by Fiona Keane
“I’m really tired,” he continued. “It won’t be long before I’m asleep. Please?”
“Fine.” I made sure the covers were over Sean before I climbed on top of them and mirrored his position at his side. His right arm wrapped around me like I was in his nest, and I rested my head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat echo the monitor behind us. I was careful not to press against his bandages, but Sean’s grasp didn’t falter.
“Thank you.” His dry, cracked lips kissed the top of my head. “I’m already starting to fall asleep.”
I didn’t respond. I didn’t have anything to say, and nothing I could say would keep that moment as peaceful as Sean made it. I took my right arm and held it against my body, resting my hand just below my chin. His hospital sheets felt rough and thin under my shaking fingers. I could hear the rushing of my blood in my ears. With small groans of discomfort, Sean wiggled down along his thin pillows, eventually pressing his forehead against mine.
“Sean,” I warned him but didn’t move from his grasp. He didn’t speak, and I didn’t look, but I could tell he was smiling. However, I felt the smile fade from his body as moments of silence ticked away.
“You know I might be dying, Avery.” His words lingered in my heart.
“Sean,” I repeated, unable to scold him any further. The warm salt of my heartbreak poured from my eyes as those words echoed in me.
“Marry me.”
“Stop it, Sean.”
“Marry me, Avery.”
I looked up at him, my eyes raw. “Excuse me?”
His green eyes weren’t as faded as they seemed earlier in the day, but his face was still pale. I wanted to hold his face, caress his jaw as it tightened, and relaxed while he spoke. I longed to run my fingers through his cropped waves, tugging on it to make him laugh. I wanted to kiss Sean, press my lips against his and let time pass, allowing him to possess my heart, as I knew he already had.
“You’re not going to make me say it a third time, are you?”
“Sean.” I sat up. “Think about what you’re saying and to whom you are saying it.”
His tone was no longer playful. “I did. I am.”
The door vulgarly opened, and the lights flashed on. “Sorry, we need to check your vitals.” A voice stormed through the silence. The young nurse entered with such lack of peace that I momentarily forgot what my best friend commanded I do for him.
I hopped off the bed and stood at a distance from Sean while the nurse took his blood pressure and used a stethoscope to hear inside of him. I wish I could hear inside of him. I pulled the dry hospital tissue from a table in the corner and wiped away what remained of my tears.
“You look better, Mr. Alexander,” the nurse commented. “Your color’s returned, but we’re still worried about your breathing, so do what you can to relax and take it easy. Practice your breathing exercises.”
“Got it.” He held a thumb in the air. It seemed like Sean was on the verge of laughter once the nurse left his room. Despite being chained to IVs and wires, with machines screaming at us in the background, Sean was seemingly back to being the normal, playful man I adored.
I rolled my eyes, laughing out of anxiety. “What’s so funny?” His eyes glowed, burning into mine as he spoke. I couldn’t feel my feet.
“You haven’t answered my question, and everyone’s coming to visit. I need to know.”
Everyone. I resented myself for not asking, for not making us decide weeks ago. “Sean,” I groaned, “what about Kelly?”
“She’s been cheating on me since Thanksgiving, Ave. So by me trying to be the good guy, I got stuck. I broke up with her when I found out. I am a good guy, Avery.” What a tramp! Who would cheat on Sean, break his heart, and hurt him? I felt remorseful for not knowing, but he never told me.
“That’s awful, Sean. But why didn’t you tell me whenever I brought her up?”
“Because I needed to know without bias if you felt for me the way I felt for you.” Oh. Sneaky bastard. He grinned at me, continuing with a hushed voice, “Please marry me.”
“Why are you asking me this?” I pleaded, returning to my position next to him on his bed, where Sean wrapped his arm around me as if I was the one needing to be held, protected.
“Why shouldn’t I ask you? Of all people, you’re the one I love, Avery.”
“See what I say when you get out of here. Okay, Sean? That’s what you need to worry about right now.” I trailed my fingertips along his forearm, letting his words sink in. Love.
“I bet you’d say yes if you weren’t worried about me dying before our wedding.” He snickered. “Who better to marry than your best friend?”
