The Summer Proposal

by Keeland, Vi

  “Will it definitely burst?”

  “That we can’t say for sure. Some people walk around their entire life not ever knowing they even have an aneurysm. Much of it depends on the size and how fast it’s growing. If yours was small, I might advise you to wait. But yours is not. It’s very large. And in the month since you had that initial scan, it’s gotten bigger, son.”

  Austin looked at Mom. “How big was Dad’s?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know.”

  He looked at the doctor again. “How long is the recovery?”

  “You’d be in the hospital a few days. Most people can resume regular activities within four to six weeks, but it takes two to three months to fully recover.”

  Austin took a deep breath. “What are the risks?”

  “The biggest ones are bleeding and infection. There’s always a small risk when you go under anesthesia, but for someone in good health and your age, the risk is pretty minimal these days. We do a lot of these surgeries.”

  My brother looked over at me. “What would you do?”

  “I already told you. I’d do it. You don’t want it to get even bigger and have it burst during the surgery like Dad’s did. And you’re already struggling to get around. Do you want to live like that?”

  “No, but I do want to live.”

  I shook my head. “You know my stance. If you can’t live like you want, you’re already dying.”

  Austin looked at me a long time before nodding and turning back to the doctor. “How soon can you do it?”

  Dr. Wallace smiled. “Let me get with the scheduling nurse and see when the next available date is.”

  “Thank you very much, Dr. Wallace,” Mom said.

  He nodded. “Oh, one other thing. I’m not sure if Dr. Jasper spoke to you about this, but Max and any other children should also be scanned.”

  “Scanned for abdominal aortic aneurysms?”

  Dr. Wallace nodded. “Aneurysms in general. Your husband had one, and now Austin. When two or more first-degree relatives have them, we recommend the immediate family members—parents and children—be tested. There’s an increased risk of other members having what we call familial aneurysms.”

  CHAPTER 29

  * * *

  Max

  “I bought tickets to that charity hockey exhibition game you’re playing in next week,” Mom said. “I thought I’d fly down the day before and stay a few days so I can see your new place.”

  “I told you they gave me tickets for free. It just slipped my mind to forward you the email.”

  “It’s for charity. I wanted to pay for them.”

  I nodded and poked at the pot roast she made every time I visited. It was usually my favorite.

  “Are you okay, Max?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  My mother leveled me with what my brothers and I had called the mom eyes growing up. Those things were better than truth serum. None of us had any idea how she did it, but with one look, she pulled whatever was lurking inside us out. It was like she knew the truth, and she just waited patiently for us to spill it.

  I sighed and dragged a hand through my hair. “I miss Georgia.”

  Mom patted my hand. “What happened? I thought you two were doing so well and had something special.”

  I shrugged. “We did.”

  “So why are you missing her? Get on a plane and go visit. Practice doesn’t start for a while yet, right?”

  “Yeah. But she doesn’t want to see me.”

  “Did you two have a falling out or something?”

  I shook my head. “It’s nothing like that.”

  “Then what is it?”

  I frowned and looked up at my mother. “I don’t want her to get hurt. If…you know.”

  Understanding dawned on her face. “Oh, no, Max. Have you discussed things with her?”

  I didn’t even have to answer. I just looked at my mom, and she shut her eyes.

  “Max.” She shook her head. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

  “Because Georgia is as loyal and pigheaded as they come. She’d be adamant that it didn’t matter. But it would…if.”

  “So you made the choice for her?”

  “It was for her own good.”

  “Bullshit.”

  I blinked a few times. My mother did not curse.

  “I stood by your decision to not have the surgery because it’s your body and your choice. I stood by your decision to keep playing hockey—even though it’s the dumbest thing you could possibly do because you get whacked in the head a hundred times a season and that could easily cause a rupture and kill you—because hockey has been the love of your life since you could talk. But I will not sit here and accept that you are going to walk away from a woman you care about out of some false sense of chivalry to protect her. Do you love Georgia?”

  I nodded and hung my head.

  “Then how can you have no regard for her needs? There were two people in your relationship, yet you’re acting like you’re the only one.”

  “I’m trying to do the right thing, Ma. I want what’s best for her.”

  She sat back down and took a deep breath. “I understand that your intentions were honorable, but you don’t get to decide what’s best for anyone but you. Don’t you think I wanted to decide you couldn’t play hockey because it was too risky? What if I’d gone to your team and told them about your condition? They’d have disqualified you from playing. You know they would—”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why?”

  “Because what I’m doing is only hurting myself.”

  My mother stared at me. “Really? So if you drop dead on the ice after a stick to the head, the only one who would be hurt is you?”

  I sighed. My head had been so screwed up since leaving New York. I’d lost Georgia and then Otto died—right when he’d finally decided to leave work and spend time with his family. I couldn’t help but think he never got the chance because he waited too long, and I was essentially doing the same damn thing. Never once, since Austin died, had I questioned whether I was making the right decision. Until recently.

