by Eve Morton
“But it’s Christmas,” Cosmin stated.
“We know that. She knows that. But it will probably seem like rubbing it in if we ask and then go anyway,” Hal said. “Seems mean, you know?”
“I don’t even know if SickKids allows visitors,” Sherry said. “When we had her there five years ago, they didn’t allow anyone the first three days. Made her acclimatize better, or whatever the doctors said.”
“And clearly that fucking worked.” Hal’s voice was harsh, clipped with anger. When Sherry flinched he blinked and murmured an apology. “I’ll put something in a swear jar.”
“You know,” Cosmin said, “Julian always hated the isolation units like that.”
“He did?”
“Yes. He thought it was a punishment rather than a so-called benign containment of the issue. He understood why eating disorder patients effectively needed to be removed from their environment. So much of our food life is intermingled with our home life. The hospitalization should then act as a reset, a neutral zone, a detox area, effectively. But the isolation is pointless. It would be labelled cruel and unusual in a prison. So why make kids—because we’re talking about children here—do it?”
“Cassidy is twenty,” Sherry said after a while. She shifted on the couch. “The doctor told us that she can’t do this anymore. That this is the last time she can come to this unit, regardless of her state of health, because she’s an adult now, even if she still lives at home and looks like she’s fourteen.”
“They always say that,” Hal commented. “And yet, here we are again. What about last time?”
“Last time?” Cosmin asked. “I thought she hadn’t been hospitalized since...”
“Yes,” Sherry completed for Cosmin. “This is only the second hospitalization, but when we went to North York a few weeks ago for a check-up, they said they wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. It’s only for youth. Their program ends at 19. They’ve technically been doing me a favour to let her stay as long as she has. Once this year is over, though, I can’t pretend she has a late birthday anymore.”
Cosmin nodded. He twirled his fork in the crust of the apple pie he had remaining. He wondered for a brief moment how Cassidy saw the world. Was it really all numbers the way Sherry expressed, or was there something more to it? Did equations and Euclidean geometric shapes cast across her eyes whenever she saw pie or did she write it off as bad? And was it all junk food that was bad, or was it the scenario around the food? Had she responded to the ice storm, to the lack of exercise—or to the isolation the storm engendered? Or perhaps she simply realized that her time as a child was running out and she still had no life skills aside from the obsessive ones she’d cultivated?
The panic that must have seized her during that doctor’s visit when she found out she could no longer be treated due to age must have been acute. She was a smart girl. She threw herself into everything she did, including scholastics, and was getting fantastic grades at school. She’d needed to switch to a university closer to home in order to keep living with her parents, so they could monitor her weight, but she was still as independent as she could be during the week when attending classes. Surely she could sense that her time was running out for treatment. And without that guiding hand, being on her own must have been like realizing your leg was in a trap. A blank slate of utter fear. The ice storm had merely reminded her that she had absolutely zero control over the world. Especially if it kept being framed in such stark terms as life and death, fat and thin, good and bad.
“It’s no wonder she relapsed,” Cosmin said. “She was confronted with her future. And everyone’s been telling her since she was fifteen that she’s going to die.”
“That’s true but...” Sherry opened and closed her mouth several times before responding. “But anorexia has the highest mortality rate of any mental illness.”
“Yes. I don’t deny that. But we’ve been telling her this since she was a kid. Now imagine that safety net of the doctors—who everyone has told you are there to prevent you from dying because you can’t support yourself by yourself—is now being taken away. What would you think? What would you do?”
Sherry closed her mouth in horror. She put her fork down. When she exchanged a look with Hal, they seemed to realize that the fear they felt for her life was what Cassidy lived with constantly.
“If she’s so scared, then why does she keep doing this?” Hal asked.
“We do a lot of things for so many different reasons.” Cosmin thought of his father, the journals, and the love that seemed to waste away when it was hoarded instead of shared. His stomach fluttered as he remembered the sensation of Eric’s hands on him. “Have you two ever read The Tempest?”
