by Soraya Lane
Matt carefully put her hand down, back on the bed; her skin was almost translucent. Before she’d become sick, she’d always had a tan, was outside more than she was in, but now her skin was ghostly white. He was finding it harder and harder to remember his beautiful mom the way she’d always been, her dark hair falling to her shoulder blades, a big smile always firmly in place, making her mouth tilt up every time she looked at him. That was the mom he wanted to remember for the rest of his life, but right now he wanted to give his mom some dignity.
“Excuse me, but . . .”
Matt spun around, glaring at the nurse who’d interrupted him.
“What?” he snapped.
“It’s just that we need to clear the room and . . .”
“Get the fuck away from my mother!” he screamed.
His father appeared then, eyes dark, days’ worth of stubble on his cheeks. “Son, she’s just trying to do her job.”
“Leave me,” Matt said, his voice like venom, staring at his dad. “Leave me alone.”
He turned his back, didn’t give a damn now whether anyone else was in the room or not, because he wasn’t leaving his mom like that. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let her be wheeled out like a nameless corpse, dressed in the ugly hospital gown. She had always looked beautiful, never left the house without make-up on and nice clothes, and he wasn’t going to let anyone else see her like this. It was the last thing he could do for her and he was going to damn well do it.
Matt glanced behind him, saw they were alone again, and he touched her hand, then placed a palm to her cheek. He might be only seventeen, but he knew right from wrong, and this was wrong.
“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he muttered. Her head was bare, her bald head almost grotesque it was so pale. And she was so, so thin. He hadn’t noticed it so much until now, just how bone thin she really was beneath her clothes.
Matt dragged his eyes from her scalp and looked around for her bag. She never left home without it, and he doubted she would have gotten in the ambulance unless someone had brought it for her. He was right. It was sitting on the floor, kicked halfway under the hospital bed. He pulled it out and found her scarf; the softest silk and in a light pink color. Maybe that’s why he hadn’t noticed how sick she’d looked, because she’d always had her scarf tied around her head and make-up on her face, her trademark pink lipstick brightening her skin. He lifted the scarf and stared at it, tried to figure out what to do and had no damn clue. So he just folded it in half and placed it over her head, covering part of her forehead, then carefully lifting her head to tuck it under.
He sucked back a sob as his fingertips connected with her skin. It felt too cold, not right. But Matt kept it together, did his best tying the scarf to the side slightly. At least she looked a little more like herself. Then he found her blanket, one made of soft wool that she’d always had folded in her large bag, slung across the top because she was always getting cold and needing it near. When she’d been to watch his football games, he’d always looked up and seen her with it tucked around her shoulders, but her big smile and even bigger wave had meant no one else probably had a clue how sick she was. Maybe not even him. It wasn’t until he’d received the call today, walked into the room and seen her lying on the bed, that it had really hit him. His mom’s cancer had been bad; he’d known that, but knowing hadn’t prepared him, not even close.
Matt pulled her gown down her legs as far as he could, feeling weird touching her like that when it wasn’t something he’d ever usually do. Then he opened out the blanket and placed it over her, wanting to keep her warm even though he knew it was impossible. He even tucked her hands under it, knowing how cold they’d been the last couple of months. She was always calling him over to hold her hands, always telling him how warm he was and how she needed to steal a little bit of it before he left for the day.
He wished he’d skipped school and just stayed home. If he’d known she wasn’t going to be around when he got home, he would have. Screw school. Screw football. Screw the whole fucking world.
Matt bent down low over her, wished he knew what to do with make-up so he could have put some on her face, but that was way beyond him. Instead, he held her, let all his tears fall onto the blanket he’d just covered her in.
“I love you, Mom,” he choked out. “I love you so much.”
He wanted to believe she was watching him from somewhere, that maybe she hadn’t even left the room yet and was standing behind him, or drifting up above, before she passed over to wherever it was that dead people went.
And then he stood up, pulled himself together and walked out the door.
“Matt!”
His dad called out behind him as he stormed down the corridor, furiously wiping tears from his face. He didn’t stop, didn’t want to see him.
“Matt!”
A hand closed over his arm and he turned, angrily shoving his dad’s fingers from his jacket.
“Don’t touch me,” he growled.
“I know you’re upset, we all are, but . . .”
“Upset? You’re upset? I don’t see any tears!” Matt shouted. “Why the hell aren’t you crying?”
His father’s face was tired, worn, but it sure as hell didn’t look upset.
“Matt, you need to calm down.”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Did you see her in there? Did you see the way they left her? Or was that you? Didn’t you care enough to give her some fucking dignity?”
Matt knew he was making a scene, would never have spoken like that around his mom, but he couldn’t help it. Anger thrummed through him, made him want to slam his fist into something, anything.
“I was with her when she passed, Matt. It was very fast. She had an infection that her body just couldn’t fight any longer.”
“Did you fight hard enough for her? Did you even cry when she died in front of you?”
