“I’ll put it away.” I pick up the snacks, and I’m closing the fridge when Dad comes into the kitchen.
“Shit,” he mutters, looking at his phone. And then I notice the empty orange bottle on the counter.
How is it empty? Dread moves in like a fog. “What’s wrong?”
Dad frowns. “Mom ran out of her medicine this morning. I can’t figure out how. I must have counted wrong. So I’ve been waiting for a call from the pharmacist all day. I had a voice mail, but it’s not them.”
My heart races, beating even faster. “What do you mean?”
“Hold on, Hadley. I’m going to call again.”
Before I can ask any other questions, Dad has his cell to his ear. He explains the problem and then listens carefully. “No…yes, I understand that’s a schedule-two drug, but my wife is fighting cancer.” He sounds like he’s struggling to keep his patience. “Yes, I’d like to know when I can pick up a refill.” He waits. “Okay, all right. Yes, I understand. Thank you.”
A schedule-two drug?
My mind races, flashing back to my hands, opening that same bottle. Taking one, then taking more. Braden waiting in pain in the basement. “What’s going on, Dad?”
He exhales slowly. “Mom’s still hurting from the surgery. Her medicine…Some people have a problem with it since it can be addictive.” He looks at me levelly. “Not your mom, though, honey. The pharmacist just needed to make sure it was okay. I’m going to go pick it up for her.”
I feel sick. “Right now?” is the only question I can manage.
He looks at me, his face a little lost. “The sooner I get back, the sooner she’ll feel better.”
Nausea rolls.
“You’ll keep your siblings from fighting too much?”
Somehow, I manage a nod. But when the door slams, I feel like the worst daughter in the entire world.
A few hours later, my eyes hurt from staring at the computer screen. A schedule-two drug has high potential for abuse, which might lead to severe dependence—both psychological and physical.
My whole room spins around me. Symptoms of withdrawal include: anxiety, difficulty focusing, insomnia, perspiration, body aches, nausea…
I shake my head, reliving the night Braden showed up at my parents’ house.
If an overdose is suspected, immediately administer a dose of naloxone, to avoid fatality. Due to a dramatic increase in opioid abuse, naloxone is now available over the counter in many states.
I pick up my phone, and he answers on the second ring. “Hey, Hads. How was graduation? Sorry I missed it; I’ve been swamped.”
“Well, I’m pretty sure my mom missed it because I stole her meds and gave them to you.” Guilt and fear riot in my gut. “Did you know that shit you’re on is a schedule-two drug?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Um, yeah, I heard you. But I don’t know what that is.” Except he sounds uneasy.
“My dad had to go refill my mom’s prescription. He thinks he counted wrong because she ran out too soon.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah, shit. She’s in pain because of me.”
“I’m sorry, Had—”
“I can’t believe I did that to her. She’s just sitting in her room, waiting for my dad to get back so she can stop hurting. And he’s mad at himself because he thinks he messed it up.” Hot tears threaten to take over. “I won’t do that again, Braden.”
“Okay, yeah, of course not.”
“And I heard him talking to the pharmacist. They didn’t want to give her any more of it, apparently, because it’s really addictive.”
“Did they?”
“Yeah, it’s on her file or something that she can have a refill. So it’s fine. But that’s not the point. Did you know all that when I gave it to you? Is that why you told me not to worry about it? Is that why you’ve been kind of distant? Are you in trouble?”
He takes a deep breath. “Okay, I get it. You feel bad, and we shouldn’t have taken that from her, and I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m—”
“Just hold on, okay? Let’s think this through. Are you asking your mom if she’s in trouble?”
“What? No—”
“Right. And why not?”
“I don’t know. Because she has cancer! And the doctor prescribed them.”
“Just like the doctor did for me. And she went through a bottle, just like I did.”
“But—” It comes out choked.
