But instead, she seemed more withdrawn and gloomy than ever. She kept hinting at the fact that she was there in the hospital because she was dying. She kept implying that it would be better to go sooner rather than later.
And that was hard for me to deal with. What exactly was I supposed to say when she made these crazy comments? Like, “You know, I kind of liked that Hayden fellow. It’s a shame I won’t be here to really get to know him.”
Things like that made me want to pull my hair out. She was practically giving up. I knew she was in pain and that she was frustrated by all the things that she couldn’t do anymore. But at the end of the day, she was still alive now, and she had to know how much I would miss her when she was gone.
“Well, are you going to help me with this?” Mom asked snippily when the orderly brought her a wheelchair. It was one of Mom’s least favorite things about the hospital. They insisted on discharging her in a wheelchair each time. At least by now, she was used to it, and even though she didn’t hesitate to make her displeasure known, she no longer fought it as hard.
Although to be honest, some days I missed the fight. I missed hearing her really fight for anything at all, and really show some passion. I missed hearing her care about anything. These days, it seemed like she was just a husk of the woman she had once been. Sometimes I caught myself wondering if it really would be better if death came more quickly for her. And that made me feel terrible.
It was just so hard to stay positive and upbeat when Mom was like this.
“You’re moving this thing slower than the heartbeat of a dying man,” Mom complained as I wheeled her down the hallway. “Can’t you make it go a little faster? I want to get out of here.”
I pursed my lips, choosing not to remind her that pushing an occupied wheelchair down the hall still took a fair bit of effort on my part, no matter how much weight she had lost since she had first gotten sick. But I tried to pick up the pace a little. After all, I wanted to get out of there, too.
Things were no better when we got home, though. Mom sat heavily on the couch, absently flicking on the TV for some background noise like she normally did. “I guess you got everything cleaned up from the party by now,” she said, apropos to nothing.
I nodded. “Yeah, we had a cleaning crew go through,” I told her. “Work as usual on Monday.”
Mom shook her head. “My favorite party of the year and I missed it,” she said. “Can you believe the universe didn’t even let me have that? The only highlight left in my year.”
“At least you got to see everyone,” I reminded her. I knew she wasn’t saying that she didn’t appreciate our gesture. I knew she had really enjoyed having everyone there. Even more than I expected her to. And not just because we had brought her those spinach puffs.
But at the same time, her dismissal of our attempts to bring the party to her sort of hurt me. All day Saturday, and all morning long, she kept mentioning how gutted she was that she hadn’t been able to actually go to the party at the winery. And I knew that she was upset, but we had done everything that we could to make her feel like she really had been part of it, even if she hadn’t been able to be there.
Besides, it wasn’t like she had been very social since she had gotten sick. If we had told her in advance that we were going to try to bring the party to her, she probably would have told us not to bother. That she didn’t want anyone to see her like that. That she didn’t need us all sitting around pitying her. That she didn’t want to see us celebrating while she was dying or something morbid like that.
“Well?” Mom asked, sounding irked by the fact that I was still there.
“Do you want me to make you something to eat?” I asked, clinging to my patience as best as I could.
Mom scoffed. “You know those car rides always make me feel sick,” she said. “The last thing I want right now is to eat,” she paused. “I can’t believe you’ve cleaned up everything from the party and all you could scavenge for me were some measly spinach puffs. Didn’t you cater enough food this year?”
I counted to ten in my head. “The employees all took home some of the leftovers like we do every year,” I told Mom. “I tried to get you more spinach puffs, but they were all eaten. The caterers said they would make you a special batch.”
“Well, I don’t need their pity,” Mom snapped. “Oh, look at the sick woman, make her some spinach puffs because it’ll probably be her last meal on this earth. You know what? I hope that my last meal does come soon. But it’s not going to be any damned pity puffs.”