  I spoke quietly. “Maybe I should just have the surgery.”

  Tears filled my mother’s eyes. “Are you serious?”

  I nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. Even when I retire someday, there’s still going to be that unknown hanging over my head. And it’s…gotten bigger.”

  My mother’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, Max. How do you know?”

  “I had another scan a month or so ago when I was out in California. I went to the same doctor who did Austin’s surgery and all of our scans.”

  “That’s your first visit to a doctor for it since your diagnosis?”

  I nodded again.

  “Are you having symptoms?”

  I shook my head. “I just thought… I don’t know what I thought. Maybe I was hoping it had disappeared or something. But I wanted to know.”

  My mother smiled sadly. “You wanted to know because of Georgia.”

  “Maybe. I guess. Probably.” I paused, feeling tangled in my thoughts. “I feel like a coward. I made Austin have the surgery, but I’m too chicken shit to go under the knife myself.”

  My mother shook her head. “What are you talking about? You made Austin do it?”

  “When he was diagnosed, Austin asked me what I would do if I were in his place.” I swallowed and tasted salt in my throat. “I said I’d have the surgery. And I promised him he wouldn’t die.”

  Mom studied my face. “Oh my God. And you’ve been carrying that with you all these years? Why didn’t you say anything?”

  “What am I gonna say? Hey, Ma, Austin is dead because of me?”

  “Your brother was very intelligent, and he was also twenty-one years old when he had his surgery. He made the decision on his own. I know because he struggled to make it, and we talked about it a lot. He asked his doctor the same question he asked you, and his own doctor said he
would have it done if it were him in the same predicament.”

  “But he trusted me.”

  “Honey, Austin’s death is not your fault. You do know that, right?”

  When I didn’t respond, my mother reached across and took my hand. “Austin was out of breath from walking. He decided to have the surgery because he didn’t feel like he could live a full life the way he was. I know you two were close, but he did not make that decision because of anything you said. And no one could have predicted that he would have a rare reaction to anesthesia the first time he went under.”

  I shook my head. “I might not have symptoms like Austin did, but losing Georgia makes me feel like I can’t have a full life anymore.”

  “Tell me what the doctor said this time.”

  “Mostly the same as he said ten years ago. Any surgery has risk, but the risk of death is pretty minimal because it’s a routine surgery these days, and the likelihood of me having a reaction like Austin is rare because I’ve been under anesthesia with no issues before. The risk for me is that my aneurysm is in the area of the brain that controls motor skills, so if any bleeding occurs, I could have some strength and coordination issues.”

  “Last time they said that would be temporary.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, they said therapy should be able to build it back if it happens. But let’s face it, I’m twenty-nine. The likelihood of making it back to where I am today in hockey after that happening isn’t great. The difference in speed and agility between me and the next guy who wants my job isn’t that big.”

  “What about the risk of rupturing?”

  “It’s increased because it’s grown, but I’m still only considered a moderate risk.”

  “Moderate for normal people whose blood pressure isn’t being pushed at practice every day, and for people not getting their head bashed around with a stick.”

  I didn’t answer, because of course she was right. I’d always known I had an elevated risk of rupture because of my job. But hockey was my life, so I’d never questioned my decision. I would’ve risked everything to play. Only lately, hockey wasn’t feeling like the most important thing in the world anymore.

  I shook my head. “I don’t know what to do. I can’t build something with Georgia knowing I’m putting myself at risk every day. I won’t do that to her. But if I have the surgery, I might not ever play professional hockey again.”

  My mom frowned. “Sounds like you have a serious choice to make. Which one matters more to you?”

  • • •

  For the next few days I wandered. I’d shipped my car from New York to LA, and it hadn’t arrived yet. So I rented a Jeep, and my dogs and I drove along the coast looking for something. What? I didn’t know. Perhaps I was looking for a solution, some sort of a sign about what I should do. Nothing had jumped out at me as of yet.

  Each day I ventured out without any plans and just drove until I saw something that interested me. So far I’d been to Malibu, Sequoia National Park, and the Santa Monica Pier. I couldn’t help but think that if Georgia and I lived out here together, we’d visit some of those places on our next staycation.

  This morning I’d headed south. I hadn’t been sure what city I was going to, but when I saw signs for Rosie’s Dog Beach, I figured that was one sign I couldn’t ignore. So the boys and I spent the afternoon walking along the water, where they were allowed to roam off leash. There’d been a shopping area not too far from there, so after we were done, I stopped to see if I could find some waters for the dogs and something to eat for me.

  A half block from where I parked, I found a chicken place that fit the bill with outdoor seating, so I grabbed a table. But as we got up to leave after our meal, I looked two stores down and did a double take.

  Eternity Roses.

  Seriously?

  What were the chances that I’d walk straight into one of Georgia’s boutiques? I walked over and stared at the window for a while, looking at the displays, yet not really seeing them, before wandering inside.

  “Is it okay if I bring my dogs in?”

