by Nia Arthurs
The letter Mom sent days ago haunts my mind.
Should I have opened it?
The line clicks.
A rough voice barks, “Hello?”
“This is Brett McQueen.”
“Mr. McQueen, I’m sorry to inform you that your mother had a heart attack earlier this morning.”
I stumble back a step as shock careens into my soul.
He rattles off the name of the hospital. “The doctors don’t think she has much time left. It’s best if you come and see her now before she passes.”
“Wait. I—”
“Yes?” He sounds impatient.
“We weren’t close,” I finish lamely. The words crackle in the air, sounding ugly and barren.
What do I expect this stranger to say to me?
What am I looking for?
You weren’t close? Okay, well I guess it’s fine if you let her die alone.
There aren’t any answers to this problem.
No easy decision.
They don’t care which one I make.
She’s nothing but a prisoner to them.
“Are you saying you’re not coming?” he asks, seeming ready to end the call.
“No, I—” Checking my watch, I make the only choice I can. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“No problem.”
Click.
My heart pounding, I grab my keys.
Hansley lunges toward my desk. “Hey, what was that about?”
“It’s my mother.”
His eyes narrow.
“She’s dying.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No.” I hold a hand out to him, my mind reeling. “No, stay here. We have that meeting with the board…”
“Brett.”
“I’ll be fine.”
His nostrils flare. Hansley knows I’m straight up lying.
It doesn’t matter.
Nothing matters now.
I just know that I need to get there.
Before she dies.
Suddenly, that’s the most important thing.
Whether it’s to curse at her.
Or hold her hand.
Or just… show up.
I can’t let her go alone.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I rush out of the room and pray that I make it in time.
Twenty-Three
Tierra
The television blares behind me. Muffled voices. An exaggerated gasp. The sound of someone’s hand hitting flesh. It’s noise from my sister’s trashy soap opera.
Yes, Kenesha’s still here.
Despite our argument this morning, I couldn’t put her out.
She’s lounging around in my house, watching soaps and eating all the food in my cupboard.
I check my phone again.
More missed calls from Brett.
I chew on my bottom lip and pace the kitchen, wondering what I should do.
The choice I made to keep Brett in the system tears me up inside. Every moment that passes, I wonder if I should take it back. If I should reverse it.
That’s why I haven’t called him yet.
Kayla, Venus and Amina are shouting Brett’s availability to the world.
And I told them to do it.
I pulled the trigger.
And now I’m wondering if I can step back without avoiding the sting of my own bullet.
Girls like you don’t end up with guys like him.
Kenesha was right. I’m glad she pulled me up. Glad she talked some sense into me. She’s in a unique position to share that wisdom. Because girls like her are the ones who get the guys.
She should know.
And I should listen.
So why do I feel so unsettled?
There’s no way Brett will continue on at Make It Marriage if I don’t play this right. Telling him last night meant nothing will only anger him.
And it’ll be a lie.
Last night meant everything.
At least to me.
And that’s precisely why I have to pull back from him.
If he’s just going to hurt me, it’s better that I brace myself for it now rather than going in blindly and stupidly. Slamming into a brick wall all of a sudden hurts much worse than being able to slam on the brakes and lessen the impact.
I summon my courage, grab my phone and dial his number.
At best, he’ll get angry with me.
At worst, he’ll burn Make It Marriage to the ground.
I don’t want to be responsible for the demise of Kayla’s company, but I have to take that chance. There’s no way I’ll let my confused heart make a mess of everything. It’s steered me wrong so many times in the past that I’d be a fool to listen to it now.
The phone clicks.
No answer.
Confused, I call the company. It’s a long shot. I don’t really expect to get an answer, but I want to move on my courage. Something tells me that if I don't do this now, Brett might come and find me first. And then I’ll lose all home-court advantage.
To my surprise, the secretary puts me through when I give her my name.
Elevator music fills my ears.
I pad to my bedroom and close the door for privacy.
My heart thrashes around my chest. I still don’t have a script. What I’ll say. How I’ll phrase this. Hopefully, the right words will jump out of my mouth when the time comes.
The line connects.
A male voice that is not Brett’s answers. “Hello?”
“Who is this?” I pull the phone away. Check the number.
It’s the right line.
Wrong person.
“Tierra, I’m Brett’s business partner.”
“Hansley?” I ask.
“Yeah, that’s me.” His voice sounds rushed. Concerned.
I immediately stiffen. “Has something happened to Brett?”
“Not Brett.” Hansley pauses. “His mother.”
“Where is he?”
“The hospital.”
Without a second thought, I grab my jacket and storm out of the room. The credits roll on the TV screen as I pass my sister.
Kenesha jumps out of the chair. “What’s going on?”
“I have somewhere to be.”
“Whoa.” She slides into my path. “Please tell me you’re not running to that white guy right now.”
