by Livia Ellis
I didn’t marry her the other times I got her pregnant.
This one was different.
How are we having this conversation now?
Do I want to talk about the fact Renata is dead and being kept alive by artificial means while a whole bunch of people are waiting for us to clear out?
Did he ever care for her?
Yes.
He’s just saying that to make me feel better.
How often does he say anything to make me feel better?
Never.
So why would he start at that moment?
Point made.
Do I want a dose of the hard cold truth?
Not really, no.
Renata never did anything for anyone during her life except for him and that was wholly by accident.
Anna?
Yes. He has yet to fully appreciate his daughter, but he imagines in time he’ll come around to it.
He probably will. What is he going to tell Anna?
He has no idea. Fortunately he has time. The truth is, Renata was mean, selfish, damaged, and quite possibly a sociopath. As cruel as it sounds, for some people life is just too hard. Renata was one of them. Life never brought her anything but pain and disappointment. Her death can have meaning. We just need to walk away.
I nod.
He puts a hand on my shoulder. There is no final minute with her alone. He walks me out of the room. I don’t know what he says to the nurse in the pink tunic, but I do see her approach the group of people in scrubs loitering on the other side of the hallway before we disappear around a corner.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
10:00pm
What do we do? We go to dinner. That seems to be the way to deal with death.
Everyone goes to dinner.
There is a death.
Then there is food.
Specifically there is curry.
Before we go to dinner we meet my former fiancée at her place.
Elon has calls to make. People to tell. People like Renata’s mother. Assuming he can track her down.
We go into our bedroom. We sit on the bed. At first she refuses to sit. Finally I convince her.
I tell my former fiancée with her hands in mine what happened.
She was the closest thing Renata ever had to a female friend.
This hits her in a different way than I expected.
She’s in shock. She’s stunned. Ultimately, she’s not terribly surprised. Renata was damaged beyond anyone’s repair.
Am I damaged beyond anyone’s repair?
No. Not even a little.
This is when I break. It’s all so much. Everything is so confused. I don’t know what I’m doing. When I think I have everything figured out the game changes. I just wanted one good day.
She strokes my hair and holds me tight. This is the problem with my former fiancée. Good or bad, she’s seen the best and the worst of me. I have no secrets from her. She’s lived with me sick with the flu and brimming with joy. There are no masks to hide behind with her. She dries my tears with the corner of a pillow case.
All I wanted was one good day.
One good day? Because it’s my birthday?
Yes. One good day. I just wanted everything to go my way for the first time since my father died. Just for my birthday. Nothing goes my way anymore. Everything used to always go my way. Now there’s always something. Now Renata’s dead. Maybe I could have saved her if I’d just taken one of her calls. But I didn’t want to take her call because it was my birthday.
No. I can’t think like that. I really can’t do that to myself. Nothing could have saved Renata. She would have just tried to drag me down with her.
Does she think Renata did it on my birthday on purpose? Is she that horrible? Am I horrible for thinking she’s horrible?
She doesn’t know. It’s possible Renata didn’t realize it was my birthday. It’s not like she ever gave other people much thought. We’ll never know. The only thing that is for certain is that Renata was desperately ill. I could not have helped her. She needed trained professionals who know how to manage her problems. Even then it might not have been enough.
Elon walks into the bedroom. He’s been crying. I’m not the only one.
He found Renata’s mother. He told her.
He told her over the phone?
Yes. She was drunk. He’s not certain she believed him. He’ll go to her place in the morning and ring her out. See if he can sober her up enough to get through to her.
Maybe I should go with him.
He’ll bring Roland with him. Roland can do that sort of thing better than both of us combined.
I actually agree. Somewhere along the way Elon and I lost both our moral compasses and ability to feel empathy. Roland is better than both of us combined.
My former fiancée gets a call. She needs to go. She needs to take care of that thing we did earlier. All the prep work is done and it’s time for that.
Does she want me to go with her?
No. She’ll be fine. I’m to go home. I’m to get some sleep.
I’m supposed to hook up with the Latin Pop Star.
I’m to cancel that. I need some time to process what happened.
Does she ever tire of telling me what to do?
Not really. I’m to text her if I need anything. I’m to get something to eat. She’s certain I haven’t eaten. I can stay on the yacht if I want.
I want to stay on the yacht. I need some time to myself.
Then I’m welcome to stay on the yacht. The codes haven’t changed and the keys are the same.
I could have always stayed on the yacht?
Yes. It was always an option. Making me homeless was never her intent.
I’m going to stay on the yacht.
She kisses me on the forehead. One good day. She wants me to have one good day. She’ll see what she can do.
Elon and I go to dinner. Not because my former fiancée told me I had to go to dinner, but because I’m actually starving.
We make plans over dinner.
Elon will handle this one. He’ll make all of the arrangements.
