Chapter Twenty-Seven
Twenty-seven
Kian
I hate hospitals.
Does anyone like them? Hospitals mean disappointment, despair…death.
The first thing I notice are the lavender gloves the nurses wear.
I used to think they were meant to calm people.
That’s what the nurse told me when I went to see my dad.
But back then, all that color did was make me aware of every sound, every antiseptic smell, every reason I was there. I hated it. And I don’t hate anything.
A nurse taps my shoulder, that same shade flashes in my vision, and it’s like I’m back there again—palms slick, chest tight, breath catching somewhere between my ribs. I start to stand, desperate to shake it off, but then Scarlett shifts, her head sliding against my shoulder. Her weight tethers me.
We’ve been here for hours. Every time I ask for an update, the answer is the same: no news.
By midnight, we dozed off, Scarlett curled against me.
I can’t believe she’s here. I’m almost certain she had class last night and another this afternoon.
She could leave, catch up tomorrow—but she doesn’t.
Her presence presses against me. She’s staying, and somehow, I know it’s nonnegotiable.
“Your mom’s asking for you. She’s calm now, so I think it’s a good time to talk. Just for a few minutes,” the nurse says.
“Is everything okay?” I whisper, careful not to stir Scarlett.
My mom’s moods are unpredictable. I never know what will set her off. It’s odd, someone telling you when you can see your own mother.
Scarlett stirs, and her big brown eyes find mine.
Her hand drifts over my chest, gentle, almost like she’s guiding my own breath.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” I murmur.
“Are you going to see her?”
The nurse waves me to come in. “Your guest can head in with you if you’d like. Your mom reacts pretty well to new faces.” Right. It’s just the old ones she hates. Mine.
But it feels like she’s thrown me a lifeline. “You want to come?” I ask Scarlett.
Scarlett’s eyes widen. “Oh, that’s okay. I’d hate to intrude.”
“You wouldn’t.” I sound desperate. “But you can stay here if you’re not comfortable.”
Scarlett stands, holding her hand out for me. My heart is pounding in my ears when we push past the door. It’s quiet inside, the TV playing The Weather Channel on mute, and the curtains are closed, blocking out the midnight sky.
That’s when I see her, resting on her bed in a hospital gown. She’s got a hospital wristband on, and socks that go up to her knees. Her hair is messy, probably from sleep. There’s a ball of yarn on the side table, knitting needles stuck inside it.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, my hands getting clammier by the second. Her head tilts, eyeing me curiously, and when I see a flicker of confusion, I almost panic.
“Kian-chan,” she whispers, and my body topples in relief. “Where have you been?”
The words feel like she’s asking about the past four years, but thinking about that feels a lot heavier. “In the waiting room.”
She studies me for a beat too long, and my pulse kicks. “Scarlett. This is Scarlett. Boku no yūjin.”
Scarlett steps forward. “Hi. It’s so nice to meet you.”
My mom straightens, smoothing her hair and tugging at the edges of her gown like she’s getting ready for company.
It almost makes me smile. She used to do that before my friends came over, wiping invisible dust, finding something to clean even when the house was spotless.
It’s a glimpse of the mom I used to know, and it’s hopeful and depressing all at once.
Scarlett perches on the chair beside her bed, unsure where to put her hands. My mom reaches for her first, her fingers brushing through the ends of Scarlett’s hair. “Color?”
“Yup, it’s colored. I’ve been dyeing it since high school.”
My mom nods, her gaze drifting to the ink on Scarlett’s arm. “Don’t tell me my son made you get these.”
I watch her closely, ready to catch the shift if it comes, but her tone stays light. Scarlett’s cheeks flush, and I bite back a laugh as she tugs her sleeve higher, showing more color and lines. “No, I’ve had these for a while. But I do like the tattoos Kian has.”
My mom’s eyes flick between us, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You found a friend just like you,” she says with a soft laugh. “Your father is going to be shocked.”
I go entirely too still, like someone’s strapped a bomb to my chest.
“Do you like to knit? My best friend is a great knitter,” Scarlett says suddenly.
When my mom turns her eyes to the ball of yarn, I let out a breath. “I have. But by the time I get somewhere, I’m too tired. It’s whatever they’re giving me. Makes me sluggish.”
“Maybe we can talk to the nurses,” I offer. “See if they can help?”
She shakes her head. “They won’t listen. Kiyomi keeps telling me it’s good for me, but it doesn’t feel like it. Your father knows it makes me feel crazy.”
The name stills me. My pulse kicks, and my breath catches in my throat.
“He’s missed you,” she adds softly. “He’ll be happy you’re here. Where is he? Go get him already.”
Words escape me, and my mouth opens and closes without a real answer for her.
Then Scarlett stands, walking over to the yarn and knitting needles, forcing my mom’s gaze to follow her. “I think Kiyomi said he’d be back in an hour. We’ll still be here.”
“No.” My mom shakes her head, pressing a palm to her forehead. “He said he wouldn’t leave me. He should just be down the hall. Call—”
“Kian, why don’t you go check?” Scarlett interjects. “I’ll stay here.”
A look of relief sinks into my mom’s face almost immediately. Scarlett signals a quiet Go when I try to ask if she’ll be okay.
In the hall, I try to find Kiyomi, but my thoughts are scattered. They linger on the edge of that black lake again, forcing me to face this new reality where everything is wrong.
A nurse walks out of the room across the hall, and I tell her about my mom. She says she’ll be back in a second. As I walk back to Mom’s room, I stop just outside the threshold, feeling a dark resentment build in my chest.
