The Mediator
*
Being the stable one.
The next few days were a rinse-and-repeat: drive to the hospital, come home, eat dinner alone, and have a brief phone chat with Robert. Watch trash television and fall asleep. Then, I remembered he would be home tomorrow.
I cleaned the apartment, hid the evidence of my dirty hermit life, and restocked the fridge with everything he loved.
Again, I called my parents and was informed that my mother didn’t feel well enough to see anyone. I accepted it and carried on with my life.
It was strange.
In the past, the guilt of not running to my parents would have eaten me alive. However, this time, I felt almost free.
I didn’t want to drive two hours to the hospital, and Martha didn’t want me there.I could be comfortable.
When Robert came home, it was perfect. We drove out to the hospital the next day, even though he was exhausted. My mother lit up at him, and they had a great conversation.
We ate horrible hospital food with Louisa and her kids, and I got to watch Robert hold Libby—something I couldn’t wait to experience with him someday.
It would be a bit until that happened. Between both of our mental health journeys, his schooling, and my career, we needed stability.
I, of course, jumped his bones when we got home. I may not have wanted a baby right away, but that didn’t stop me from practicing.
The next day, we got a painful call. My mother had slipped into a coma.
Robert expected me to cry, but I just accepted it.
“Do you want to go to the hospital?” he asked gently.
I shook my head. “What’s the point? I don’t want to sit in a hospital room and listen to my siblings argue until she either wakes up or passes.”
Robert nodded and appeared to understand. At least he didn’t think I was a monster.
I was thankful to have someone who fully understood me.
Then, in the blink of an eye, he was leaving again.
“This is the last session. Then I’ll be home, and we’ll be moving,” he reminded me.
I nodded, motioning to the boxes littering our room. “Yeah, the movers are coming to finish things up the day before we leave.”
He kissed my forehead. “Perfect, I can sleep on the floor while you boss them around.”
I scowled, and he kissed me, wrapping his arms around my waist. I put my arms around his neck as he squeezed me tightly.
Then, he was gone.
I started a load of laundry when my phone erupted. I thought it would be Robert until I saw the series of text messages.
Aurora Borealis – (3) Text Messages
I took a deep breath, remembering that my sister had named her kid that. However, my cringe was replaced by concern.
The nieces and nephews usually didn’t text me unless something was wrong. I opened it up, preparing for a nightmare, but instead I read:
Hey, can you drive me to the hospital?
I’m not talking to Jean right now, and Dad can’t drive me out that far.
Oh, and we’ll need to bring Sol back with us.
I squinted, rereading the texts. What the hell was going on?
Before I could digest this, my phone started ringing, with Reggie the Man/Legend lighting up.
“Hey, Reggie, what’s up?”
I loved my brother-in-law. Jean had forbidden all of us from talking to him once they separated. Not one of us had heeded her order. It was a point of contention.
“Bree, my favorite sister-in-law. Question.”
“Answer.”
Reggie laughed. “Can you take Aurora to see your mom?”
I hesitated. It would be 20 miles to her, then 100 miles to my mom. My tank had 300 miles left, and I had $50 to last a week.
“I wasn’t planning on going out there tonight.”
I didn’t say that I was saving my money for when she passed—to be there when it mattered.
Reggie cleared his throat. “This may be the last time Aurora can say goodbye to Grandma. And, well—”
I knew there was a caveat.
“Well, what?”
“Jean was supposed to bring Sol back on Monday. It’s now Thursday, and she won’t answer my calls. I know she’s camping out at the hospital with him. He’s supposed to go to the doctor tomorrow. I would be thankful if you could bring him back with Aurora.”
I nodded. “That’s fine. I can do that.”
What I didn’t say was—this was putting me on the warpath of an emotionally fragile Jean on the potential eve of our mother’s death, and I’d been put on a mission by the man she loathed to steal her child.
This is fucking stupid , I thought.
