by Amber Lynn
After another twenty minutes of staring at her phone and giving a few directions about where to turn, Jasmine about dove out of the car. Her phone had started frustrating her to the point she wondered if it was even working. She couldn’t understand why he hadn’t called or texted. He’d assaulted her with his lips, so at the very least he should’ve apologized for that.
Jasmine didn’t bother looking back as she walked up the front walk of the small beige house she’d stopped at. With the sun already set, it was hard to make out the actual color, but she’d spent enough time at the house that she didn’t need light to know every detail of the exterior. Spring was around the corner, and the extensive flower garden that flanked the steps would soon be in full bloom. Jasmine had spent many hours in the garden as a little girl, pulling weeds and plucking flowers before they died.
Each visit to her grandma’s seemed sadder than the last. Meemaw, as she liked to call her, was getting frail. She hadn’t shared any specific health concerns, but Jasmine knew there was something more than just age eating away at her. No matter how Jasmine tried to trick her into spilling what the doctors told her, Meemaw was too headstrong to let the truth slip out.
It wasn’t too late, but Jasmine did feel bad about showing up unannounced. She knocked softly on the door, upset with herself for not bringing her set of keys with her. She had a small clutch that held her credit cards, phone and keys to her place, but she hadn’t thought the night would lead her to Meemaw’s.
Two minutes went by before the chain on the other side of the door made a sliding noise. Jasmine hadn’t bothered knocking again. She knew it took time for Meemaw to make it to the door. She hoped that she at least looked through the peephole before swinging the door open. The surprised look on Meemaw’s weathered face said she hadn’t bothered.
“Sweetheart, what are you doing here?” A quick look of displeasure registered on her face as she took in Jasmine’s full outfit. Being on the more conservative side when it came to clothing, it wasn’t surprising that she didn’t approve.
“Sorry I didn’t call ahead. I was hoping you wouldn’t mind a visitor for the night.”
“Well, you know you’re always welcome.” Meemaw moved out of the way and ushered Jasmine in.
The instant smell of fresh baked cookies invaded her nose as she stepped over the threshold. Chances of her grandma cooking around nine o’clock at night were slim, but for some reason the house always smelled that way.
Meemaw had owned the house long before it was hip for someone her age to live in the area. She’d spent a divorce settlement on the down payment, and even though she’d never remarried, she’d moved more than one man in with her briefly. Things never seemed to work out, because Meemaw was too set in her ways. Jasmine liked to think she took after her.
"Thanks. I was on my way out for the night and decided there wasn’t anywhere I’d rather be than right here.” Technically it was the truth, but tracking down John to let him know she didn’t tolerate rudeness came in a close second.
“I’d ask if you found out you were pregnant or something, but your dress makes it pretty clear that you aren’t.” Meemaw’s thin, curly white hair moved with her head as she shook it side to side, while she took the lead to walk them into the living room so they weren’t stuck standing around in the foyer.
“I’m almost thirty years old and so far we haven’t had to worry about what a horrible mother I’d make. As far as I’m concerned, that’s not something likely to change anytime soon. I just thought it’d be nice to spend some time with you before the rest of the family descends on us next week.”
Jasmine was thankful when they made it into the living room so Meemaw could have a seat in her recliner. It was hard to not stare at the thin arms and legs that stuck out of her fluffy pink robe. She didn’t seem any skinnier than the last time Jasmine had seen her, but she clearly wasn’t gaining any of the weight she’d lost back.
“No one thinks you’d be a horrible mother, Jasmine. Although one does have to question some of the decisions you make. The internet is full of pictures I’d rather not have seen.”
Jasmine sat down on the couch to the left of the recliner. The space was big enough that a loveseat sat across from the couch with a glass coffee table between them. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a TV stand with a rather large flat screen on top of it. Meemaw believed in minimal decorations, so not one of the millions of photos she collected over the years hung on the walls, and she’d never been a fan of art.