Hal shook his head, but Sherry nodded. “The Shakespeare play about a storm. They’re redoing it with a gender-swap cast.”
“Yes. And you know, I think it’s a perfect swap. Because it’s also a play about a daughter. Miranda’s locked on an island with Prospero. She’s told the world’s dangerous and nothing but. Then she discovers a shipwrecked man named Ferdinand and a brave new world opens up for her. I’m skipping over a lot of details here,” Cosmin said. “But the pieces are all there. With the gender swap of Prospero now being Miranda’s mother, and not her father, the message of danger and closeness becomes utterly prescient. Cassidy is Miranda right now. She’s been told—and treated—like she’s a fragile glass egg. So that’s all she feels. She’s on the island and knows no better.”
Sherry and Hal remained silent as they processed the information. Though he felt as if he was overstepping a boundary, the Allans weren’t telling him to stop, and Cosmin wanted to see if his thoughts about Cassidy and her pain were true. If she was Miranda and could walk out into the world again, then maybe he could follow after her. Maybe his own thoughts about his life weren’t wrong.
“Basically,” Cosmin said, “if you tell someone that a door is closed their entire life and then tell them that they must now leave the room, they won’t see a doorknob. They simply won’t understand how to leave. And when pressured, they’ll jump out a window instead—or panic and self-destruct.”
“So we tell Cassidy that she’s not sick? When she clearly is?” Hal’s voice had an edge of anger.
Cosmin nodded, expecting it. “No. But I’m saying we see her in the hospital.”
“She said she didn’t want visitors.”
“So?” Cosmin asked.
Hal and Sherry exchanged a look. “She might be mad.”
“But she’ll see you. You’ll see her. And maybe she’ll understand that there is a way out of the room.” Cosmin stood from their living room couch. “And maybe if we take pie, and pretend like it’s not a big deal to eat it for dinner, then she will too.”
At that thought, Hal rose. He packaged up the rest of the pie and placed it in a reusable shopping bag. Sherry rose as well, but she walked right over to Cosmin. Though she was still visibly affected by her daughter’s condition, she also had a smile on her face.
“What happened to you during the storm? Were you locked in a room rereading Shakespeare? I was too busy and I never got through to you when I called.”
“Nothing happened, Sherry.”
“You’re a liar.”
“I am,” Cosmin said. He felt the words like a wound; like Eric’s hands. “But I’ll tell you the story some other time.”
* * *
It had started to snow by the time they stepped off the subway and ascended to the street level. The sidewalks in front of the hospital had all been over-salted to speed the defrosting process after the storm, so each flake hit the ground and vaporized on impact. Streetlights and signs were still covered in ice, giving everything a crystallized glow. The scene reminded Cosmin of a snow globe: shiny and plastic and filled with snow that refused to accumulate.
When they entered the front foyer of the hospital, the tacky decorations
in red and green only furthered this feeling of plasticity. Hospitals were never fun, but on Christmas the antiseptic quality of each hallway seemed to add insult to a holiday that always seemed to slip too easily from the sentimental to the insincere.
Hal led them to Cassidy’s room with a sense of familiarity that was part detective training and part father of an ailing daughter. Sherry lingered behind Cosmin, sandwiching him between Hal’s quick strides. When they reached the fourth floor on the elevator ride, Cosmin’s body rushed with his own twisted sense of familiarity. Julian’s floor. His office. He wondered if he’d spot his ex in the hallway, and if seeing Julian would somehow erase everything that had happened with Eric.
Cosmin was still unsure what to call their fling. The more time he spent away from his father’s house, the more he felt the quotidian existence of his life fall back into place. He lived in Toronto, not Whitby; he lived in a meticulously ordered condo and not a hoarder’s nest; and he lived by himself, not with a family member or a partner. He taught classes at the University of Toronto and he’d written books. He might not have a radio show anymore, but he’d be a guest in the upcoming year. He knew exactly who he was and what he was doing, and so he could easily fall in line with the little things he had to do, and not think about the big ones. Was Eric a big thing to think about? Cosmin still wasn’t sure.