“Mom, don’t talk like that,” I said, even though I knew that my saying it would only make her angrier. “You know they aren’t doing it out of pity. They’re thankful that you’ve been a loyal customer for years now. We don’t get a ton of stuff catered for the winery, but they’re still really glad that every time we do need caterers, we use them.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Mom said, rolling her eyes. It sounded like she didn’t believe it. Or again, like she just didn’t care about anything. “And don’t tell me how to talk. I may be dying, but I’m still your mother.”
I stopped just short of telling her that she wasn’t dying. That wasn’t a fight that I wanted to have right now. “Well, if you don’t want me to cook you anything, why don’t we get you changed into some clean clothes?” I asked.
“Not like there’s anyone here to see me,” Mom said, frowning petulantly.
“Fine, then,” I said, throwing my hands in the air. “You just sit there and listen to the TV or whatever you want to do. I’m going to read my book.” I sat down in an armchair and pulled my book out of my bag.
Mom heaved a heavy sigh. “Not even going to ask me if I would like a book as well?” she asked. “Bet you think my old shaky hands couldn’t handle it, don’t you?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I just didn’t want to play twenty questions to figure out what you wanted to do. But if you want a book, I’ll get you one. Which one do you want?”
“I don’t want a book, I just think it would be nice for you to be a little more considerate and at least ask me,” Mom grumped. “I’d like a cup of tea, or is that too much to ask as well?”
“I’ll get you a cup of tea,” I said, putting my book aside and heading into the kitchen. It at least gave me a couple minutes of respite, but even that wasn’t enough.
The rest of the afternoon went much the same way. By the end of it, I felt worn out and exhausted. And disheartened. Mom really didn’t believe that she was ever going to get any better, and honestly, I was starting to lose my faith in a miracle as well.
I tried to be compassionate. I had to wonder if I would act the same way, if I were in her shoes. I wanted to think I wouldn’t be as ornery as she was. That I would realize how much my comments were hurting the people around me and try to bite my tongue. But on the other hand, I knew Mom hadn’t always been this way. And not only that, but I knew that I carried some of the best, but also some of the worst of her in me. She was the reason I was so strong-willed and determined. But she was also the reason I sometimes lacked self-confidence and was the reason that my determination sometimes came off as stubbornness.
Maybe I would be just the same as her, one day. The thought was chilling.
Finally, it was time for Mom to get ready for bed. “You didn’t have to stay with me all day,” she grumbled as I helped her upstairs.
“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” I said.
“And what, now you’re going to spend the night in the guest room so you can check on me first thing in the morning?” she continued. She turned to face me at the top of the landing. “You know, every night, I pray to the big guy that tonight will be the night that I don’t wake up again.”
I tried not to let my emotions show on my face, knowing that it would only galvanize her to say even worse. She didn’t really want to die, I reminded myself. She just wanted an escape from the pain, and more than that, she didn’t want anyone to pity her. Aggressively showing how
okay she was with the fact that she was dying made it hard to pity her.
Or something. One of the doctors had explained it all to me once when she’d found me in tears out in the hallway of the hospital. I could feel those same tears threatening now.
“I’m going to go home for the night,” I told Mom in a soft voice. “I need to get changed and stuff. But I’ll be back tomorrow.” I stopped short of saying that I’d be back to check on her, but I knew she knew what I was really saying. Thankfully, she just rolled her eyes and let me get her to bed.
As I walked out of her house, I immediately called Hayden. “What’s up?” he asked.
“Can I come over?” I asked, trying not to cry.
But I could tell that Hayden heard the tears in my voice when he immediately responded, “Of course.” His tone was soothing, and I nearly started sobbing right there. Instead, I took a deep breath.
“I’ll see you soon,” I told him, then hung up before he could say anything that might make me come undone. I got in my car and brushed away the tears so I could drive over there.
Maybe I shouldn’t force my tears on Hayden like this. He had enough on his plate with Booker, and even though I was sure that I loved him, I knew just how big a step that was to take in the short time we had known one another. I shouldn’t burden him like this.
