Her words cause the anxiety to rise in my stomach again. It’s true, but I don’t want to think about that right now. Because the stent is working, and Grandpa is awake and talking to us.
“I know,” Grandpa agrees. “You two didn’t leave Hawaii for me, did you?”
“We did.”
Grandpa shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
Things start to feel better again…and then the doctor comes in, repeating what the nurse said. Grandpa’s heart is full of plaque. He’s on an aggressive medication regimen now, and it’s important to make sure he takes his pills religiously. Grandpa pesters the doctor about going home, grumbling that the only reason he wants him to stay is to collect the insurance money. He’ll be here for at least another day.
“See? I’m fine,” Grandpa tells us once the doctor leaves.
“You’re not, Dad,” Mom presses. “And you have to take this seriously.”
“Please,” I add. “Take it seriously.”
Grandpa lets out a breath. “All right. I’ll cut back on the greasy food and will take my medication.”
“Thank you.” I put my hand on Grandpa’s again. The nurse comes back in to help sit Grandpa up. They want him up and walking later this morning. I get up, needing to walk around as well. My legs are stiff and my shoulders ache. After a long plane ride, the drive from Chicago to Eastwood, and then sitting tense in that uncomfortable chair, my body is feeling it.
I have three missed calls from Rebecca, and I find a quiet corner to call her back, filling her in on Grandpa’s condition. Like Owen, she tells me to call if she needs anything and says she’ll be up later once the kids are at her in-laws’ house. My phone is dying, and I plug it in when I go back to the room.
A new nurse comes on, and Mom and I both go into the waiting room while she does a full assessment on Grandpa.
“We should get something to eat,” Mom tells me as she takes a seat in the waiting room.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I’m not either, but it’s been a while since either of us ate anything. The food in the cafeteria is bad, I’m sure, but it’s better than nothing.”
“I guess I could try to eat.”
Mom unzips her purse and pulls out a makeup bag. “Dad called while you were out of the room. He said Logan told him something interesting.”
“Interesting?” I look at my mom, watching her fix her eyeliner. Did Logan tell Dad the engagement is a hoax? If he did…I don’t care. It doesn’t matter compared to what’s going on right now.
“Logan told him that you said you don’t want to go back to grad school.”
“I…I don’t.”
Mom almost drops her mirror. “You’re kidding, right?”
My mouth opens, and I slowly shake my head. “You’re really doing this now?”
“We want what’s best for you. Grandpa would agree.”
All the frustration I’ve been feeling over the years threatens to bubble up and explode. My heart is ripping in two, all while my stomach churns. I don’t know if I’m going to throw up, scream, or start throwing things.
“No,” I say, voice small. “No, he wouldn’t.” I stare at my mother in disbelief, wishing I could write this off as her trying to distract herself from what’s actually going on. But I know better, and once Dad gets here, I’m sure he’ll get on me about it too.
“I understood why you came here,” Mom goes on. That’s bullshit too. She’s so wrapped up in trying to impress people, in making friends only so she can drop their names to others, in constantly having to one-up each other. She doesn’t get it, and I don’t think she ever will.
But I’m done with that. Done with not knowing who was with me or against me or who was using me or talking behind my back. Done with hanging around people who wrote the definition of first world problems and care more with the pH levels in their pools than the pollution in our oceans.
“But now it’s time to leave.”
“I don’t want to leave.” I close my eyes and tears roll down my cheeks. “I like it here. It’s not fancy, and we don’t have five-star restaurants or Ivy League colleges nearby, but this is home. The people in this town are great, and I like my job.”
“You’re a bartender,” Mom spits. “You are better than that.”
“I’m not better than anyone.” I shake my head. “And under normal circumstances, your job doesn’t define you. I mean, if I were a drug dealer, I’d say my line of work spoke volumes about my character, but I go to work and work hard. What’s the difference between me tending bars and working in an office?”
“Your paycheck. It’s a big difference.”
“I don’t need to be rich to be happy.”
“Stop being ridiculous,” Mom goes on. “Money might not buy happiness, but it sure as hell makes your life easier. You’ll always have bills to pay and not having to worry if you’ll have enough can take so much stress off you.”