I closed my eyes and allowed my head to grow heavier against Sean’s marble body. “You’re freezing,” I whispered. “Should I get you a blanket?”
“I’ll get it,” Kelly announced from the foot of Sean’s bed. Perfect timing, skank.
“Kelly,” Sean droned, “Avery and I were just talking about you.”
“I’m going to get some water,” I uttered, climbing down from the bed and out of Sean’s room.
I could hear the nasal ringing of Kelly’s voice as I left. His wing of the hospital was quiet but for the chatter of nurses and hum of televisions. I walked around twice before returning to Sean’s room, and even then, I waited outside before going in. I could hear Kelly rambling about something and waited for a break in her conversation to enter the room. I wanted to get my things and leave, but Sean’s face was covered in sweat, and his pained expression led me to believe it was more than Kelly causing him discomfort.
“Are you okay?” I rushed to the foot of his bed. Sean shook his head at me, pointing to the wastebasket in the corner. I ran for it and held it below Sean in time. His breathing slowed and turned into labored heaving as his body emptied into the wastebasket.
“Kelly,” I yelled, “get a nurse!” I watched her frantically leave the room before looking again at Sean. Holding the wastebasket beneath him, I pressed the call button on his bed. His eyes glowed, despite vomiting, as he tried to catch his breath and grab my right hand.
“Ave,” he choked, his breathing slowed between coughs and gasps for air. I put the basket down and used the washcloth from his table to wipe his face. Kelly hadn’t returned with a nurse, and I wondered if she had just left.
“Can you lay down? Do you need water?”
“She’s not coming back,” he whispered, his eyes closed. I pulled the cloth away from Sean’s face and sat at his side. His head fell against his pillow, the plastic stretching beneath his weight as his breathing returned to normal. I dropped my head to his left shoulder, closing my eyes and calming my heart with his hand in mine.
“You’re going to be fine, Sean.”
“Ave. If I die…” A nervous laugh escaped his throat. My eyes were still sealed as I waited for him to finish. I lifted from his side when the only sound escaping his body was the slow, labored breathing between his parted lips. Sean rested against the mattress gracefully, as if he were in complete control of the situation. His mouth hung open, air pouring out of the cracked smile while he slept. His hand was warmer than before, but his body still felt cold to me. I reached for his left hand, trying not to disturb his rest as I lifted the hand from his chest.
I kissed the thin twigs of his fingers dangling from his hand. “I’m always going to love you.”
When I was sure his sleep was deep, I kissed his sunken cheek and slid from his bed, bundling myself back into my gear before going to my apartment. I don’t know why, of all the time I spent at his side, I chose to leave that night. I needed space. I needed the clarity of my own perfectly disorganized apartment.
I woke to my phone’s violent protest against my window. Forcing open my swollen eyes, I answered it and was greeted by a frantic voice.
“Avery, Sean’s in surgery,” Lizzie screamed at me. “He stopped breathing. Jesse just called me. They’re on their way to the hospital. I’ll come and get you.”
I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there to catch it, to stop it, to get help. I covered my mouth, preventing the impending vomit that threatened my throat. I should have stayed. I should have fallen asleep in his arms like he wanted me to. I should have answered his question. Oh my god.
I quickly changed out of my pajamas and raced out of the building, nearly stumbling down the final flight of stairs due to a precarious weakness in my legs. I didn’t think twice about checking if my apartment door was locked. Lizzie pulled up to my curb within five minutes. I flew from the lobby of my building and ran across the sidewalk, stopping at a tree in the boulevard to vomit. I shouldn’t have left. I should have told him yes.
We ran, our hands linked, through the oncology wings in search of Jesse and Ella. The sterile halls were hauntingly melancholic. The uncomfortable juxtaposition of hope and mortality lingered in the air like a cloud of thick smoke that billowed from the air vents. The beige walls were bare outside of some rooms plastered with kindergarten illustrations in bright, primary colors. Some rooms were vacant, dark and ominous, whereas others weakened the strings of my heart. Trembling spouses sitting next to the hospital beds, reading from the newspaper or a novel, keeping their routine or entertaining their loved one. Some rooms were stuffed to the rafters with families, lively and engaged in optimistic laughter. I spotted Jesse immediately when we turned another corner, standing with his back to us outside of Sean’s room, deep in conversation with Sean’s mother. Mrs. Alexander peered from behind Jesse’s side when she heard our gasping and clomping footsteps. Her green eyes sparkled, her rays of hope reflected in the tears pouring down her face. Gripping a crumpled tissue in her hand, she moved from Jesse and opened her arms wide enough for Lizzie and me to fit.