“Get out of my way.”
“T, listen to me. You need to keep your distance. That matchmaking thing—you can do that from home, right? You don’t need to see him for that. I’m telling you. Going to him now will be a huge mistake.”
My eyes blaze like fire. “I’m going to give you three seconds.”
“T, I read all those articles about him. They all say he’s a playboy. He hasn’t even tried to hide it.”
“One,” I growl.
“So you’re just going to ignore everything I told you?”
“Two…”
Her nostrils flare. She throws her hands up as if the sight of me disgusts her. Stepping out of my way, Kenesha roars. “Fine. Throw your heart out and let him stomp all over it. I don’t freaking care. Just don’t come crying to me when he tosses your black backside out like yesterday’s garbage. I’m not going to wipe any of your tears.”
I charge past my sister.
As I catch a taxi and give directions, I lean back in my seat and anxiously stare at the city blurring outside.
Bright sunshine.
Blue skies.
Huge buildings.
The streets are filled with commuters.
People heading out along their day. Living their normal lives.
The fabric of our existence overlaps every second that passes.
But only one story matters to me in this moment.
Brett’s.
I know Kenesha has a point.
I know that I’m putting my heart in harm’s way by charging out after him like I’m crazy.
But I can’t stay still.
&nbs
p; His relationship with his mother is riddled with so much pain, darkness, and hurt. Even if it shreds my soul to nothing, I want to be there for him. I need to be there for him.
The taxi slows in front of the hospital.
It takes me five minutes to ask around for the right wing and rush to the right floor. I know immediately that I’m at the correct ward.
There’s a guard standing at the entrance.
And there’s Brett.
My heart flops wildly in my chest at the sight of his dejected shoulders. He’s wearing a simple blue blazer over a crisp white shirt. His dark hair is mussed as if he ran his fingers through it a hundred times. I can see the back of his neck as he hunches over like the weight of the world rests on him.
Everything around me stalls.
Disappears.
I rush ahead. “Brett.”
He glances up. Sees me.
His eyes widen.
I fall into the chair beside him. Press a hand on his back. “Are you okay?”
“I…” He licks his lips. Scrapes the heel of his hand over his mouth. “I couldn’t go in.”
“What?”
“I’ve been here for ten minutes just staring at that door. And I couldn’t bring myself to…”
“It’s okay.” I press a hand over his.
“No, it’s not.” He glances at me. His eyes are glazed with tears, but he holds them in. Doesn’t let even one fall. “She’s my mother. That means something. I don’t have a choice but to go in there.”
“You have a choice,” I whisper.
“I hated her for so long.”
“It’s okay.” I rub his back. My heart breaks with his. “It’s okay, Brett. I’m here for you.”
He squeezes my hand. Stares straight ahead. “I’ll regret it if I don’t walk through those doors, won’t I?”
“Maybe.” I don’t want to make the decision for him, but I do want him to know that I’m not leaving his side.
At least, not right now.
He sucks in a breath. Climbs unsteadily to his feet.
I’m right there with him. Hedged against his side. Offering my support.
He can make it alone.
He’s strong.
But he doesn’t have to be.
Not right now.
Not when he’s with me.
The guard standing at his mother’s door glances up when we get nearer. He arches an eyebrow, the thin line of his lips firming. It’s clear he’d prefer if Brett went in alone.
I pull my hands away from Brett. “I’ll be out here.”
“No.” He grabs my fingers and holds it tightly. “I need you with me.”
My breath hitches.
I need you with me.
A need is different from a want.
It’s more instinctual.
More… intense.
Wants can be changed.
But a need is steadfast.
Don’t trust it, Tierra.
The guard grunts. “Only one.”
“She’s family.” Brett faces him.
I glance away, wishing I didn’t feel so torn up by his words.
Hating that they sound so sincere.
You already made your choice, Tierra.
“Fine.” The guard grunts. Stepping aside, he opens the door for us.
Brett inhales deeply.
I can feel his hand trembling in mine.
Whatever lies inside that room terrifies him.
I bring his hand to my lips and kiss the back of it. “I'm here.”
He blinks once.
Twice.
Takes that first step.
Then another.
And I take those steps with him.
Maybe I won’t be here forever.
Maybe he’ll throw me away after brutally stomping on my heart.
But I want to be there for as long as he’ll let me.
If I fall apart later…
If he destroys me when he’s done…
So be it.
Twenty-Four
Brett
As I walk into the hospital room with Tierra right by my side, I face a storm of emotions. They run the gamut from anger to hopelessness. All blurring into each other like a chemical reaction set to explode.
The hospital room is cramped.
Small.
Bare.
The complete opposite of Shar’s.
My sister spent the last of her days in a private hospital on the better side of town. She had her own private wing. A flat screen. A view of a sprawling lake. Food made to order.