But on the other hand, the last thing I wanted right now was to go home alone. The last thing that I wanted was to spend the rest of the night crying into a pillow and worrying about Mom. Besides, if Hayden didn’t want me there, I trusted him to say no to me. He had been able to tell that I was upset, so he knew what he was getting himself into. So a little while later, I pulled up in his driveway.
Chapter 35
Hayden
I could tell that Mallory was upset when she called me. I wanted to ask just what was going on, but I knew it probably wasn’t anything she wanted to discuss over the phone. I found myself hoping it was something to do with her mom, rather than something to do with the winery. Maybe the IRS had already started their auditing process or something, or there was another problem with the books that I hadn’t noticed? But then I felt horrible for thinking that. Either way, it would be devastating to her.
When she showed up, I could tell she was trying to hold herself together. She gave me a wan smile when I met her at the front door. “Hey,” she said in a subdued voice.
I immediately pulled her into my arms. “What happened?” I asked her.
She sighed and leaned against me. “Nothing,” she said. “Not really. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, don’t be sorry,” I chided.
“Mom got released from the hospital,” Mallory explained.
I frowned, unable to help my confusion. “Isn’t that a good thing?” I asked.
“It would be,” Mallory said, “except that they still don’t know how to treat her. They’re not upping her chances of survival, and she just takes that as more and more of a sign that she should, I don’t know, just die, I guess.”
“Oh Mallory,” I sighed.
“Yeah,” she said, pulling away and scrubbing at her face. “It’s just been a long day.”
“Why don’t you come in?” I suggested. “Booker’s here, but he’s in bed already, probably sound asleep by now.” Mallory nodded and followed me inside. “Do you want something to drink?” I asked her. “I’ve got water, juice, or some wine from the vineyard. Charlie gave me a bottle.”
“I probably shouldn’t, but wine would be great,” Mallory said. “It’s been a long day.”
I nodded and went to fetch the bottle and a couple of glasses. Then, I came back and sat near Mallory on the couch. She moved closer to me, cuddling towards my warmth. I lightly rubbed her shoulder, letting her take her time.
There was a part of me that wished she would just let go of her control for a moment. I could tell how hard she was trying to keep her composure. And that keeping it together was practically killing her. But I didn’t want to pressure her either. If she wanted to talk, she would talk. If she wanted to cry, she would cry. But I had to let her take things at her own pace and just quietly make sure she knew that I was there for her.
“It’s just hard to see her like this,” Mallory finally sighed, looking up at me. “She’s my mom. And I’m there for her. But it’s hard to be there for her when she doesn’t really want me to be. You know? I mean, it’s not that she doesn’t want me to be there for her. That’s a bad choice of words. But she’s always been so independent. She’s always been able to handle everything on her own. She doesn’t like the fact that she can’t do that anymore. I think that’s what scares her the most.”
“That makes sense,” I said, rubbing her back and feeling the tension slowly drain out of her. “I bet she’s glad that you’re there, though, even if she doesn’t know how to show it. I saw the way she was at the party the other night. You’re the center of her world.”
“I just wish she would act like that more,” Mallory said, shaking her head. “Instead, every conversation that we have seems to be about my lack of boyfriend or whatever else. You know, she actually tried to tell me that if I would just get a boyfriend, maybe I could quit bothering her all the time.”
I couldn’t help but grin at that. When Mallory raised an eyebrow at me, I shrugged. “She’s just looking out for you,” I said. “It’s not that she doesn’t want you there, she just wants to see you have someone else in your life before you lose her. That’s honestly pretty sweet of her.”
“I guess,” Mallory sighed. “I just feel like it puts even more pressure on me, though. Because we’re already past when the doctors first told us that she was likely to die.” She paused. “And on the other hand, I feel like the only thing that’s still keeping Mom alive is the fact that she doesn’t know when I’ll settle down and start a family. So I have this worry in the back of my mind that as soon as she knows that I’m serious about someone, she’s going to just give up and that’ll be the end of it.”
