Coming Up for Air

by Nicole B. Tyndall

  “I keep trying to help my mom, and I can’t seem to get it right.” I take a pill from my pocket and look down at it on my palm. It’s such a small thing. “But if I can, I’d really like to be able to help you.”

  He must see the emotion in my face, see how much I mean it, because he nods and takes it from me. “Okay.”

  “Here, I grabbed a couple more, just in case.” I hand them to him and then realize…“Shit, sorry, I forgot to get you some water.”

  He tosses a single pill into his mouth and swallows it dry. “I’ve gotten used to it.” The rest go into his pocket.

  We settle back into the couch.

  “Hadley?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” And I try to stifle it, but a yawn fights its way through me.

  For the first time tonight, Braden almost smiles. “Come here.”

  We lie side by side on the couch, and Braden tucks his arm around me. I rest my head on his chest, close my eyes, and listen as his heart thumpthumpthumps.

  A few quiet moments pass. The pauses between thumps lengthen.

  Half asleep, I whisper, “Any better?”

  “I think so, because I just noticed that you’re wearing a robe.”

  I open my eyes to find his on me. “Well, you did show up in the middle of the night.”

  He laughs. “I did, didn’t I? Bad habit.” And with gentle fingers, he lifts my chin and presses his lips to mine. “I knew you’d save me. You always do.” His eyes look a little unfocused, but now in a sleepy, happy way. I’d choose that over terror every time. But even as I think it, a small whisper of doubt moves through me.

  I try to be present in the moment. “I’d do worse for you,” I tell him, running a finger along a seam on his shirt.

  “Me too,” he echoes.

  The night starts to feel like a heavy blanket, coaxing me to sleep. But I fight it, letting Braden drift off first. His breathing finds a deeper, steady rhythm.

  Just before he fades away, a sleepy voice murmurs in the dark, “Hadley?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I like seeing you in your jammies.”

  I smile at his closed eyes, and a few minutes later, I follow him and drift away.

  * * *

  I’m floating in space, surrounded by small, twinkling lights, and my body glides weightlessly through the indigo sky. I reach out, trying to catch them like fireflies, but just before I close my fingers around a light, it extinguishes. It starts a chain reaction, and one by one they wink out, and the purple fades to black, and then I realize that the air isn’t air at all. I’m not floating; I’m submerged. I don’t know which way is up or down, and I can’t find the surface. My lungs ache as I realize I’m drowning, I’m drowning, I’m—

  I jerk awake. For a brief moment, I’m disoriented. And then: Braden, basement.

  Shit. I shake my head. What time is it?

  Braden’s arm is thrown heavily around me. “Brade?” I whisper.

  He grumbles but doesn’t move. His breath holds steady.

  “Braden?” I try to get out from under his weight. “Come on.”

  For a brief moment, I’m trapped. I manage to break free by sliding right off the couch and then pull my phone out of my robe pocket. It’s four-fifteen. Two hours until my family wakes up. Thank god.

  “Braden?” I press my hand to his uninjured shoulder. Is he always such a deep sleeper?

  I try again.

  Nothing.

  Again.

  My mind floods with fear.

  The pill. And he was drinking.

  I forgot he was drinking! Is it dangerous to mix those things? The doctors would have told him that, right? But what if they didn’t because he’s underage?

  Stop, I command my racing thoughts. I need to be rational. He’s breathing. I can clearly see that. He’s just asleep, right?

  Holy shit. What did I do?

  Without pausing to second-guess myself, I click a number on my recent calls and wait for it to ring.

  “Hadley?” He clears his throat. “Is everything okay?”

  “Ty. I’m freaking out. I think I messed up.”

  His sheets rustle. “What happened?”

  I tell him as quickly as I can and then explain, “And I’m sorry that I’m calling in the middle of the night. I thought because your dad’s a doctor…I don’t know. Now that I’m saying it, it makes no sense. But I don’t know what to do.”