Shar often joked that—if it wasn’t for the pain, the constant rotation of doctors and nurses, and the tubes sticking into her body, she’d feel like she was at a spa.
It’s been less than a month and I’m standing in another hospital room. Looking at the only family I have left.
Mom’s eyes are closed. Grey hair spills over the pillow, sharp against the white cloth. Harsh fluorescent lights hang over her, exposing every deep wrinkle carved into her pale face. Every mole. Every scar.
She looks like a stranger.
Like someone else’s idea of how she’ll appear in her eighties.
Not now.
Not when she’s barely pushing fifty.
Tierra adjusts her hand in mine.
The pressure of her fingers and the warmth of her presence is my anchor. I shove aside all the doubts swirling through my head and focus on the calm reassurance that she offers.
Mom’s chest rises and falls slowly.
She’s not up.
She hasn’t woken since the heart attack.
That’s why they called me.
That’s why the doctors were so concerned.
Her body’s given out.
It can’t hold her here much longer.
I edge around the side of the hospital bed. “Mom.”
She doesn’t stir.
Doesn’t flinch.
I doubt she can even hear me.
My gaze scans her body in that hospital gown. Was she always this short? Always this fragile-looking?
The memory that’s emblazoned into my head is from the vantage point of a child, much shorter than her, much smaller.
Terrified.
Confused.
The last time I saw her, I was looking up to her.
She was a giant in my eyes.
An evil monster with a gun.
With a warning.
With a prophesy.
Love made me do this.
My heart tugs me in the other direction. Begs me to run.
I’m not ready for this. Any of this.
The few times I allowed myself to consider seeing Mom again, it was always under different circumstances.
Her, alive.
And me… settled. Sure of myself. Of where the needle of my feelings would end up. Either pushing all the way to hate or to forgiveness.
Not here.
Waffling between every option.
Struggling for purchase on the edge of a cliff where losing my balance means losing every opportunity to make up my mind.
I suck in a deep breath.
Tierra’s hand finds my back and she rubs it in soothing circles.
I glance at her. Find her soft brown eyes on me. So full of concern and compassion.
She leans forward. “Do you have anything you want to say?”
“Not really.”
She glances down. Nods. “Can I say something then?”
“Go for it.” I gesture to my mother.
Tierra eases closer. Grabs the railing. Leans down. “Hello, Mrs. McQueen.”
I wince.
It’s been so long since I’ve heard anyone say that.
Mrs. McQueen.
Back in the day, some church folks would stop by our trailer to give us food and toiletries. I knew exactly when they’d arrive because Mom would rush to clean up the house, shower and offer them tea as if we were that kind of family.
They’d sit in the couch an
d just talk to her. Formally.
Like they were all ladies. All of the same social status.
Mom looked forward to those visits.
I never understood why.
She was nothing like them. Put-together. In control. Stable.
She told me once that they made her feel human.
They made her feel seen.
Even though Mom doesn’t respond to Tierra, I can feel the shift in the air.
Sense the warmth seeping into the room.
It feels like the morning when the church ladies came over.
It feels like… hope.
Tierra’s doing that.
This incredible, beautiful woman is drawing light into the deepest layers of darkness.
I inch forward.
Follow the path to her side.
She tightens her fingers on the railing. “It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Tierra. I work at Make It Marriage.” She chuckles sheepishly. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I just… I wanted you to know that your son is here.”
My breath hitches.
Tierra stares right at me. “He’s here and he’s not sure what to say to you, that’s why he’s quiet.” Her lips inch up slightly. Encouragingly. “But he’s here, Mrs. McQueen. And I believe Sharon’s here too. And she’s… really happy.”
A tear falls down Mom’s leathery cheek. It crawls down to her ear before sinking into the pillow.
I sniff, trying to hold my own emotions in. “Mom, it’s me.”
Tierra backs away from the bed. I snatch her wrist to keep her near me, knowing instinctively that I can’t get through this without her. She understands and gently finds her place by my side.
I try to find the words.
The right words.
The wrong ones.
Anything to take the sting away.
To lessen the weight on my chest.
“Mom, I was thinking recently about our life before…” Before you shot Dad. Went to jail. Taught me the dangers of love. I push those thoughts away. “I was seven, I think. And Sharon was two. Do you remember? We had this little strip of grass right outside our trailer?”
Mom doesn’t respond.
I falter.
Tierra glances up at me and whispers, “I want to hear it.”
“We—“ I clear my throat. Fight to go on despite the lump that’s swelling in my chest. “Mom had found this paint set in the garbage. Someone had thrown the supplies away when they weren’t completely empty yet. She brought it home for us. And she painted with us.” I let out a hollow laugh. “I remember how much you smiled at my painting, Mom. You told me you were proud of me…” My voice breaks.