“I told you not to search for me on the internet. It’s not my fault photographers think it’s okay to be my shadow.” Jasmine needed to make sure Meemaw didn’t find what she was sure would be the latest picture of her, locked in a kiss with John. She wasn’t sure how to go about that, but she didn’t want her surprise to be ruined.
“It’s also not okay for you to flash your boobs in public, but that doesn’t seem to stop you. I’ve been planning what I’m going to say to my friends when you finally have a sex tape leaked. I don’t think I have to tell you there are thousands of requests for one.”
Groaning and covering her face with her hands was the only answer Jasmine could come up with for that statement. Sadly it probably wasn’t even the most awkward conversation they’d had.
“Why don’t we change the subject? Is there anything good on TV?” Jasmine had noticed a cop drama frozen on the screen, but it could’ve been a commercial.
“There’s always something good on, but I think it’s about time we have a serious talk about your future.” For appearing physically frail, Meemaw’s voice hadn’t lost a bit of her determination.
Jasmine didn’t want any part of that conversation, so she looked around for the remote. It wasn’t on the coffee table, like she’d hoped, which meant Meemaw probably had it in her chair. She briefly considered picking up one of the romance novels Meemaw loved to read that were on the coffee table, but even in dire need of something to do, she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
There wasn’t anything wrong with the books, other than the fact that for most women the ripped guy on the cover probably wasn’t attainable. She just couldn’t stand the idea that there were cute little happy endings out there for everyone. A knight in shining armor wasn’t going to come along, swing her up on his white stallion and trot off into the sunset.
It was possible there was a time, when she was five, that the illusion of what the books stood for was real. When you see enough men come and go from your mother’s and grandmother’s lives, you realize those fairy tales of princes and princesses aren’t true pretty fast.
“Don’t you clam up on me now, Jasmine. You wanted to come over for a visit, and now you’re going to hear what I have to say.” Jasmine opened her mouth to speak, but Meemaw’s squinted eyes, almost daring her to interrupt, kept her from saying anything. “Let’s start with something simple. When in the world are you going to settle down and get married?”
Out of all the things she could’ve brought up, that topic seemed the most ridiculous, and Jasmine scoffed before she could think better of it. Meemaw growled at not being taken seriously, but she had to know the reasons behind Jasmine’s continued single life.
“Why in the world would you bring something like that up? You and mom have never needed a husband. In fact, I remember very clearly you telling me on my sixteenth birthday that men were nothing but trouble.”
Meemaw started cackling. It was probably supposed to be normal laughter, but it didn’t come out that way. A few seconds into her knee-pounding laugh, she started coughing. Jasmine waited a moment to see if she’d recover from the barking cough quickly, but as Meemaw doubled over, Jasmine sprung to her side.
She started by patting her back. Gauging how much force to use wasn’t easy. Even through the robe, Jasmine thought she saw the bones of Meemaw’s spine curved with her body. A tap too hard, and she didn’t doubt she’d be able to break a bone. That kept her pats delicate, which meant they did nothing
at all to help.
“I’m going to get you some water.” Jasmine wasn’t sure how Meemaw would be able to drink it as the coughing continued, but water tended to help in most cases.
Jasmine set out in a sprint towards the kitchen just off the living room. The bright florescent light was a bit of a rude awakening after being in the more muted lighting of the living room, but Jasmine didn’t worry too much about letting her eyes adjust. She got to the cupboard with the glasses and quickly filled the tumbler she grabbed with water from the sink.
On her way back to the living room, her eyes were briefly drawn to the handful of orange prescription bottles lined up on the round wooden table in the corner of the kitchen. If the coughing from the other room didn’t sound like it was getting worse, she would’ve stopped to have a look at them. Jasmine knew Meemaw was getting older, and sometimes that process involved taking medicine, but she’d never seen the visual proof that it was happening.