“Hadley, I promise you, I’ve got this under control, okay? I took a couple pills that weren’t mine, and I mean, honestly, you’re the one who gave them to me.” My stomach sinks even deeper. “I don’t want to fight, so I’m just going to pretend you never accused me of anything, okay? We can be done with this, because I get it. This stuff with your mom…It’s hard.”
There are so many objections rising up inside me, but maybe he’s right. He has been stretched pretty thin, between studying to retake the ACT, work, and swim club starting. Maybe I am too upset to look at this logically. I can’t think of an actual reason why what he’s doing is any different from what Mom is. And just because he’s been busy lately doesn’t mean he’s hiding something.
But Mom didn’t have a night that looked a lot like withdrawal.
Unless she did have a moment like that, and she didn’t let me see it. Maybe Dad has been there for Mom, during these uncomfortable times that I have no idea about.
Am I being totally unfair? Maybe I’m just scared that since this one awful thing happened, every other bad thing will follow.
So, unsure of anything at all, I just nod, even though he can’t see me. “Okay. All right. I’m sorry.” But not long after we hang up, I find myself looking up the name of that overdose medicine.
Naloxone.
First thing the next morning, before I can think myself out of it, I buy a package. An insurance policy. I’ll never need it, I whisper to myself, and slip it into my purse.
“Hadley, it’s nice to see that you still have teeth and everything, but you’re hogging the Hunan chicken. I want some too.” Judd points his chopsticks at me.
It’s the day we’ve been waiting for, and Judd’s right, I am smiling. With teeth and everything. I can’t seem to stop, actually. Which is kind of weird, because my family is sitting at our dinner table, and there’s no question: we have looked better.
Dad is across from me, and these three cancer-ridden months have aged him. Lines that used to only tease his face are now deeper, well-traveled roads. The twins have matching sunken eyes surrounded by dark circles. And Mom’s face is smooth and pale, unhindered by eyebrows or eyelashes, with bluish circles that give the twins a run for their money. She’s still wearing the remnants of Dad’s favorite T-shirt around her head, something that’s become a bit of a signature look. The idea almost makes me laugh. And I don’t need a mirror to know that I look terrible. My hair hasn’t been washed in days, and my clothes hang too loose on my frame.
All of us, frankly, look like shit.
But no family in the history of the world has ever been happier to look this awful.
Even Judd and Remy seem to have forgotten their weird tension from graduation day, at least for now. And every single one of us is smiling a real smile, the kind that reaches our eyes. Because we made it. For now, we have won.
Mom is done with chemo.
It’s not over, of course; she still has to do radiation. Which will be difficult—a new challenge in the world of cancer. She has to go every single day, for weeks. And it requires so much precision that she has to get these small, freckle-like tattoos in the exact places where the machine lines up. But right now, Mom, our family, gets a whole month without cancer treatment. We get a break. We get to breathe. And hopefully, she will never ne
ed to put an IV full of those awful drugs into her veins again. Her hair will start to grow back. Her appetite will return. Her body will slowly become her own again.
So tonight, we’re celebrating with a feast of takeout. It’s the first time we’ve sat at the dinner table as a family since she told us about her diagnosis. I’m glad I didn’t know then what these months would bring. But sitting here, so much closer to the other side, I feel a kind of hope I worried might have been lost to me.
I blink away my thoughts and pick up the plastic container, handing it to Judd. “Sorry, here you go. Hunan is all yours.”
Judd grabs the takeout container from me and piles chicken onto his plate with his chopsticks. “Thanks.”
I sit up taller in my seat, looking for the pork and hoisin sauce, when the teakettle sounds. Dad wanted to do a celebratory toast, but since alcohol isn’t really an option, he made Mom’s favorite anti-nausea tea. It’s sort of a send-off. Hopefully, she won’t need it again for a while.