Matt wiped more tears away, unable to stop the flood of them as they rained down his cheeks. He hated him. He hated his father for not fighting, for not doing something to save his mom. He hated him for never crying, for always standing there silent and stoic instead of acting like he gave a damn. And he hated the look in his mom’s eyes when she saw the strain between them. Because he’d loved his mom so bad, had no idea how he was even going to live without her. He was seventeen. He needed a mom. He needed his mom.
“I have some paperwork to fill in,” his dad said, taking a step back. “I’ll meet you at home and then we can talk.”
Matt turned on his heel and stalked back down the corridor. He didn’t want to go home, didn’t want to talk to the man he’d slowly started to hate.
I wish it was you and not her. That’s what he wanted to say to him, only he’d been too chicken-shit to spit the words out.
Matt clenched the glass hard, stared into the amber liquid before raising the glass and swallowing the entire contents. He’d drunk too much; the straight whiskey no longer stung his throat. It should have numbed his pain, but it hadn’t.
His phone rang and he pulled it out of his jeans pocket, stared at the screen through blurry eyes. It was Lisa. Lisa, his bubbly, fun wife. Lisa who had always kept him on the straight and narrow. Lisa who had cancer. Lisa who stayed in their room all day and didn’t want to leave their bed. He waited until the ringing stopped and pushed it back into his pocket. He was in no state to talk to her, and he wasn’t in the mood for a lecture about where he was. He’d tried so hard, but he wasn’t used to being the adult, wasn’t used to being the strong one and having to care for her. Because since he was nineteen, Lisa had had his back, but their roles had been reversed and he was being a pretty shitty husband right now.
“One more,” he told the bartender, pointing to his glass.
He watched as it was filled, stared at it awhile. The bar was quiet now, the noise from earlier long gone, replaced with the silence of a few serious drinkers propping up the bar.
Matt felt hollow, and it was a feeling he recognized well, even af
ter all these years. When his mom had died, there’d been nothing left inside him except pain, no other feeling other than an agony that made it almost impossible to lift his head. And anger. He had been so damn angry he could have exploded.
He lifted his drink and gulped down the shot, slammed the glass down on the bar and heaved himself up. He was wobbly on his feet, the room spinning.
“Hand over your keys,” the bartender said. “You can come collect them in the morning but you ain’t driving.”
Matt shook his head, tried to laugh. “Nah. Then I’d have nowhere to sleep.”
The bartender shrugged. “Not my problem, pal. I’ll push the button and unlock it if you want to crash in there, but I’m keeping the keys.”
Matt threw them on the counter and staggered out. Tonight there would be no Lisa giving him a hard time about staying out too late, no explosive argument followed by him begging to be let in the house. She liked making him sleep on the sofa when she was angry, but not tonight. Because tonight his wife was alone in bed, recovering still, depressed still. And instead of being with her, he’d given up and gone out.
If he hadn’t felt like shit before, he sure as hell did now. All because he didn’t know how the hell to deal with a wife who had had the same goddamn disease his mom had. And thinking about losing Lisa was impossible. All he wanted was his wife, and yet all she seemed to care about was what they’d lost.
She has no idea what it’s like to lose the battle with cancer. Matt staggered, wished he’d had one more drink, another to block out the thoughts, to force him into oblivion. If his wife had seen what he’d gone through as a kid, maybe then she’d understand. Maybe. Right now he had no idea what was going through her head, and it felt like he never would.
“Where were you last night?” Lisa tucked her hair behind her ear, wishing she’d washed it. She was used to her hair feeling soft and bouncy, not lank like it was right now.
“Uh, it was a rough night,” Matt answered, eyes downcast, voice husky. “Sorry.”
She didn’t say anything. What was she going to say? That he should have been home with his recovering wife who was about as fun as a bucket of sick right now? There were so many things she could have said with a barbed tongue, but she didn’t. A few months ago, she would have headed out with a few girls if he was planning a boys’ night, but now she didn’t want to do anything.
“Who were you out with?” she asked, hating how needy she sounded.
“Uh, a few of the guys.”
She couldn’t decide if he looked guilty or just remorseful. “I needed you,” she said, her voice cracking.
Matt stared at her and she looked away.
“You’ve been designing?” he asked as he walked past.
Lisa held her breath. He stank of alcohol. She looked down at the notebook open on the blanket, pencil lost beneath the covers somewhere.
“Yeah. Was better than lying awake worrying about you.” And designing was the only thing making her feel alive right now, so of course she’d been designing.
He looked guilty. “Look, I crashed in the Chevy for the night. I’d had a few too many.”
At least he hadn’t driven home drunk. Truth was, she didn’t care, not like she normally would, even though she was interrogating him. If he’d stayed out all night a few months ago, she’d have been beside herself thinking he’d had a car accident or something, but last night she’d almost wondered if he was gone for good, sick of looking after her and dealing with a depressed wife who couldn’t even crack a smile without a huge effort anymore.
“Is there, uh, anything I can get you?” Matt asked, standing in the doorway with his thumbs looped through his jeans.
“I’m fine.” She was going to snap that him having a shower would be nice but she bit her tongue. He could say the same to her.
“Come on, you need to eat. How about bacon and eggs?” He waggled his eyebrows before giving her a wink.