That doesn’t feel right. I should do it.
Stop being so fucking noble all of the time. He can manage it.
What about Anna?
What about her?
Does this raise any legal questions?
No. Probably not. Roland is her legal guardian. Renata being dead probably just makes everything simpler for him.
He’s going to need to back up. How is Roland her legal guardian?
Remember that paper he signed at the wedding?
Yes.
Roland not only kept that, he had it turned into a bonafide legally binding agreement. Technically he has no say in Anna’s rearing. It’s really all on Roland.
But…
Seriously – probably for the best. Roland is markedly more prepared for this whole fatherhood thing than he is. Best to have it in writing that he’s the one that really gets to make the big decisions when it comes down to it.
But…
No buts. Roland is the boss of Anna. He’s just along for the ride.
But…
Shut the fuck up already. It works for them. That’s what matters. Maybe someday if he ever gets used to the idea of being a father and all of the fucking responsibility that comes with it, they’ll change the arrangement. For now it works. So if she grows up emotionally damaged and decides to fucking off herself by jumping in front of a train, it’s not on him.
That’s a bit hard.
Yes. Do I know what will be harder? Explaining to Anna where her mother is when that particular question comes up. So shut the fuck up and let him and Roland do what they think is best for their daughter.
He picks up his phone from the table when it lights up and shows it to me.
Olga.
Odd. I look at my phone as he answers his. I have missed calls, but none from Olga. Her days of psycho girlfriend stalking me through Elon were su
pposedly over.
He speaks with her. The conversation is brief. He places the phone on the table without handing it over to me.
Why is Olga calling him?
His lips press together. He studies the remnants of his tiramisu.
I nearly smack him in the side of the head just to make him talk.
It’s my mother.
No. It’s not my mother. I can deal with anything but my mother at that moment. I’m fighting with my mother and I haven’t told her yet I am sorry for being a selfish prick because that controlling prick Sanjay decided stonewalling me was a good idea. So it’s not my mother.
Just shut up. She received the call.
What call?
They have a heart for her. She’s been taken to hospital. Sanjay is with her. They’ve been trying to reach you. Roland told Olga I was with you. She figured it was best to tell me and that I could tell you personally.
No. This is just…
Weird?
Yes. He doesn’t think it’s possible…?
Don’t even think it. Just put that thought in a box and lock it up forever.
It could be possible.
Don’t go there. We need to get to the hospital and deal with the reality of the situation and not a whole lot of pointless speculation. These things are anonymous for a reason. So just box it up and don’t go there.
I can’t put it in a box. The thought is there. Renata is dead. With no less than twenty of my signatures her salvageable organs were donated. My mother has a heart. That’s just the sort of fucked up coincidence that defines my life.
CHAPTER TWENTY
11:00pm
Uncle Harvey meets us at the hospital. Gita and Harry are there with Uncle Albert and Aunt Maisie. Roland arrives just behind us with Olga and Aunt Lucy.
Sanjay is the one that speaks to me.
I need to see mum.
Sanjay stands between me and the rest of the hospital.
She is already being prepped for surgery. No one can see her.
But he can see her. I want to beat him into a pulp for so many reasons not the least of which is that calm and comforting look on his face.
Yes. He can see her. He has been invited by the surgeon to observe.
I’m not certain who the fuck he thinks he is, but he is not part of our family and I’m a little tired of him trying to edge his way in.
He knows I’m upset.
Could he please not use that voice on me?
Which voice is that?
That everything is wonderful and the world is fucking filled with sunshine and positive fucking energy voice!
His hand comes up. I want him to smack me for being such a jumped up little shit. He squeezes my bicep. No matter what there is kindness in his eyes. Gita inherited that quality from him.
I need to talk to my mother.
There is no way. He can give her a message.
Tell her I’m sorry.
He will tell her.
He walks away.
I’m tempted to follow him and give him a thump. My phone rings. The Latin Pop Star. This call I take. Talking with the Latin Pop Star will prevent me from following Sanjay and beating him for being a controlling snob.
My mother is in the hospital. I can’t meet him.
What can he do? How can he help? His mother is the center of his universe. I must be very worried.
I am worried. I feel like an ass about that idiotic fight.
Did I talk to her?
No.
She knows it’s nothing. She has forgiven me.
How can he know that? We have a problem forgiving each other. It’s not something we do easily.
She’s my mother. She has forgiven me. He will pray for her. What can he do for me? Anything. He will do anything for me. I am his friend.
I don’t know. Nothing for the moment. I’ll let him know if there’s anything I need.
Anything at all. Just let him know. He knows how important my mother is to me.
She is important to me. We haven’t always gotten along.
She’s my mother. These little fights don’t really matter.
They do matter.
No. Really they don’t.
The only thing I can do is sit.
So I sit and I wait. I want the day to be over. I never want to have another birthday ever again. My birthdays are the milestones that mark the misery in my life.