  “It’s all right. And you said he seems okay now?”

  “As far as I can tell. I just can’t get him to wake up.”

  Ty sounds calm. “I’ve seen Greg like that a couple times after drinking too much. He’s always all right. But we should make sure. Hold on. Let me get my laptop.”

  I take the deepest breath I can manage. “Thank you.” And then it hits me. “Oh my god, Ty, I’m such an idiot. I could have just googled this myself.”

  “It’s no big deal. You were scared. I get it.”

  I’m probably freaking out over nothing, right?

  His typing clicks and then stops. “Okay, so it’s good that we’re looking, because that combination you described can be, um, bad.”

  Panic strikes like lightning. “How bad?”

  “Hold on. You said he’s breathing normally? Not too slowly?”

  I watch Braden’s chest rise and fall at a steady pace. “Yeah, it looks normal.”

  “Okay, that’s a big one. That’s good news.”

  But I don’t feel any better. “Ty, what did I do?”

  “I just want to go over a couple things. Check our boxes, okay?”

  Even though he can’t see me, I nod.

  “Can you find his heartbeat?”

  “Um, yeah, one second.” Holding my phone with my chin, I press my fingers to Braden’s neck. I have no idea what I’m doing, but I manage to find his pulse. Is it fast? Slow? Normal? I take my own to compare.

  “You’re looking to make sure it isn’t too slow,” Ty clarifies.

  “It’s slow compared to mine, but I think that makes sense. I’m kind of freaking out over here.”

  “Okay. But not too slow?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Ty pauses. “Does he feel cold?”

  I shake my head. “No. Not noticeably.”

  “Do you know how much he had to drink?”

  “He said he had a drink, but I don’t know what that means. He probably took a pull off something from his parents’ liquor cabinet.”

  “And just the one pill?”

  The question makes me feel sick, but I force myself to answer honestly, “Yeah, but he did say it was stronger than what he was used to.” And he has several more in his pocket. Maybe I should take them back? I push Braden’s hair away from his face. “I can’t believe I did this, Ty.”

  “Well, from everything I can find, it looks like he’s going to be okay. Watch his breathing, and as long as nothing changes, give him another hour. He’ll sleep it off, and I’m sure everything will be back to normal in the morning.”

  “What if something changes?”

  “Then you need to call nine-one-one.”

  I feel like I got kicked in the gut. “Nine-one-one? Seriously?”

  “Yeah, I don’t want to freak you out, but this shit is kind of serious. Like, people die when they take too much of that, especially if they start mixing it with stuff.”

  “Oh my god. I thought I was helping.”

  “You didn’t know. And he’s all right. Just for future reference.”

  “Future reference?”

  “Yeah, I don’t know.” He pauses. “Hadley?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Are you okay?”

  My chest constricts. �
�I’m scared.”

  “I could…We don’t have to hang up. If that would help. While you watch to make sure nothing changes.”

  “You said I should do that for an hour.”

  “Well, I’m already up.”

  I sigh into the phone. “You’re a way better friend than I am.”

  “I told you we don’t do that.”

  In response, I find myself smiling, and I realize that even in these difficult moments, I still have things to be grateful for. It reminds me of what Ty said recently, to look for the good. That I’d find it.

  We talk about small things, sit in comfortable quiet, or I listen as he strums on his acoustic guitar. Time passes in a blur, and at half after five, Ty and I are still on the phone.

  My voice is raspy as I finish telling him a story about Remy and Judd and how they used to hide food in their bedroom, and the day Mom found all of it. “She still can’t eat peanut butter.”

  Tyler’s laugh is low.

  It’s followed by a rustling, closer.

  “Oh my god,” I say breathlessly.

  “What?” Tyler asks.

  “Hadley?” Braden mumbles.

  “He’s awake,” I say into the phone. “I’ve got to go, Ty. Thank you for everything. Seriously. I can’t tell you enough.” When he says goodbye, I move quickly to the couch.