“Maybe just some toast,” she said, trying hard to smile back.
When he left, she forced her legs out of bed, pushed her toes down onto the soft, plush carpet. What she hadn’t told Matt was that his being out all night hadn’t been okay. She’d sat awake, wondering what he was doing, where he was. She’d called him and he hadn’t bothered to answer. So she’d told the dog to get up on the bed and snuggled into him, waiting, hoping she hadn’t been so depressed and dark that she’d pushed her husband away for good. There had been something therapeutic about stroking Blue’s thick fur, fingers lost in the repetitive motion of kneading him back and forth. But it hadn’t been the same as having Matt at home. She sighed; she craved him when he wasn’t there, and craved space when he was.
Lisa padded into the bathroom and turned on the shower, staring at herself in the mirror. It was like looking at a stranger. Her eyes were hollow, dark shadows beneath them, hair hanging limp, unloved. Her skin was pale, not the usual golden tan she sported over summer. But today was different. Today she was going to haul herself into the shop and work out front instead of staying hidden in her office designing. Today she was going to make herself look good. Today she was going to force herself to be part of the world again and reconnect with her customers.
Lisa showered, washed her hair and pinned it up as she rubbed a tanning moisturizer into her skin after drying. While she waited for that to dry in, she smothered her face in cream and then went out to get dressed. She reluctantly pulled a blind and saw that the sun was shining, so picked a little striped dress out of her wardrobe. She might feel like dying inside, but to the rest of the world she didn’t want to be a pity case. She just wanted to dive back into work head first and try to find herself again. She got out her hairdryer and quickly blasted her hair, head upside down as she dried it.
There was no other way she could see to move forward, unless hiding in bed and in her office for the rest of her life was an option.
Her mobile rang and she crossed the room to look for it, found it on the floor beside the bed. She answered, not recognizing the number.
“Lisa, hi. It’s Dr. Lindsay.”
She hated hearing his name. Every time she’d ever spoken with him, it had been bad news in some form.
“Hi,” she managed, shivering as she wondered what he was going to say. She knew she should be grateful to this amazing man for saving her life, but right now he was just the man who’d made her terminate her baby and robbed her of the chance of ever conceiving another.
“Lisa, I have great news. Your latest results are back in and the surgery was most definitely a success. I can confirm that as of right now we definitely won’t need to pursue any further treatments. Everything went as planned.”
Yeah, as planned because they’d cured her—he didn’t bother to mention what they’d taken away from her. She was silent for a beat before forcing herself to answer. “So the surgery worked? The cancer has gone?”
“Yes, it worked. We never like to use the word cured when it comes to cancer, and it’s still early days so we’ll continue to do tests to monitor you. We’ll be vigilant with checking you from now on, but going from these initial post-surgery tests, it’s looking good.”
What he was trying to say was that what she’d been through had been worth it. Lisa took a deep breath. She hated feeling like such a bitch, but it was like she was slipping into darkness all the time, unable to see the glass as half full after a lifetime of being so defiant in the face of anything bad that came her way.
“Thanks for the call,” she said. “It’s great news.”
So why was she so numb? Lisa ended the call but clutched tight to her mobile as she walked out into the hall and found Matt in the kitchen.
“What?” Matt’s face lit up as he put down his mug and stared at her.
“The surgery worked,” she mumbled. “Dr. Lindsay’s confirmed that I definitely won’t need chemo or anything else, just like they expected.”
Matt closed the distance between them in seconds, wrapping his arms around her an
d lifting her clean off her feet. “Woo hoo! Best news ever.”
She smiled, fought the urge to snap at him and tell him to put her down. He was happy and she should have been, too.
“So everything’s fine? I mean, it’s over?” he asked.
Lisa bit hard on her lower lip, so hard she wondered if she might taste blood. “He just said the initial tests were clear but that they’d need to keep checking. I don’t think I’m completely in the clear yet, but he sounded pretty positive.”
“Baby, it was worth everything. I was so close to losing you.” Matt kissed her, his mouth hungrily searching out hers.
Usually she would have laughed and kissed him back, been as eager as he was, but not now. She moved her mouth but the tingly feeling she usually felt from locking lips with him wasn’t there.
“Was it worth everything?” she managed, the words whispered, pushing him away with her palm flat to his chest.
Matt frowned down at her. “Yeah, it was. We’re together. You didn’t die.”
A part of me died. She wanted to say it but the words faded in her throat.
Instead of answering she walked past him and had a look at what he’d made. The smell of bacon almost made her gag, but he’d made an effort—she had to give him that.
“I’ll just have some eggs if that’s okay,” Lisa said, hearing him move behind her as she reached for the coffee.
“Lis, I don’t get why you’re so unhappy. We should be celebrating!” Matt wrapped his arms around her, mouth dropping to her neck.
Lisa froze, tried not to explode. “So I’m alive,” she muttered. “But I lost a baby, Matt. A baby I still think about every day, but you’ve obviously forgotten about him.”
His hands fell away and she fought tears. She didn’t want to push him away, didn’t want to be cruel, but he just didn’t get it!