But there’s laughter coming from the room, and I hear that soothing voice. Scarlett tells her about learning to ride a bike, which leads to my mom asking about her knitted sweater—the one Sierra made her.
I hesitate before pushing past the curtain, trying to ignore the spike in my chest when my gaze lands on my mom again.
“Kai! Finally, I’ve been waiting for you,” my mom says, her eyes bright.
She thinks I’m my dad. Again.
The last time this happened it hadn’t gone well. Her eyes had locked on to my tattoos, narrowing in confusion, her mind trying to piece together something it couldn’t grasp. But right now, I have no choice but to play along.
I step toward her slowly, careful not to rush, my gaze flicking to the door for the nurse or Kiyomi. “Sorry…I was in the cafeteria,” I say in Japanese, careful not to shatter the reality she’s wrapped herself in.
She laughs, light and familiar. “That’s my Kai, always looking for food anywhere he goes.”
Scarlett laughs a little warily, casting me an uncertain glance.
My mom takes my hand in hers, and a sharp jolt goes straight to my heart. It’s been so long since I felt the warmth of her hand. For a second, I try to forget where we are, who she thinks I am, and just bask in the warm touch.
Then something more painful, more desperate makes me pull in closer, forcing me to crouch lower and pull my mom into a hug. She chuckles in surprise as I hug her tight, trying to hold her for as long as I can. Even if it’s not me she’s hugging.
My eyes sting and my vision blurs just before I squeeze my eyes shut and inhale her familiar scent.
It yanks me back to the day I left for Dalton.
Mom had refused to say goodbye, her arms crossed stubbornly, her lips pressed in a line.
But just as I climbed into the car, she had pulled me into the tightest hug, as if it could tether us forever.
I let myself live in that memory, basking in the way her arm moves up and down my back like it used to, squeezing almost as tightly as I do. I miss her, and yet she’s right here in my arms.
“We were only apart for a second, Kai,” she says softly in Japanese. Her voice pulls me from the memory, dropping me back into this cruel reality, where she doesn’t know me, where I can only reach her by becoming someone else—my dead father.
When I finally let her go, she’s not smiling anymore. She’s got that familiar faraway look in her eyes. Her gaze drifts to my hand, lingering on the tattoos crawling over my knuckles. I watch the recognition falter, confusion settling across her face like a shadow.
“What…what’s this?” she whispers, her voice catching. “You don’t have these.” Her chest rises and falls in quick, uneven breaths.
I try to stay calm, stepping back so I don’t crowd her. The research I’ve read on dementia rolls through my mind like a teleprompter. Stay calm, go along with it, don’t stress her out.
“Where’s my husband?” she says, sounding increasingly frustrated. “Who are you?”
“He’s here. I’ll go—”
That’s when Kiyomi rushes inside, shooting me an apologetic look. “Mom, look who’s here to see you,” she says, gesturing to the doctor trailing behind her.
Kiyomi moves to me, placing a light hand on my shoulder. “It’s late. You should go home, Kian. I’ll update you,” she says softly.
I reluctantly nod. “Call me, okay?”
Kiyomi smiles. “I promise.”
My sister gives Scarlett a hug, thanking her for coming, giving me one last look before we head out.
Everything in me wants to stay, and I linger for a minute. Scarlett doesn’t say a word, she just wraps her arm around my biceps, staring down the long hallway with me.
She steers us toward the parking lot. “Where did you park? I can leave my car here and drive us back in yours.”
Who are you?
“Kian?”
I shake my head, focusing on Scarlett. “I didn’t. I took an Uber—I couldn’t even think when I got the call.”
She nods, steering us the other way. “I have my car. I’ll take you home, okay?”
When we get to her car and I offer to drive, she waves me off. I shake my head and get into the passenger side just as she starts the ignition. The radio crackles, but when she presses a button to turn it off, she hits the CD rotation instead. It whirs to life and “Over the Rainbow” starts to play.
The song shocks the breath out of me.
Scarlett quickly moves to turn it down. “Sorry, I didn’t know that CD was still in there.”
I stop her with a delicate hand on her wrist.
“You want it on?” she asks.
I nod, my eyes fixed on the console for a long moment before a quiet laugh slips out. I drop my head against the headrest, letting the chords wash over me like they were sent straight from my dad. It’s the song he always sang to me.
This time the grief doesn’t hit me. Instead, I just let myself bask in how ridiculous the timing is.
Scarlett doesn’t make me talk during the drive, and I must’ve dozed off, because the next thing I know, the car’s stopped in front of the hockey house.
We exit the car and stand there for a minute. I barely hear Scarlett’s ramble about when she’s going to come back to check on me. How she’ll be finished at this exact time and how long it takes to drive from campus to my house.
All I focus on is the heavy ache spreading in my chest, this dark center that’s been gnawing at me since the second she showed up and just stayed. For me.
She’s still talking when I step in and pull her to me.
She goes quiet, the rest of her words dying on a breath as I hold her. For a heartbeat, she’s motionless, caught somewhere between surprise and surrender, like her body knows what to do but her mind is pulling her elsewhere.
But then her shoulders drop, the tension drains out of her, and she melts into me. She fits perfectly under my chin, her hands curling lightly against my hoodie like she needed this as badly as I did. Neither of us speak.
I bury my face in her hair, smelling the citrus that still bounces off her like she hadn’t just slept in that sterile hospital right next to me.
“I think that’s six seconds,” she whispers half-heartedly.
“I know,” I say, holding her tighter.