Dad gets up to get mugs, and I flip my phone back over to see if Braden texted. I haven’t heard from him all day, which is kind of weird, especially since he knows we’re celebrating. It’s fine. He’s at work. Dad brings the mugs over, two by two, and sits back down in his seat. We pick them up and look to him.
“To your mom. To Mia”—emotion makes Dad’s voice crack—“who has been so brave. Who has fought and endured so much so she can be here with us.” He clears his throat. “We love you.”
Mom gently places her hand over Dad’s and squeezes it. After a moment, she redirects her attention, her eyes dancing. She raises her glass higher and declares, “But most importantly, good fucking riddance to chemo.”
We laugh, all of us, and echo, “Good fucking riddance.”
“Kids, don’t curse.” Her eyes sparkle as she sips her tea.
I dial the number from memory and pace the house as I wait for someone to pick up.
I’ve been nervous all day, wondering how my parents are doing in Chicago. There’s a radiation oncologist they wanted to meet in the city before Mom starts her new treatment; he’s supposed to be the best. Mom can’t fly for a while, because the chemo is so hard on her immune system, but it’s only a four-and-a-half-hour drive, and they were able to get an appointment on Saturday morning, so they left this afternoon.
Remy and Abigail dragged Judd to some outlet mall, and I haven’t exactly been enjoying the alone time. I keep worrying that the doctor will find more bad news.
I just wish Braden would get here.
“Pieces and Pies, Alice speaking. How may I help you?”
After all this time, Braden’s coworker, Alice—aka the lovesick hostess from our first date—and I have settled into an uneasy, almost-friendly acquaintanceship. “Hey, Alice, it’s Hadley.”
“Oh. Hey.”
“I, um, wanted to order delivery?”
“All right. What do you want?”
I tell her my order. “So basically just Braden’s usual, then?” she asks when I finish.
“Yeah,” I admit.
I tell her we’re going to pay in cash, but before I hang up, she says, “We’re a little short-staffed today, so it will be longer than usual. Maybe an hour or so?”
“Oh, okay. No problem. But do you know if they’re going to call Braden in? The pizza is for us, so I could just come in and eat it there, if you think they’re going to.”
She doesn’t answer me for so long that I’d think she hung up if it weren’t for the fact I could hear the noises from the restaurant in the background. Finally, she says, “Hadley, Braden got fired. Like over a month ago.”
“What?”
“I can’t believe he didn’t tell you.” She sounds almost smug. “He was late a bunch of times and missed a couple shifts. Mona, the owner…She didn’t want to fire him, but he didn’t really give her a choice.” I hear her tap her long fingernails on the hostess stand. “I mean, Braden couldn’t even talk his way out of it.”
My blood thins, and the lie comes out quickly, “Oh, you know what? He did tell me. I’m sorry, I’ve got a lot going on at home. He’s been with me tons, helping and everything. I guess it slipped my mind.” I can’t believe I just played the cancer card. “I’m sure that’s why he was messing up his shifts. Anyway, thanks for taking the order. I’ll have the cash ready. Have a good night.” I hang up the phone before she can answer.
* * *
When the food arrives, an hour and ten minutes later, Braden still isn’t here. I watch the unopened box, imagining the pizza getting cold, going bad, rotting. He was supposed to be here at six, and it’s closer to eight. I’ve called three times, and all three calls went directly to voice mail. I don’t even want to count how many texts I’ve sent him.
Braden’s never blown me off before, and I’m starting to worry. My mind is going to that familiar worst-case-scenario place. I try to ignore it. I try to be logical.
At ten to nine, the front door is thrown open dramatically, and I hear it slam against the doorstop. A loud, confident voice singing. Singing.
“Ohhhhhh! Darling, please believe me!” The door slams shut, and I’m frozen in the kitchen. I have been sitting in nervous silence for hours, and Braden’s voice sounds startlingly loud. He’s positively cheerful. Wait, actually…drunk?
His raspy voice, mimicking the Beatles and singing with gusto, is getting closer. He’s still making his way through the house. I don’t move.