But it wasn’t just about Eric, either. He learned so much about his father from his trip, and so much about himself. Even if he could throw out the journals, and never call Eric, how could he remove his own self-knowledge from his mind? He’d been a mute child. The stars had been in his eyes. Those revelations were not going anywhere. In so many ways, he still felt like a stranger to Eric, and yet an expansive past spread out between them, and if he fully accepted the knowledge of his own identity, that meant he’d have to accept his father, the ultimate observer of those truths, as part of his past as well.
A quotation from Shakespeare kept coming to him for the past two hours. We all were sea-swallow’d, though some cast again / (And by that destiny) to perform an act / Whereof what’s past is prologue; what to come, / In yours and my discharge. He’d always focused on the deterministic nature of the passage. In the play, Antonio says it to Sebastian as a way to justify their bad acts. But now Cosmin saw another meaning between the lines: choice. Sebastian could commit murder or do something else. The stage had been set by the past, but the future could go outside the already predetermined lines. From this point on, Cosmin knew that he had to make a choice in order to not let the past win.
The elevator opened on Cassidy’s floor. Sixth. Not fourth. Cosmin let out a breath. Perhaps he wouldn’t see Julian after all. When they reached the front desk, however, and the nurse wouldn’t let them see Cassidy, Cosmin knew he had to make a call.
“Is Julian Townsend in?” he asked the nurse.
Her eyes flickered with recognition. Maybe she knew they’d been together. Maybe she just recognized his voice from the radio. It didn’t matter, because in a minute she was dialing Julian’s number. “Who should I say is calling?”
“Cosmin Tessler. Tell him it’s about Cassidy Allan.”
She handed him the phone a minute later. Julian’s voice on the other end was as warm as it was familiar. “Cosmin. I didn’t expect to hear from you.”
“Hello, Julian. How are you doing?”
“I’m well. It’s Christmas Eve, though. What are you doing here?”
“Cassidy’s mother and father would like to see her. Is that possible? She just checked in yesterday, so the isolation period isn’t over, but I was wondering if there was a way we could find an exception.”
“Oh screw the isolation period,” Julian said before Cosmin had even finished his request. “I’ll let you guys in and supervise so that no one can claim she had outside food.”
“Even if the food is apple pie?”
Julian made a pleased noise. Cosmin was relieved to find that his ex’s opinions, along with his taste in pie, were still the same. “As much as I like that idea, and think it’ll be good for the unit, they’re really strict about outside food. And that rule I do get. So though it pains me, I must say no to the pie. But yes, I’ll let you in. One outta two ain’t bad, right?”
“Correct. And thank you.”
Cosmin handed back the phone to the nurse and told Sherry and Hal the good news. They let out a breath of relief, and not even Hal seemed upset about the pie. “More for me, anyway,” he joked.
They ended up giving the pie to the nurse as they waited for Julian instead. Once Julian stepped up to the nurse’s station, Cosmin let out a breath. Though a handful of years had passed since they last saw one another, and their split had not been as amicable as Cosmin would have liked, the feelings came rushing back. It was like a clock that had been broken and had now been fixed. Julian’s blue eyes and a barely visible scar from a baseball injury as a kid on his chin became touchstones to their former life and love.
Julian stood in a lab coat with a purple collared shirt underneath, just the right shade of mauve to bring out his eyes. He greeted them with a large smile and a courteous “Happy Holidays” before he shook Sherry’s and Hal’s hands.
“We’ve met before,” Sherry said. “A long time ago.”
