No, that was dumb. On second thought, it was accurate.
“Nothing?”
“Really.” Zoë slumped into the chair, chewing on her lip, wondering how much she could say.
“Out with it.”
Zoë took a deep breath. “We never talk. He’s never there. When he’s home he’s too tired to talk. It’s like living with a robot. You’re both here. I’m there. I’m lonely. There’s no one to talk to.” God, she sounded selfish—there’s no one to talk to, whine, whine.
Her mother glanced away, fiddling nervously with a tissue. “Don’t you ever talk about me?”
“He says that everything will be all right, or we’ll talk about it later. Honestly, Mom”—it came out in a rush—“I don’t feel like everything will be all right.”
Her mother looked like she was about to say something, but changed her mind. She was silent for a while, her eyes closed, until Zoë thought she had fallen asleep.
“What about Lorraine?” she finally asked.
“Huh?”
“To talk to.”
“Oh, Mom, you don’t know.” And it all tumbled out about Lorraine moving, of never seeing her, of missing her so much.
A nurse came in and interrupted to inject something into the flow from the IV bag, while Zoë looked nervously in the other direction. She couldn’t speak until the nurse had left.
He
r mother’s eyes closed again, but she squeezed Zoë’s hand once in a while to show she was listening. It felt so good. Once she said, “I’m so sorry, my love.” And once, strangely out of sequence, “I’ll speak to your father about it.” Then she was truly asleep.
Zoë gazed at her, sorrow building in her throat. She looked tiny, and pale, and crumpled. Before this her mother’s dying had been a possibility. People with cancer died. It was something Zoë worried about, had imagined a million times, but it had still seemed distant somehow. There had always been a vague hope. Now, looking at her mother so transparent and small, she knew for the first time that it was inevitable.
Her father came in and joined her in silent contemplation of the sleeping woman. She glanced at him. His eyes were tender. He held fruit juice in his hands as carefully as he would the water of life. Maybe I’m wrong, Zoë thought. Maybe she’s stronger when he’s around, because of the strength of his love.
“I’ll walk you downstairs,” he said, putting an arm around her. They went in silence, but she was used to that.
Down in the lobby he pointed to a pair of armchairs.
“Let’s sit for a few minutes.” He closed his eyes and squeezed the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger; then he spoke. “I’m not going to preach to you about skipping school this time—goodness knows, things are rough for you right now—but I’m counting on you to carry on as usual, even if we aren’t there to be in charge. It’s one less thing to be worried about.”
Great, she thought. What about my worries? Doesn’t he think I’m worried? Why doesn’t he see I need to be here?
But he was still speaking. “And perhaps it’s best if you let us know you’re coming next time, okay?”
Anger swelled in her. Why was he locking her out? “No, it’s not okay. It’s like you want to keep her all to yourself and don’t want to let me in at all. It’s like you wish I never existed, so you wouldn’t get your time with Mom interrupted. I wonder if you ever really wanted me at all.” She felt sick saying it. It was unfair, and she knew it, but sometimes she really felt that way. And now it was said.
Her father looked at her with confusion. She’d never yelled at him like that before. She was ashamed at the hurt she saw on his face, and the spiteful power she couldn’t help feeling.
“But, sweetheart,” he said, “you’ve got it all wrong. How could you think that? We don’t want you upset, that’s all. Mom hates not seeing you, but you need to be with Lorraine more, taking your mind off things.”
Compassion tempered her anger, and she spoke carefully, as if to a child. “What do you think it’s like waiting at home? Never knowing. Waiting for the phone to ring. This isn’t the sort of thing you take your mind off easily. It’s not like a test at school, or a visit to the dentist.” Her hands were clutched beside her, knuckles white with the grip as she tried to contain the fear she felt at speaking her mind. “Yes, it upsets me, but I’ve got to be part of this. I am part of this. Do you think she doesn’t need me anymore?” She was dismayed to hear her voice tremble.
Her father sighed. “Yes, she needs you, she needs you all the time, but sometimes she can’t bear you to see her this way. See her at the times she chooses—please, Zoë, for the sake of her dignity.”
Zoë remembered her mother’s embarrassed apology. It’s Mom who doesn’t want me here, she thought miserably.
“Don’t either of you love me anymore?” she said.
There was a brief flicker of pain on her father’s face.