She stared down at her hands. I blinked in surprise. Was she saying what I thought she was saying? That she was afraid to have a steady relationship because she thought her mom would take it as a sign that she was no longer needed here and let herself die?
I thought about that for a moment. It made sense, with the way that Mallory acted, I realized. I could tell there was an underlying worry there, every time she let herself get close to me. And beyond that, I could tell just how hard she tried to keep herself cool and unemotional, from our first date to our first meeting at the office. Maybe it wasn’t that she hadn’t been interested in me from the very start. Maybe it was just that those wall she had built were there to protect her from losing the things that she cared about most.
My heart ached for her, and I tried to think of what to say in response to that. “Your mom is a fighter,” I finally said. “Just like you. She’s strong, and she’s not going to just lay down and die, no matter what the doctors might have told her. And sure, she might be hoping to stay alive long enough to see you settle down with someone, but I think there’s a lot more that she wants to see from you than that. She wants to see what you do with the winery, and she wants to see you grow into an even more incredible woman, and honestly, I get the feeling she really wants to see you give her some grandchildren. I don’t think that you just being in a relationship is going to be enough for her.”
For the first time that night, Mallory managed a small smile. “You’re probably right,” she said. “Mom would never be satisfied just knowing that I was in a relationship with someone. She wants a big wedding, grandchildren and everything else. She expects the whole world.” She shook her head, but she was still grinning. Finally, she sighed. “I’m scared,” she said frankly. “I don’t like the idea of losing her. But at the same time, I’m not sure how much longer this can go on. And the scary thing is, if I do have kids and everything, I’m afraid that I’ll be just the same.”
I shook my head. “You’ll be a great mom,” I told her. �
�And I’m not just saying that. I’ve seen you with Booker.” I immediately felt embarrassed at having said it like that. I didn’t want her to think I was already thinking of her as being motherly towards Booker. I knew that I liked her, but I didn’t want to stress her out with yet another thing right now.
That is to say, like I had told Ace, I wanted to have a conversation with Mallory at some point soon. But not right this second, not when she was so upset about her day. That wouldn’t be fair.
Still, I had said the words, and I meant them. She was good with Booker, and I couldn’t imagine her being a terrible mother. I couldn’t imagine her causing her future children this kind of stress. But maybe I didn’t know the whole story.
Mallory paused, and I could tell that she was thinking that over. Finally, she just shook her head. “Thanks,” she said quietly. “I guess I just don’t know because I’m too close to the situation to really tell what’s what.” She glanced over at me. “You would never put Booker under this kind of strain, would you? Whether he’s really your son or not?”
I froze, staring at her. “What do you mean?” I asked carefully. I didn’t want to show my emotions just yet, because I didn’t want to influence the way that she responded. But what did she mean with a comment like that, whether Booker was my son or not? He was my son. He would always be my son.
“I just mean, my mom and I are so alike,” Mallory said. “And it’s more than just nurture. In my genes, I’m just like her. So I just mean, I know you said that you’ve never had a paternity test done to see if Booker is really your son, but if you ever got sick, you’d never treat him like this, would you?”
I felt my blood start to boil. “Whether I get the paternity test done or not, Booker is my son,” I said in a clipped tone.
“I mean, I get that he’s your son. But you know he might not be biologically yours. Meaning, he doesn’t have all the same, you know, personality traits or anything,” Mallory said. “Like, I understand what my mom is going through because I can put myself in that same situation. And I think part of why she doesn’t sugarcoat things is that she knows I understand. She wants me to put myself in her shoes and understand what she’s going through, so I know, I don’t know, not to react with pity or whatever. But if Booker isn’t yours and doesn’t think the same way that you do, then maybe it’s easier. That’s all I’m saying.”
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