He struts into the kitchen and falls onto his knees in front of me as I sit on a bar stool at the island. “If you leave me, I’ll never make it alooone!”
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask in a flat voice.
“Please forgive me?” He isn’t really singing anymore; more like talking to a beat and changing the lyrics to suit his needs.
He notices my expression. “Shit, you’re really mad. I’m sorry. That’s what I was doing. It was a stupid way to apologize. I was trying to make you laugh. Do you forgive your shit boyfriend?”
“For what? Being three hours late or for not telling me that you got fired a month ago?” I ask.
Something moves behind his eyes. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to give you any more bad news. Don’t be a drama queen about it, okay?”
A drama queen? “What happened? I thought you liked that job.”
He moves from kneeling to standing. “Yeah, I do. I did. Mona was just being a bitch. I got my schedule mixed up, and she was, like, so pissed. It was ridiculous. Honestly, it was more like I quit. I’ll get another job. No worries.” He waves a hand in dismissal, and his lips curve. “And about tonight. I was going to go to the gym, but I ran into Logan when I walked in, and we decided to blow off some steam instead. Anyway, my phone died, and I felt terrible.” He corrects himself, “Feel. I feel terrible. I just lost track of time.”
Something about what he’s saying feels…off. I can smell alcohol on his breath and a faint trace of smoke. And something lingering beneath his words. “You smell like whiskey.”
“Just had a taste. No meds today.” He lets his gaze linger on me. “I could share—come here.”
I don’t move. Instead, I rub my hands against my head, trying to ease the dull pain forming there. “Did you drive here like that?”
“God, Hadley. I’m not drunk; I’m just messing around. And no, I didn’t. We talked about that, remember? I’d be fine to drive, by the way. I just didn’t want to upset you. Logan dropped me off.”
I exhale, frustrated. I take a minute to look him over. He suddenly feels so distant. “Braden, seriously, what’s going on with you?”
“I just told you.”
I shake my head. “I don’t think you really did.”
He frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Something’s up, and I want to know what it is.” I’m afraid I already know, and I desper
ately want him to prove me wrong.
He meets my eye, anger just below the surface. “Honestly?”
“Obviously honestly. You keep saying that you—”
He cuts me off, “Honestly, I am just so sick of this conversation. You know what I did tonight, Hadley? I had some fun. Is that a crime? Does everything really have to be the end of the freaking world?”
“No, of course not—”
“It has been so long since I could just…I don’t know, relax. I’ve been swimming and studying nonstop and”—he looks down—“and, like, obviously I want to be there for you. But it can be…well, it can be hard to see you upset all the time. Especially when I have such limited free time.”
“Oh, it’s hard for you?” My own anger rises.
His voice is cold. “Don’t look at me like that. You told me to tell the truth.”
I swallow my frustration and let him finish.
“Hadley, come on. You know that shit has not been easy lately, with all this Stanford stuff. So I needed to let loose a little. Do we have to fight about it?”
“So, what? I’m not allowed to be mad at you for lying because I’m hard to be around, because my mom is sick?” I can’t stop myself from snapping. “And what the hell were you doing all those times you told me you were at work?”
“Jesus! Hadley, I needed a fucking hour to myself, okay? I needed some time when I wasn’t under a freaking microscope. Coach literally monitors me down to fractions of seconds in the pool, and then out of the pool, you’re studying me, like, trying to find something wrong! Is it really so hard to understand that I need a break?” His jaw is clenched, face tense.
And suddenly it hits me square in the chest that I might actually be close to losing him. I think of his calls that I’ve ignored while I was spending time with my family. I think of all the meets I’ve missed and how I’ve been suspicious and accusatory, and looking for problems that maybe weren’t there. I have been doing the things he’s saying, and I want to take it back. I want to rewind, because the fear of losing him makes everything else seem insignificant.
Coming Up for Air Page 20