Meemaw had found her way to her feet by the time Jasmine got back to her. She was slightly bent over, but when she saw her granddaughter coming, she held out her hand for the water. Jasmine felt helpless as she handed it over and prayed it’d help.
The first couple of sips didn’t seem to make it down, but after a few tries, the coughing seemed to lessen. With the angry shade of red Meemaw’s face had turned, it was surprising a piece of lung hadn’t been coughed up.
Jasmine couldn’t hide the concern on her face as she took the glass of water back and helped get Meemaw back in her chair. A lump had settled in her chest as she was worried what a few solid minutes of strenuous coughing would do to her grandma’s body. It wasn’t until she looked at the glass she held in her hand and noticed the water was a pinkish color that the lump actually made her think she was having a heart attack.
“We need to get you to the hospital.” As soon as the words left Jasmine’s mouth, Meemaw’s head started shaking.
“What good would that do me? They’ve already told me they can’t fix the problem. As it is, I’m on borrowed time.” Jasmine was hovering over Meemaw, but the older woman nudged her out of the way with her arm. “Just go grab the smallest bottle on the table in the kitchen. It will help get my coughing and breathing under control.”
Jasmine had been so worried about the coughing and blood that she hadn’t picked up on the wheezing that took over once the coughing was done. She ran out of the room to do as instructed. Back in the kitchen, she quickly emptied the glass she still had in her hand and put it in the sink to fill with water. Then she grabbed a new glass and filled it to take back with her. After turning the tap off, she went to make sense of the pill bottles.
She couldn’t pronounce a single one of the medications. It wasn’t exactly surprising, but Jasmine hoped she’d be able to figure out what some of them were for. She snatched the smallest, even though the bottles were all fairly close in size.
“What exactly is the problem you claim they can’t fix?” Jasmine asked as she handed the water and pills over. She knew the answer to the question wasn’t going to be one she wanted to hear, so she reclaimed her seat on the couch and waited for the worst.
Meemaw fished out her pill and was quick to swallow it down without the water, but took a sip afterwards. The pills in the bottle had seemed relatively small, so Jasmine wasn’t too concerned about her choking, although after the coughing fit, she probably should have been.
“Oh, I suppose they could fix part of it, but they’d have to cut both my lungs out, and since the tumors have spread to my lymph nodes and brain, I’m guessing I’m not going to be high on any organ donation lists.”
It took Jasmine a second to process the words. Part of her was hopeful Meemaw was joking, and would start laughing, but after she’d witnessed what a little laughing could do, she highly doubted that was going to happen. Tears trailed down her face before she realized they’d started to fall.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jasmine didn’t bother asking how long she’d known. She knew her grandma well enough to know it’d been something she’d kept a secret for more than just a few days.
“What good would worrying you do? It had already spread by the time we caught it, so it was only a matter of time before I died. I didn’t want you pushing everything else you’ve got going on aside to be here with me. Because we both know that’d be what you’d do. Plus, I’m getting along fine with the day-to-day stuff. My medicines keep the pain to a minimum, and usually I can contain myself from having one of the fits you just witnessed.”
Said fit had turned Meemaw’s voice into a wispy version of its usual timbre. Jasmine would’ve given anything to hear the strong voice she’d made note of earlier in her visit. From that point on, she knew that even when Meemaw’s voice recovered, she’d hear the sick version in her head.
“How long do they say you have?” She’d said she was on borrowed time and that it was only a matter of time before she died, but that didn’t give Jasmine a real time frame.
“Six months, but they said that eight months ago. Evidently this old body is too stubborn to shut down when it’s supposed to. Now, if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to head into bed. The fits don’t happen often, but when they do, they make me tired.”
Meemaw moved to stand up, and Jasmine rushed to help her. When there wasn’t a fight for assistance, Jasmine knew her grandma wasn’t kidding about being tired. Thankfully the master bedroom was on the first floor, so they didn’t need to worry about traversing stairs. It was a slow walk, but they made it without incident and Jasmine stayed to make sure Meemaw got tucked in.
