Chapter Eleven
Emmet
I land in Florida right on time, grab my bags, and head to the desk to pick up my rental. My father offered to pick me up, but I told him no. It’s too much work for him.
My stomach is sick the entire drive to their house, each direction from the navigation making the knot tighter. I haven’t seen my mother in months. She wasn’t supposed to still be here, yet by some miracle, she is.
I begged and pleaded with the universe to give her one last Christmas, and I got my wish. I’m not sure I could ever ask the universe for another thing again. But that doesn’t stop me from asking if I’m doing the right thing here.
We’d already said our goodbyes. She told me she didn’t want me here. She told me she wanted me to live my life.
Am I doing the right thing?
My father needs me. That’s why he kept asking me to come, right? Surely Mom will understand that.
When I pull into the gated community, I roll down my window, and the hot Florida air sweeps in like a wool blanket.
“Good afternoon,” the security guard says. There are drips of sweat sliding down his temples. “How can I help you?”
“Hi, Emmet Durant. I’m here for Ar—”
“Arnold and Emily Durant,” he finishes. “I have you on the list. Do you need directions?”
“Please,” I say.
He heads into the little building and comes back with a sheet of paper that he holds out so I can see. It’s a map of the community with a red line drawn from here to my parents’ house, which is off to the left and circled.
“This should help you out.”
“Thank you.” I take it and put it on the passenger seat.
“You’ll also need this.” He hands me a tag for my car, stating that I’ll be staying until the 26th.
I give him a nod, and when he opens the gates, I drive through and make my way to my parents’ house. I see it from a mile away, as if the red circle around it is real and not just on paper. I pass it, getting cold feet about stopping and going in to see my mother.
It’s unfair and cowardly. Seeing her is going to devastate me, I know it, and I’m not prepared for that. Though, I’m not sure I ever will be and these seconds are precious for her—for us.
When I reach the end of the road where I’m able to turn left or right, I make sure there are no cars coming and pull a U-turn, then head back to their house and turn into the driveway, parking beside their small Toyota.
I take a deep breath, shut the car off, grab my bag from the back seat, and head to the door. My finger is just releasing the doorbell when the door is pulled open.
My father has aged drastically in the couple months he’s been here, no doubt from the stress.
But when he smiles at me from inside his house, a million happy memories assault me, and it’s easier to walk through the front door and see my mother.
Having his support, having him with me, will make this all easier.
He holds his arms out and I go to him without hesitation, hugging his frail body.
We used to be the same height, but he’s shrunk a little, his body crouched slightly now, and so he seems much shorter.
His hair is completely grey, while before it was a good mix of dark brown and grey.
I hug him tightly but carefully, not wanting to hurt him.
“I’m so glad you came,” he says softly, and there’s so much emotion clogging up my throat that I can’t answer him back.
But it isn’t needed. He squeezes me a little tighter, and then finally lets go.
He smiles up at me, patting me on the shoulder before gesturing for me to come inside the rest of the way.
The door closes, and the weight of seeing my mother presses down on my chest a little more.
“Where’s Mom?” I ask, having to clear my throat.
“Let’s get you settled first,” he says, hobbling past me and down a short hall.
I follow him into a spacious bedroom. Everything is white and soft yellows.
The bed is a queen with too many throw pillows, the curtains sheer and drawn back, letting in the bright light. I put my bag beside the closet door.
“I’m fine to see her,” I say.
He nods, giving me a knowing smile. “She’ll be happy to see you, despite what she says.”
I smirk. “Her smart mouth is still the same then?”
“I keep telling her it’ll be the last thing to go.”
I huff out a laugh, but the sadness tightens my throat.
Dad sighs heavily, then we’re moving again. Down the hall. Through the living room, across the kitchen/dining room, and down another short hallway. He stops outside a closed door, and to the right, there is a large bathroom.
“Just let me see her,” I say.
I understand he’s trying to prepare me, but if I don’t get this over with, I won’t do it at all.
It’s just my mother, and this is going to hurt, but I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t see her one last time, even if she told me she didn’t want me to.
Even if I was already supposed to have had my last time.
