Better With You (Better Love 2)

22

Pneumonia.

That’s what the doctors have said. She has pneumonia in both lungs.

She was fine days ago, and now...

I’m so angry. And scared. I want to blame someone, anyone, but I’m not sure who or what or why. We’ve been careful. We’ve done everything right. But she still got sick.

She’s in the ICU, hooked up to IVs and monitors, and they say that all we can do is wait. I stayed with her on and off all day yesterday and last night, but I kept having to trade off with Dad, since only one of us is allowed in there at a time.

I was crawling out of my skin out here in the waiting room. I couldn’t read, I couldn’t watch TV. Talia was here, but she went home early this morning, and she’s not who I want to draw comfort from anyway.

I can’t stop thinking about the last conversation I had with my mother. She knew. She knew something bad was going to happen. I told her I loved her. I told her to keep fighting, to stay strong.

“We’re in one of the best hospitals in the country,” I said. “They’ll heal you.”

She just brushed my cheek with her thumb. Slowly. Her movements were so slow. She would blink, and it felt like hours before she would reopen her eyes.

“Tell me about how you met Bailey,” she said. Her voice raspy and her words slurred. “Tell me the love story you will tell my grandchildren.”

So, I did. I told her about Quick Stop. About tracking Bailey down at Bar 31. I told her about the cookie contest. I even told her about the beer shower and the dick Bailey drew on my head. Her eyes were closed as I spoke, but every so often, she would hum, or tsk, or let out the faintest, weakest of laughs. I didn’t know I was crying until her thumb moved gently on my cheek, catching a tear.

“She will forgive you, monétoile,” she whispered, and though her voice was weak, her surety was strong. “She will forgive you, and I will watch your love story from the stars.”

“Maman, don’t say that. You’re going to heal and be home before you know it. And then you’ll be part of our love story. You’ll see it all.”

My mom hummed again, a pleased but tired sound.

“Merci d’être ma lumière, mon étoile,”she whispered to me after a few shallow breaths.“You are my greatest accomplishment. Have brought me the most happiness. I’m so lucky to be your mother. Je t'aime,mon étoile.”

“Je t'aime, Maman,” I whispered back, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I love you.”

She fell asleep after that, and I sat with her for a while, watching her sleep. Watching her struggle to breathe, even with everything the hospital has been doing. The vests and the medicine and the monitors.

I left to find some coffee and texted my dad that he could sit with her. He was sleeping in a chair in the waiting room, but I went down the opposite hall to avoid him. When I came back, I settled into a chair and counted the tiles on the floor.

Then later, around 10 p.m., they had to put Mom into a medically induced coma.

They found abscesses in her lungs, and she turned septic.

I lost it. And then I called Bailey.

When she arrives,I almost weep with relief. She’s the most wonderful sight, and when she pulls me in for a hug, I bury my face in her hair and breathe her in. She tightens her arms around me, like she could hold me up if needed. Like she would bear my weight to lighten the load on my heart.

“Thank you,” I say into her hair, clamping my eyes shut to stop from shedding more tears. I feel like I’ve cried myself dry.

“Of course,” she says into my chest. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

I pull back and look down at her, searching her amber eyes for a reflection of what I feel. Does she realize what she said? I will always need her. I will keep her forever if she lets me.

“Do you want to get some coffee?”

“I’ll do whatever you want, Butch.” She smiles softly, and it’s sad and sympathetic, but still absolutely beautiful.

We go down to the cafeteria and get coffee. Then we get sandwiches and pick at them. She asks about my mom, and I lose hours talking to her. Telling her all about my childhood. About our trips to France to visit with my grandparents and cousins. Playing travel baseball in high school. Skipping school to dick around in the city with Talia and our friends. Learning to drive a car on Lake Shore Drive.

She’s the perfect listener. Laughing and smiling, chiming in periodically, and her amber eyes never leave mine. When I get a text from my dad to come back up to the ICU, I’m lighter. I’m sad, I’m worried, I’m fucking terrified. But somehow, even with all of that, I’m lighter.

And then it all crumbles.