“You’re a good girl, Jasmine, even though me and your mother haven’t been the best influences over the years. I think one of the reasons I’ve been holding out is because I was hoping you’d realize how wrong we’ve been.”
Meemaw didn’t continue whatever thought she was laboring on and her eyes were shut, so Jasmine thought she’d fallen asleep as she worked to get her words out. She didn’t want to leave the room, a little fearful that Meemaw wouldn’t make it through the night. There was no real basis for that conclusion, especially if she’d been fighting to stay alive for a while. Jasmine knew eventually the time would run out, but a coughing fit wasn’t necessarily an indication that the fight was almost up.
“Just because we didn’t have luck when it came to love, doesn’t mean you won’t, Pumpernickel. You know I’ve never been the religious type, but I’ve been praying every day since they told me the news. Not because I thought I’d miraculously find a cure, but because I wanted you to find love in your life before I died. If you’re still here when I wake up in the morning, I’ll tell you about Hank. Now, be a good girl and turn the light off and shut the door on your way out.”
The tears were still flowing, and hearing her grandma admit her wish didn’t help. Using the nickname Jasmine hadn’t heard since she was ten was even worse. After the directive to leave, she stood there watching Meemaw sleep. It didn’t sound like she could do anything to help fix what was wrong with her, but she could at least try to fulfill her wish. She even had a guy in mind to make her grandma’s reason for fighting to live worthwhile.
Chapter Five
After a few too many drinks, alone, the night before, by the time the alarm called for Klinger to wake up, he thought about throwing it across the room. It was a predictable move for him, which was why the alarm clock sat on a dresser on the other side of the room. Since the power going out was the only thing other than getting up that could shut it off, John pushed his way out of the sheets and blankets molded to his body.
The air in the room caused goosebumps to line up along his skin. While he slept, the thermostat was set to below toasty, so he could use the chilled air to wake up. It usually did a good job, but John wasn’t in the mood to embrace the day.
He’d spent the night waiting for Jasmine to text him back after he’d broken down and sent her something around ten. He figured her party hadn’t really started at that point, so event
ually she’d text back whatever directions she’d forgotten to give him.
After not hearing from her in an hour, he’d made his own drinking game. Every five minutes that went by, he had a shot. By that point he’d already demolished most of the bourbon, so his thoughts weren’t necessarily rational. When his thoughts drifted to why in the world he was bothered by her lack of communication, John told himself it was her apparent disinterest in him. It wasn’t something he was used to, and he didn’t like the idea of sitting there wondering what he could do to change her mind about that.
He smacked the button to shut the alarm up on his way to the bathroom. His eyes weren’t fully open yet, so he only got a quick glimpse of himself in the mirror over the sink before he took care of his morning business. Sleeping naked made his morning rituals a few seconds faster, which came in handy at ten in the morning on a game day. He’d decided at some point during the night he wasn’t going to bother with the optional morning practice, so that gave him a few extra hours of sleep.
When his bladder felt better, he stepped back to the mirror to see how thick his five o’clock shadow had grown overnight. His eyes didn’t care to focus, which told him the whiskers were staying. John generally didn’t have hangover problems in the morning, maybe a little headache and a desire to stay in bed, but it’d been a long time since he’d needed relief from nausea or light sensitivity.
Klinger briefly thought about checking his phone to see if any messages had come in after three. Chances were Jasmine found someone she could boss around to take home. In his inebriated state, John had spent a little time searching the internet for news about her, and what he saw led him to believe she rarely went home alone. All that basically meant was she’d get back to him when she did.
John had to be at the arena and ready to play in about six hours, so he didn’t have time to worry about the princess. He’d spent enough time the night before thinking about her that she was all he dreamed about, and she liked being referred to by that royal title in his dreams.
