
I drew in a deep breath as quietly as I could, taking in the sight before me. My mother lay with her eyes closed, her breathing labored, in a sterile bed that looked much too big for her, that was set up in the middle of the living room. She had wires and tubes coming out of several different parts of her body, and machines that I was all too familiar with beeped and hummed in the background. I wondered if she was asleep and didn’t want to wake her if she was.
“Quit loitering in the doorway, and come over here,” she demanded, even though her voice sounded weak. She didn’t open her eyes.
I forced my feet to move forward, shuffling them a little as I made my way to her bedside and the chair that had been placed next to it. As soon as I took her hand in mine, she raised her eyelids, appraising me with light brown eyes that matched my own, although I knew hers had more sparkle to them than mine ever would again. She smiled at me, her face lighting up as she squeezed my hand as much as she could, and I steeled myself, forcing the emotions down. I would not cry in front of her. I would not cry.
“How are you holding up, baby?” she asked, and my heart nearly cracked down the middle. With all that she was going through, she was concerned about me. It wasn’t right.
“I’m doing okay, Mom,” I said quietly, my eyes fixated on the bed sheets our joined hands rested on. I couldn’t meet her gaze, because if I did, she’d see everything I was feeling, and she would know I was far from fine.
“You’re a liar,” she said matter-of-factly, and I just shrugged, my face practically crumbling as I heard the resolve in her voice.
I heaved in a ragged breath, fighting as hard as I could to keep everything inside. I’d let it all go as soon as I was alone.
“Zacky,” she said, using the nickname she knew I hated, probably just to piss me off. “Look at me.”
I shook my head. “I’m fine, Mom,” I said and heard my voice crack. It was betraying me.
“Look at me, baby,” she said softly, and I lifted my eyes to meet her gaze. “Thank you.”
She appraised me for a few moments as I fought back the tears that were pricking the backs of my eyes, wishing I was as strong as she was but knowing I never would be. I’d failed her in so many ways, and this was just one more thing I couldn’t do, even though I knew she needed it more than anything.
“Baby, I don’t have much time left,” she said then, and I lost it, my shoulders shaking, the tears streaming down my face, my vi
sion blurring as I felt everything pour out of me at once.
“Mom, I don’t want you to die,” I said, sounding like I was five years old.
“Come here,” she said, and I leaned down so she could hold me, her frail arms wrapping around my back as I sobbed into her shoulder. “Oh Zack. Sweetie. We knew this time would come. We’ve known for a while.”
“It doesn’t make it any easier,” I said into her shoulder, my voice coming out muffled.
She rubbed my back to soothe me, and it killed me that she was stronger than I could be in that moment. “Well, we can’t change the fact that it’s gonna happen, so it’s time you came to terms with it. I found my peace, and I need you to, as well.”
I nodded, not sure how I was supposed to do that. How could I be expected to find peace in the fact that my mother was dying? It didn’t make any sense. I would never be okay with that.
“Come on now,” she urged. “Raise up and look at me. I have some things I want to tell you.”
I lifted my head and ran my hand back through my hair. It had gotten long that summer, and I needed to get it cut, but that had been the last thing on my mind lately.
“You need a haircut,” she said, as if reading my mind.
I laughed, and it felt so foreign. “That’s what you needed to tell me?” I asked, eyeing her skeptically.
“Well, I hope you’ll at least get one before my funeral.”
“Mom,” I said, my face falling again. Did she have to be so blunt about it?
Broken Fairytales Series Box Set (Broken Fairytales, Buried Castles, Shattered Crowns) Page 31