  “Braden, you scared the shit out of me.”

  “What, why? What time is it?”

  “I couldn’t wake you up. I thought…”

  “I was just sleeping, Hads.” He kisses my head and then spots my cell on the rug. “Were you on the phone?”

  “Yeah, Ty was helping me make sure you were okay.”

  “You told Tyler?”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. Are you okay? How are you feeling?”

  He frowns. “Hadley, I know you share a lot with your friends—” And when he uses an arm to sit up, he’s distracted. He moves his injured shoulder gingerly.

  “How does it feel?”

  “Better. Like, way better.”

  I exhale a million pounds. “I’m so glad.”

  “Me too.”

  “But, Braden, tonight…I can’t stop thinking that this is a lot more serious than I realized.”

  He runs a thumb along my cheek. “It’s just my shoulder, Hadley. It’s really okay.”

  “Will you just hear me out?”

  He nods. “Of course.”

  “It’s just…you’re almost done with swim season, right?”

  “Yeah,” he confirms.

  “Well, I know this is already the plan, but will you just promise me that if it’s still hurting when you finish, you’ll have the surgery?” I keep talking, hoping he won’t interrupt. “I know you, and you’re not going to want to miss club. But if you do, you can go back to swimming senior year with it healed. It’s just…this was scary, Brade. It seems like those pills are intense. I don’t want them hurting you again.”

  He studies my face, taking in the concern. “You know, I think you might be the only person who cares more about me than my times in the pool.”

  I roll my eyes. “Braden, come on. Your parents, obviously.”

  He shrugs. His face is made of sharp edges, but his eyes are soft. “Okay, Hadley. I promise I’ll do the surgery over the summer, if it hasn’t healed.”

  Relief courses through me. “Thank you.”

  “Is everybody still sleeping?” he asks.

  “I think so, but we’re cutting it kind of close.” I look at him. “Please don’t scare me like that ever again.”

  “But what fun would that be?”

  “Braden.”

  “I’m just kidding. Hads, I’m sorry. I know. Tonight was a low point, okay? Up from here.” He wraps his arms around me. “But I think I should get out of here before everybody wakes up.”

  “Are you all right to drive?”

  “I’m fine.” He puts on his coat and shoes. “Is this Remy’s escape window?”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  He kisses me. “Thank you.”

  But he disappears before I can answer, and I’m left alone in the dark.

  Three days later, I’m standing in the kitchen, preoccupied with worry. Braden’s been quiet since his appointment, and I’m not sure what to make of it. My siblings, on the other hand, are blissfully ignorant.

  It’s Sunday morning, and Judd’s giving a pancake tutorial to Remy and me. “The trick is to flip them when they are cooked enough to not fall apart, but not so much that they’re burnt at the bottom. I like a golden brown, myself.”

  Remy tries to flip one, but it isn’t ready, and the dough splatters. “Shit!” she exclaims, trying to make sure it didn’t get onto her new T-shirt.

  Dad’s drinking coffee at his computer while we cook. I don’t hear Mom when she comes into the kitchen, but something still makes me look up. She’s in her bathrobe with soaking-wet hair, standing at the threshold of the room with a vacant expression on her face and an invisible, heavy weight on her shoulders.

  “Mia?” Dad asks gently.

  She leans against the wall, and her face crumples in her hands.

  The doctors warned us that the side effects would probably start after two or three chemo treatments, and it’s as if all of us realize it at the same time: her hair. Probably while she was washing it.

  Dad immediately stands and moves toward her, enveloping her in his arms. “Did…” he trails off, unable to finish his question.

  Mom nods, eyes squeezed closed, her hand tightening on his shirt.

  Dad rubs her back in loose, repeating strokes. “It’s okay. I won’t let it be anything but okay,” he murmurs.

  Mom lets out a sob that rocks the room.