We choked out her name, welcoming the protective promise of her embrace. The mink covering the length of her petite frame scratched my nose. I could feel the fur change in texture as it dampened with my tears.
“What happened?” Lizzie’s sniffled question broke our silence. Jesse rubbed her back, kissing her hair as she stepped away from Sean’s mom. His face was blank, but I couldn’t help to hope that his lack of overt emotion meant there was a chance things were fine.
“We should sit down,” Mrs. Alexander stated, taking the lead and walking us into Sean’s empty hospital room.
Ella’s flowers were still in their vase, albeit beginning to sag. His bed was a dizzying mess of loose material. The sheets and blankets were torn from their place; his sweatpants and shirt were crumpled on the floor as if removed in a hurry. It even smelled different, less lively and crisp, less like Sean.
Ella was curled in a ball on the small loveseat under the window, sleeping soundly. Mrs. Alexander removed her mink, promptly met by Jesse’s hand, and he hung it behind the door. She perched on the corner of Sean’s bed, her twinkling eyes burning with the same familiar intensity of her son’s. She crossed her arms, her hands clasping the outside of her elbows. She wore all black, just like Sean, from the snug cardigan to heeled boots, with the exception of a large chunky diamond and emerald bracelet. It reflected the dim glow of the fluorescents above us, briefly distracting me. Her ankles were crossed, similar to Sean’s posture when he would stand so casually and comfortably, as if he owned the room and everyone inside of it. Lizzie removed her parka and sat next to Ella, meticulously careful not to disturb her. I flung my coat over the empty recliner next to Sean’s bed and fell into the hard plastic cushions.
“What happened?” I repeated Lizzie’s question, nervously picking my fingers. Jesse walked to another empty chair across from Ella and Lizzie. As he sat, Mrs. Alexander exhaled deeply.
“It seems as though Sean stopped breathing this evening. The doctors haven’t been very forthcoming.” Her head shook in displeasure. “My understanding is that the lung in which they operated…something happened and he lost oxygen, obviously…”
“Is he okay?” Jesse snapped unapologetically, his voice muffled by the fact his face was buried in his hands. Occasionally, his shaking hand would comb through the thick mop of dark brown hair atop his head.
“We don’t know, dear,” she cooed. “Right now, all we can do is wait.”
“I wish we could see him,” Ella sobbed, waking on Lizzie’s lap. I chewed my cheek, trying not to cry or demonstrate how frustrated I was with the doctors’ lack of information. I scanned the room intently, observing its contents, human and inanimate. Sean’s mom stood stoically, almost regal, against the bed with a comforting sense of arrogance that confused me. Was she hopeful, or had she accepted something bad was happening?
“So,” I finally continued the dialogue, “he’s in surgery now? How long has he been in there? What are they even doing?”
Light knocking on his door caused us all to jump. Mrs. Alexander turned from the mattress and glided toward the surgeon and two nurses at her side. The surgeon, who introduced herself as Doctor Murphy, was wearing a bright pink surgical cap with watercolor roses and hyacinths. It seemed too much like something my grandmother would have as bedding. Her impassive face nodded at Mrs. Alexander, prompting the women to exit the room. One of the surgical nurses accompanied Doctor Murphy and Mrs. Alexander into the hall as the door closed. I felt the vomit tickle in my throat. The second nurse, who looked to be my age or slightly older, removed her cap, and attempted to smile. Her fingers were shaking as she reached for a laptop near Sean’s bed. She frantically clicked and typed while speaking with us.
“Can I get you anything? Some water? Crackers?”