When Aurora climbed into the car, I tried not to let my frustrations bleed onto her. She was just a teenager caught in the middle of adult failures, doing her best to say goodbye.
It wasn’t her fault that I was the only reliable family member who could do this.
As she buckled in and changed my music, she sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll remind Sol of his appointment, and he will manage Jean. You are just the driver.”
I chuckled, following the directions onto the freeway. “Ah, yes, like all good heist movies.”
She laughed and shook her head as she rolled down the window.
We sat in silence for a few moments until she finally asked, “Why did you want to stay home?”
I chewed on my words. Aurora was practically an adult, so I could tell her the truth. “I don’t see the value in being there.”
Aurora nodded. “Because Grandma was mean to you?”
I sighed. From the mouth of babes, I suppose. “Yes and no. Yes, how she treated me has contributed to some of these feelings, but it also stems from my fundamental belief. I don’t like the idea of watching someone die, and there is nothing I can do to make her live.”
Aurora flinched as if I’d slapped her. I turned and rested a hand on her shoulder, keeping one eye on the road, “I shouldn’t be so crass, I’m sorry.”
Aurora shook her head. “No, it’s not crass. I just never thought of you as such a nihilist.”
I smirked. “First off, good word use. Secondly, really?”
She shrugged. “You just always seem like the kind of person that bad things happen to, but you let them bounce off you.”
I sighed. “I still am that way; it’s just different.”
She frowned. “What made it different?”
I wanted to pull the car to the shoulder, but I knew it would be a long trek. Instead, I merged lanes and kept my eyes ahead. “I’m an atheist.”
I thought Aurora would laugh, but she looked at me curiously instead. I raised a brow. “What, did you become religious?”
She shook her head. “I am spiritual but not religious. I believe everything has a soul, but I don’t subscribe to organized religion.”
I snorted. “Groovy.”
Aurora frowned, and I grimaced. “Sorry, I’m not trying to make light of it. It’s just—I don’t believe in that.”
Aurora crossed her arms. “Like I said, you’ve become a nihilist.”
Cool Aunt: Zero.
Niece: One.
Rather than talk, she turned up the music, and I drove us awkwardly. Was I always this way? Was I only the cool aunt because of Robert?
Maybe Robert had steadied me, or perhaps I had steadied myself. Either way, I’d made her angry, but at least she was comfortable enough to show her feelings to me. The kids would be all right.
I turned the music back down, then asked cautiously, “Why are you and your mom not speaking?”
Aurora tilted her head back and stared at the car ceiling. “Jean is clinically insane and said some pretty terrible things to me. She berated Eleanor, and when I defended her, she told me I wasn’t allowed to return to her house.”
Fuck. What minefield was I walking into? Eleanor, Reggie’s wonderfully kind wife, was Aurora’s stepmother. She was also the mother of Aurora and Sol’s little sister, Calista.
I sighed. “Did she hurt you?”
“Outside of my soul, mind, and will, nope.”
A lot of words to say “not physically,” kid.
To my surprise, Aurora added, “I know this is a lot to put on you. I know you don’t want to fight with Jean.”
I nodded and merged onto the interstate, the weight of it all gnawing at me. Aurora was just a child who wanted to say goodbye to her grandmother. She deserved better—someone who would walk through fire for her without thinking twice. I hated that I even hesitated.
I sighed. “You are fine. I’m guessing I need to protect you from Jean as well?”
She grimaced. “If you could. I don’t want to talk to her.”
I chuckled. “To be fair, no one does, but here we are.”
It lightened my heart that she laughed back.
I turned the music back up, and we murmured about her college plans, friends, and the coffee shop where she worked.
I was reminded that I came from a broken family: a collection of adults who were once children who asked other adults to protect them. Most of the adults refused, but I attempted to be there for them.
Looking at this girl, with her head of brown curls with reddish tips, I knew the kids of the next generation would be all right. Because at least they had some good adults.
Then the shadows crept back, swallowing the fragile joy I had felt. I was that good adult—and I was leaving them.