Dad nods, then opens the door and steps in.
I hesitate, taking in the room. It’s dim, the curtains drawn, only the light of the TV brightens the room, but just barely.
The bed is against the middle of the wall on the right, a small form lying on the left side.
Hospital machinery is in the far corner, but nothing is on and I’m not sure why it’s here at all.
Actually, knowing her, she’s likely supposed to be using it, but refuses.
“Honey, Emmet is here,” Dad says softly, walking into the room and stopping beside her. He leans down, kissing her forehead.
Her breathing is loud and noisy, but she makes a sound of acknowledgment, and he heads back to me.
“Do you want a chair?” he asks.
“No,” I say breathlessly, my eyes still on her, though I can hardly make her out in the dark.
He nods and pats me on the arm. “You can do this, son,” he says softly as he heads out of the room, closing the door behind him.
“Em,” my mother manages to say in a voice that sounds nothing like hers and something more out of my nightmares. I push the thoughts away, not allowing her last moments here to be scary.
She may live another few weeks. Hell, she may go another month. But this is my last time seeing her, I know that. And I need to make the best of it.
When we did this the first time, it was a surprise. They were preparing to leave, and I thought I was going to visit. It was easier to handle that way. Plus, I’d seen her every day, so the way the cancer changed her was only noticeable when I looked at old photos of us.
I move to the bed, my feet feeling like lead. I kneel on the floor beside her bed. It’s only when I settle on my knees, do I realize my eyes are closed.
Her breathing is louder than ever, the rattle in her chest a sound I will never be able to forget.
Why did I ever think not coming here was an option?
Tears burn my eyes as I force them open and take her hand. It’s small, frail, and freezing. It’s what I imagine a skeleton would feel like, and I hate that because this is my mother. The woman who kissed my boo-boos, read me bedtime stories, and taught me how to ride a bike.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, finally getting the courage to look up.
It’s difficult to see in the dark, but I can make out enough.
She’s skin and bones, looking a hundred years old and not sixty-five.
Tears well, threatening to spill over, but I hold them back.
If she sees how upset I am, it’ll only upset her.
This is, after all, the reason she didn’t want me to come.
“Em,” she repeats, a small smile gracing her lips. She blinks slowly, then turns her head to face me even more slowly. “I told… you… not to… come.”
After speaking those words, she focuses on catching her breath.
“I’ve never been one to listen,” I say, and she smiles a little more. Her hand twitches in mine, and I take that as her way of giving me a reassuring squeeze.
“Did you… get him?” she wheezes out.
“Mom,” I say, sighing. “I don’t want to talk about that.”
“Stop… waiting.”
“Mom—”
She grunts a sound meant to be a chastise, but it turns into a coughing fit.
I look around, panic seizing me, and I spot a glass of water on the end table.
I bring it near her, guiding the straw to her mouth.
She coughs for another moment, her breathing still loud, but she manages to take a small sip and it helps settle her.
I wait for her to catch her breath, and she takes another sip, then her breathing calms more, so I put the cup down.
“This isn’t about waiting,” I say, knowing if I don’t have this conversation, she’s going to fight me and that’s going to make it worse for her. “He has a life. A busy one. He has kids, and they’re his priority. I can’t take up his time.”
“Not that,” she rasps out. “Space.”
Space…
“Yeah,” I say. “There isn’t space for me.”
“Make it.” She takes a deep breath. “Love is not… always about time. Sometimes it’s… it’s… showing up. Helping. Support. It’s… being there.”
“It’s not that easy,” I say.
“The best love never is.”
I rest my forehead on her arm, and her other hand comes up to rest on my head.
“My boy,” she says, and that has the tears falling. I try to hide it as best I can, but this is my mother. There is no hiding from her. She keeps her hand on my head, gently rubbing like she did when I was a child and unable to sleep. “Love you, Em,” she says softly.
We stay there together for a long while. Eventually she falls asleep, and I think maybe I do too. Until I carefully get up and leave her alone. Dad is there on the other side, waiting for me with a smile.
“I’m so glad you came,” he says, opening his arms.
So I hug him next.