“No. Thank you,” Jesse replied for all of us, sighing when he finally lifted his posture to the back of his seat. Ella’s sobs calmed to the point where she could join the rest of us in reality. The nurse continued typing and closed the laptop. Her smile was warm with sincerity, pulling at the lines in the corner of her brown eyes. She touched my shoulder, as I was closest to her, and lightly tickled me with her fingers.
“I know it’s hard to wait,” she consoled, “but he is a really strong man. Please press the nurse call button if you can think of anything you need.” She continued smiling her soft, genuine smile as she joined Mrs. Alexander in the hall. The heavy door did not completely latch when she left, and I strained my neck trying to overhear what they were discussing. It made me more anxious than if I hadn’t heard. Collapse…medically induced…nonresponsive…hemothorax…intensive care unit…monitoring…
“Can she bring Sean?” Lizzie mumbled sarcastically, rising to her feet and stretching her hips. We waited in silence for five more minutes before Mrs. Alexander returned to the room. The reassuring air of confidence and entitlement that normally hung around her in a halo seemed to fade with her smile.
“Well,” she patted a tear from the corner of her right eye, “I’ll need to call Sean’s father. I…Jesse…can you walk me to the cafeteria, dear?”
I was trying to piece together the clues from what I overhead while Jesse took her arm and walked out of the room. Lizzie moved to the end of Sean’s bed, and Ella joined, absentmindedly collecting and folding Sean’s clothing that decorated the floor. In all of my procrastinated hours watching medical dramas on television during graduate school, I think I only learned not to date an attending doctor or be alone with a patient, not how to translate the jargon. It sounded like there was bleeding or his lung collapsed. But the ICU and monitoring…that meant he was alive. Alive.
“Avery,” Lizzie pulled on the string of my sweatshirt, beckoning me back to them, “what are you thinking about?”
“I think he’s alive.”
Chapter Twelve
The ICU only allowed visitors who weren’t family during specific hours and, no thanks to my work schedule, I missed most of them. It wasn’t until Sean’s dad called in a favor from his friends on the hospital board that we were able to spend time in Sean’s room. Apparently, as Mrs. Alexander relayed the message, Mr. Alexander and some members of the hospital’s board of directors go back to his days in medical school, and they easily exchan
ged favors. So some rules were bent for Sean’s friends, no big deal.
Sean’s brother and their dad hadn’t arrived. Was his dad even coming? His youngest son was resigned to a medically induced coma, lifeless and pale, after surgery to remove the cancerous tumors this wicked hand of life dealt. We could tell there was significant tension between Sean’s parents whenever Mr. Alexander was mentioned, but all we could interpret as we read between the lines was that Sean’s dad was too occupied in Europe, serving as the chief of neonatal surgery at a teaching hospital, where even the mere thought of his family back home was forbidden due to work obligations and duties.
I barely felt the tickle of Mrs. Alexander’s bony fingers as she stroked my cheek. Her fingertips were cold but gentle. “Avery, dear,” she cooed, “it’s five in the morning. You have to get ready for work.”
Her face was so close to mine that the diamond planets studded in her earlobe blinded me when I slowly peeled open my eyes. Her smile was warm and deceptively optimistic. I could tell she’d been crying because her blush was faded over her cheekbones and her mascara was clumpy. Her green eyes still glowed with an enigmatic flame like Sean’s.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” I groggily whispered, lifting myself upright in the uncomfortable chair at the foot of Sean’s bed. His mom stepped away from me and squeezed Sean’s limp feet as she returned to her recliner at his side.
He looked the same today as he did yesterday: lifeless and empty, but peaceful and calm. It was a disturbing mix of possible expressions and emotions that I could pretend he resembled. Mrs. Alexander was wearing all red today, from the cashmere turtleneck to her suede boots. Even her hair was pulled back with a bejeweled pin, most likely covered in rubies or something extravagantly ostentatious. However supremely wealthy, Sean’s mom would be the first person to give something, anything, to one in need. She had a warm heart, and she demonstrated that to us on several occasions. I studied her as I woke, watching the way her red finger nails stroked Sean’s forearm back and forth like a mother does to their baby, a small gesture filled with so much affection. She wiped his forehead with a washcloth and attempted to style his cropped hair. She turned to smile at me when I stood.