“Oh, yes, I remember. And Cosmin, always a pleasure.” Julian regarded Cosmin with a thin smile and shook his hand. Cosmin glanced down and caught a glimpse of a gold band on his left hand. His heart stopped, and then started again. Feelings that were once so strong rushed away.
He followed Julian down the hallway, Sherry and Hal behind him. Cassidy was in a double room, but she was the only one there. She lay on the bed underneath the covers, eyes closed but not asleep. Bed rest was mandatory at this stage, something which was heavily monitored. An IV pole was close to the bed, along with a heart monitor that displayed a number in the fifties.
Cosmin cringed. That was low. Not as bad as the first time, but coupled with Cassidy’s gaunt face and the sallow appearance of her skin, it gave Cosmin little comfort. She wore a blue gown and a robe, but she still seemed so small under all the fabric.
When her gaze met her parents, she brightened and then turned away. “I told you—”
“Cassidy.” Julian’s voice was strict, professional. “Your parents are here to see you. I’m overseeing the visit, but it won’t last long.”
“I’m supposed to be in isolation,” she said, but spoke as if it was a question. “I thought that was part of therapy.”
“I think that’s more like punishment. Especially on Christmas Eve. But hurry in case the nurses snitch on me.” Julian winked.
Sherry and Hal didn’t need much more encouragement; they were soon by Cassidy’s bed and wrapping her in hugs that seemed to swallow her whole. Tentatively, Cassidy slid her arms around them both.
For a while, Cosmin watched the teary-eyed reunion before he was aware of Julian close to him.
“Was this your idea?”
“Yes.”
“It’s a good one.”
“How long have you been married?”
Julian laughed. He crossed his arms and examined his ring with a smile. “Not long, honestly. Maybe six months? Eight?”
“You don’t remember your wedding date?”
“He’s better than I am at dates. And he’s actually pretty pissed at me right now. He wanted me to be home for our first Christmas together. I told him it wasn’t technically Christmas until midnight.”
“You liked to work.”
“And so did you.”
Cosmin grew quiet. He was well aware of how close he and Julian stood next to one another—and yet, it was like there was a gulf between them. All the feelings that had come rushing back on first seeing him were nostalgia, and perhaps a twinge of narcissistic love. They were so much alike, he realized, so similar in every single way. Both had advanced degrees that t
hey hung in their offices with precise right angles; both spent their spare time working or financing independent projects; both were bad at dates and remembering to see one another.
Everything had ended when Julian tried to break out of those roles. He called up Cosmin’s father as a way to ingratiate himself into the family and become more permanent. He and his father had had a couple cups of coffee without Cosmin knowing. Julian even tried to organize a Christmas dinner—not on Christmas itself, of course—with George and presented the whole thing as a surprise.
It had ripped them apart.
Cosmin knew that Julian’s gesture wasn’t meant to be a bad thing. He wanted to be with Cosmin permanently, but the way he’d gone about it made Cosmin feel on display. He’d grown up with people talking around him, not to him. He wanted to be included in the decision to become a family—not have someone else make it for him and schedule yet another Christmas outing that could go horribly wrong. Julian’s actions had seemed completely insensitive to his own sense of self and history—at the time.
Now, though, his own actions felt maudlin and overzealous. Given the context he’d found in his father’s journals, he wanted to explain some of that to Julian. He wanted to tell him why he’d freaked out, and why he understood them to be a bad match even now. They’d loved one another, sure. They’d been together for five years up until that inevitably cancelled Christmas dinner with George. But it was a youthful love, narcissism coupled with large bank accounts, and a need to not say anything too meaningful because nothing meant anything.
Julian seemed to understand that. He had the ring. He had his husband now who was completely different and so completely what he needed. And so Cosmin knew there was no need to apologize for something that had already been forgiven and forgotten.
And there was certainly no need to pine for Julian, especially when he had Eric. Maybe? He wasn’t sure. They were different. They were very different. But now, more than hours ago, Cosmin knew that difference was a good thing.