  The girl behind the counter smiled. “Only if I get to play with them.”

  “Deal.”

  She came out from behind the counter, and frick and frack practically attacked her. Four licked her face, and not to be outdone, Fred ran in rapid circles, chasing his own tail.

  The clerk laughed. “Oh my gosh, they’re so cute.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Is there something I can help you with?”

  I didn’t want to explain why I’d come in, so I figured maybe I’d send my mom some flowers for listening to my sorry ass the other day. “I’m just going to look around, if that’s okay. I’d like to send my mom some flowers, but I’m not sure what yet.”

  “Sure. Take your time. I’ll happily occupy these guys while you browse.” She pointed to a wall with glass shelves and different arrangements on display. “Those are all stock pieces that can be made in any colors you want. But if you had something specific in mind, we can also make a custom arrangement. They just take two to three days more. Is this for a specific reason, like a birthday or get well?”

  “More of a thanks-for-putting-up-with-me gift.”

  She smiled. “Those are always fun. There’s also an iPad at the front counter that can give you some ideas of things people have custom ordered and a fun database of messages that has everything from poetry to sweet to funny.”

  I remembered Georgia saying she used to enjoy writing those messages when she first started out, so after taking a quick look around, I was drawn to the iPad.

  Scrolling down to the suggestions marked Just because, I double-clicked and started to read. Some were funny, some were dirty, and some were just corny. I chuckled when I got to one written by Maggie P.:

  Best friends are like peeing in your pants.

  Everyone sees it, but only you feel the warmth.

  That had to be the Maggie I knew. After a while, I stopped reading the messages and just scrolled the names to see who had written them. I guess I was hoping to find one written by Georgia. I didn’t, but when I got to the very bottom of hundreds of messages and saw one by F. Scott Fitzgerald, I remembered Georgia had said she’d kept his books annotated near the register because his quotes simplified love for her.

  It was

  always

  you.

  -F. Scott Fitzgerald

  I read that a dozen times, over and over. I wasn’t sure if it was the glaring sign I’d been looking for, but it sure as hell was the simple truth. It was always Georgia. And in the end, whenever that day might come, I didn’t want to look back with regret. Maybe those four simple words were a sign after all.

  So when I got back in the car to head home, I decided to take Georgia’s advice. I picked up my cell and scrolled through my contacts until I got to one of the last ones, and then I pressed Call.

  “Hi. This is Max Yearwood. I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Wallace.”

  • • •

  A few days later, the charity hockey game arrived. I’d used it as an excuse to get my brothers to fly out, and since my mom had arrived yesterday, we were all under one roof. That rarely happened, except at Christmas. The exhibition game wasn’t until seven, and I’d planned to tell everyone my news over breakfast, but I’d woken up with a splitting headache again. The last few days had been stressful, and my brain was taking it out on me. So I took a few Motrin and put my announcement off until lunch.

  When the sandwiches and salads I’d ordered came, everyone gathered together around the kitchen island.

  “So…” I cleared my throat. “I wanted to talk to you guys while you were here.”

  “You’re coming out, aren’t you?” my brother Will said, leaning back in his seat. “I knew it.”

  “What? No.”

  “If you’re gambling again, you’re going to be the only one going into the hockey game bruised up,” Tate said.

  “You better not be caught up in some
harassment shit,” Ethan said.

  “Sex tape.” My brother Lucas nodded. “It’s definitely a sex tape. I really don’t want to see your junk flashed all over the news, dude.”

  I shook my head. “What the hell is wrong with all of you?”

  “I know I dropped Will on his head once,” my mom said. “But the rest of you have no excuse. Let your brother talk.”

  I chuckled. “Thanks, Mom.”

  The room grew quiet, and all eyes turned to me. Damn. This isn’t as easy to say as I thought it would be.

  I took a deep breath. “I’m having surgery next Tuesday.”

  My mother was more in the loop than the others, so she understood before I explained anything else. She walked over and patted my hand.

  “What kind of surgery?” Will asked. “Penile enhancement?”

  “No, dipshit. The kind they can’t perform on you since you lack the organ. Brain surgery. I decided to have the aneurysm removed. It’s grown, and I think it’s time.”

  “Oh, shit,” Tate said. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “I’m fine.”

  “Does your new team know?” Ethan asked.

  “Not yet. I’m telling my agent tomorrow morning. I figured he’d have some advice about the best way to handle it.”

  “What’s the doctor have to say?” Tate asked.

  “Who’s doing it?” Will asked.

  “How long is the recovery?” Ethan chimed in.

  Over the next hour, we ate lunch and I filled them in on everything the doctor had said and answered all their questions. Once everyone seemed satisfied, I excused myself and went to the bathroom in my bedroom to get some more Motrin. Then I stood out on the balcony to get some quiet fresh air.

  My brother Tate followed me out and watched me take the pills.

  “What are those?”

  “Motrin. I can’t get this headache to go away the last few days.”