  Dad pulls away, holding her by her elbows and urgently looking her in the eye. Her face is a gargoyle of itself, sculpted by fear. “Your hair doesn’t matter, Mia. It isn’t what makes you beautiful. I know you, who you are. That’s what makes you beautiful. Okay?” His gaze is unbreaking, forcing Mom to nod before he will continue. When she does, he pulls her tightly back into him and whispers, “I love you no matter what.”

  I’m frozen in place, a strange mix of admiration and dread filling my veins, realizing that my parents are scared and don’t know what to do either, other than hold on to each other. I feel tears fall down my face.

  Dad’s voice is breaking. “You can’t leave me, okay? I need you.” He glances back at me and my siblings. “They need you. We just have to get through this part. One step at a time.”

  A hissing sound comes from the stove, and Judd jumps to tend to the pancakes, black and burnt.

  I ignore our ruined breakfast and move toward my parents, wrapping my arms around them both. I hang on to the love between them like a lifeline. I can’t say anything, do anything, to fix it. So I just stand there squeezing my parents together with all my might. Remy and Judd join me, and we do our best to hold one another up above the fear.

  * * *

  A couple hours later, Mom is sitting on a chair in her bathroom. I’m standing behind her, pulling her ponytail through my fingers. “Are you sure?” I ask tentatively. But when heavy strands tangle in my hand and fall freely from her head, I know that it’s time.

  Mom hands me the scissors. “Let’s just get it over with.” I look to Judd and Dad, each sitting on an edge of the bathtub. They seem as uneasy as I feel. But Remy nods at me, and it makes me feel steadier.

  “Okay. I’m just going to…do it. I guess.” I press the scissors just above her hair tie. “Um. Okay. Here we go.” The first cut makes a sharp, crisp noise, and Dad sucks in a breath. I do it again. Again. Until her ponytail falls into my hand. Shit, shit, shit. Mom and I look at each other.

  Her hair is now cut in a jagged bob, and surprisingly, it looks kind of
cute. “We could just stop here?”

  “Hadley,” Remy says.

  “Okay. You’re right. Um, here.” I hand Mom the ponytail; she moves it in her hands and then quickly drops it into the small garbage can at her feet. She doesn’t want to look at it either.

  Judd attempts to lighten the mood. “Hey, Mom, what are you doing throwing that away? You could have, like, the world’s nicest duster. Or you could sell it! Don’t girls pay tons of money to glue other people’s hair on their heads?” Judd leans over and plucks it out of the garbage. The smile on his face doesn’t reach his eyes. He’s been wearing that expression a lot lately.

  “You’re so right,” Remy answers. “People look at this cancer stuff all wrong. We’re going to get rich off hair. I know I’d buy it.” She tries for levity, but it falls flat, her voice breaking. Judd moves toward her and puts his arm over her shoulders. She relaxes into him, visibly fighting the lump in her throat.

  Dad takes the ponytail and gingerly runs his fingers through it.

  “Keep going, Hads. Before I lose my nerve,” Mom tells me. I gather more pieces together and cut them short. Over and over. Dark hair falls to the white tile of the bathroom floor. Mom’s chest rises and falls in a forced, steady rhythm.

  “Okay, Mom. First step is done.” Her entire head is covered in uneven dark sprouts.

  She squares her shoulders and meets her own eyes in the mirror. “Hadley, will you do me a favor?”

  “Of course, what is it?”

  “Will you take my picture?”

  “What? Right now?”

  Her eyes don’t waver. “Yes.”

  I grab my camera, adjust the settings, and lift the lens. The motion is comforting, familiar.

  Without looking away from her own eyes, Mom nods. I click the shutter, letting everything but her face and fierce eyes fall to the background. If this image had a name, it would be Courage. I snap a couple more, trying to ensure a good shot from my unsteady hands. I want to show the love in the room, the strength of Mom, and the power in taking ownership of your fate. I think of Tyler; I want to remember the good in a sea of heartache.

  Taking a step back, I also capture the fragmented pieces of her on the floor—the pieces we had to cut away to keep the rest.