I watch the time. Every minute takes an eternity to tick by.
Finally it comes. Midnight. My birthday is over. I have one year to the day to wait for whatever hell the next birthday will bring.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
4:00am
Here I am once again at that hour. That four in the morning hour. Dead time. The hour that no person without an ulterior motive is awake.
Roland has long since taken Aunt Lucy and Uncle Harvey home. Aunt Maisie and Uncle Albert left with them.
I sit for the second time in a night in a hospital waiting. The surgery will take between three and five hours. Olga brought me clean clothes and a flask of tea. She came prepared to wait. Casual trousers, cashmere sweater, silk scarf, sensible shoes, trench coat, pony tail, minimal makeup. I like her dressed plainly. She looks lovely when she’s not overdone. She’s even lovelier when she opens a plastic container filled with Uncle Harvey’s macaroons and places them under my nose. When she puts a cup of tea in my hand I’m ready to run off with her and leave the rest behind. I don’t understand why I dither as much as I do. In these moments of clarity I know the only person I truly want to be with is Olga. But why do I fight this?
There is nothing to do but wait.
Gita sits across from us asleep with her head on Elon’s shoulder. She isn’t like the rest of us. Four in the morning is an hour she is never awake for. For me, Olga, and Elon, it’s the moment we come alive.
The four of us wait.
Elon uses his phone to trawl the internet. I think he’s making arrangements for Renata’s funeral. Bless him and his ability to compartmentalize.
I check my phone. I check my watch. The wait is endless.
Sanjay is in the operating theatre. He’s an observer. His name gives him authority and opens doors. I don’t understand how he can do this. But that said, I don’t know how anyone can be a doctor. It’s just so gross. Funny that coming from the male prostitute.
Elon hands his phone to Olga. She glances at it, nods, then passes it back.
I look long enough to know they’re making decisions regarding flower arrangements.
The two of them are really amazing. There are no gray areas. Every task fits into its own space in their minds. This is what made Olga better at the job than I ever would be. That ability to separate one world from the other.
I do not have their ability to compartmentalize. I’m my world the colours bleed into each other. I am confused and there is no other way to break it down. I love Olga. I love her in the wild reckless and dangerous way that becomes the basis of a tragic story. I love my former fiancée. I love her in a quiet let’s stay at home and just be married way that would make us the most boring people in the world.
The only answer seems to be Parvati. Parvati is the safe choice. I don’t love her. I barely like her. But we get each other. We have the same goal. We want independence. I’m not going to get that with either Olga or my former fiancée. I will forever be beholden to them if I choose either of them over Parvati.
I don’t know Sanjay when he approaches us. He’s dressed from head to foot in blue with the cap over his head and the mask on his face. I know him when the mask comes down.
Elon nudges Gita enough to wake her.
I’m the one Sanjay is coming to speak to. We move off to the side. This is a private conversation.
There is no preamble. He’s been doing this longer than I’ve been alive. He knows what I want to know and doesn’t make me work for it.
Mum is well. The surgery was textbook. Not a bump or a hiccup. The heart came from a stro
ng young woman. Truly everything is as good as we could hope it to be. Now it’s up to my mother.
They really didn’t fuck anything up?
No. He watched very closely. The surgeon did well. Everything is going to be fine.
He’d tell me the truth otherwise, right?
Yes. He would tell me the truth.
I got into a fight with my mother. I’m worried I might have stressed her out. I feel bad.
He knows about the fight. She was not under any stress.
I should have just let her do that stupid show if she wanted to do it.
She was still going to do it. My choices are my freedom. Her choices are her freedom. She went into surgery filled with light.
I don’t understand why she wanted to do it.
What did she say?
She told me something about wanting her own money. Something about being tired of never having anything of her own. It just seemed ridiculous.
Does it? Truly? Do I not understand what it is like to want to be the master of my own fate?
Yes.
This is why. She wanted for once to be the mistress of her own fate. Making the money from doing the show would have given her freedom she hasn’t had since marrying.
I think I’m starting to understand. He’s certain she’s going to be fine?
As certain as he can be. Go home. Get sleep.
I can’t see her?
No. Maybe in eighteen hours. Not before. Go home.
In the taxi I send three texts. One is information. The second is a request. The third contains details. I’ll know the answer in the morning.
At home I fall into bed fully clothed. Olga undresses me. She gets into bed and pulls me to her.
Why am I being so brave? I don’t need to be brave with her. She loves me. I have her permission to be vulnerable. She won’t think less of me. She knows what it’s like to have a parent die. She knows how I’m feeling. Why don’t I talk to her?
I don’t have an answer. Why don’t I talk to her? I love her, but I’m afraid to confide in her. I don’t let her see the deepest hidden parts of myself.
Why? Why do I think I hold back?
