Chapter Twenty-Nine Sera
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sera
At my next appointment with Dr. Lee, my parents and I learn that nothing has changed.
Like always, I have my vitals, EKG, echo, and all the regular tests first. I change into the papery hospital top and slip on my headphones and listen to the podcast Maddy sent me about ultraviolet light’s effect on vegetables.
At some point I switch to an audiobook about the intersection of art and the environment that Abbi has been bothering me to read so we’ll have something to talk about the next time I see her.
She’s still up in Maine with Cam. She’s sent a few pictures to the family group chat that I responded to, but other than that, we haven’t talked.
The nurses and techs are quiet and quick.
In less than an hour I’m back in my clothes, my chest still a little sticky from the ultrasound gel, sitting in Dr. Lee’s corner office, hearing the same info all over again.
None of this is new, and yet the wound is made fresh again.
My heart is failing. My name is too far down the list for real hope, but we all claw at it anyway.
My parents ask Dr. Lee to repeat things, but I never need any of the bad news repeated.
It sticks in my mind after one utterance, like useless lyrics to a generic pop song.
I have time to look around her office and spy on the shelves of books and the photos and knickknacks from all the patients she’s had over the years.
Time to wonder what I’ll give her if I get another heart, what my family might send if she tries but can’t save me.
If I stay stable, my next visit will be in three months. In the meantime, because things could move fast if I don’t, I’m given a bunch of paperwork to do and numbers to call, along with a binder to fill out with my end-of-life wishes.
“It’ll feel good to be prepared,” Dr. Lee says.
I flip through the binder in the back seat as we drive home and start a section for each person I want to leave instructions or notes for: Mom, Dad, Abbi, Maddy, and Luke.
My hand shakes a little as I write his name.
The papers suggest I write whatever I want to, not to worry about how the other person might take it or interpret it.
Still, it’s hard not to imagine everyone’s reactions, particularly Luke’s.
It feels like I could have a lifetime to say goodbye to him and it still wouldn’t be enough.
When we cross over the Sagamore Bridge, the sun is out and reflecting off the canal in bright flashes of white gold.
I roll my window all the way down, breathing in the salty air.
It’s weird to think about whether I want a death doula or if I want to be cremated or turned into a tree when I feel so alive.
All I know for sure is that I don’t want to be plugged in and hospital-bound for long stretches of time.
For some reason, that’s easy to know, and I write it quickly on the first page before putting the binder aside.
Without work, I fill the days with painting new pieces.
Mostly I paint by myself but sometimes with Luke.
I play games and watch movies with Mom and Dad, hang out at the beach with Maddy and Luke.
I go to a few bonfires with the whole crowd of Northport kids, but don’t stay long.
Most of the town has gotten wise to my situation, and it feels like I’m a sad sort of celebrity.
Everyone is a tad too nice. They get quiet about their joys when I join around the fire, even though I tell them it’s fine.
They give me free pizza at Dockside, and the clerks at Lorell’s put aside the best muffins for me.
It’s nice, but it’s also a lot. I no longer feel like it’s just me and my family waiting for my heart to give out.
It feels like all of Northport is holding its breath too.
When someone from my health insurance calls to ask if I want a home visit to evaluate home care options in Northport, I say yes, because it seems like the smart thing to do.
But we’re all left a little worn out after their visit, even though it’s barely past noon.
To get through the day, Mom suggests we make a big, complicated dinner, taking out a recipe for homemade tacos that involves a lot of different marinades and salsas and giving everyone a task.
I miss Abbi when it’s time to slice the peppers and Mom makes me wear two layers of gloves and an old pair of her giant sunglasses.
“I’m not allergic to spicy peppers, Mom. This is ridiculous.” The glasses are heavy and stretch way up past my eyebrows.
“Trust me, those things will make you cry buckets,” she says, so I leave it, and crack old-timey movie star jokes until I’m done.
Dad makes margaritas and pours me one with a small splash of tequila so I can “understand the experience better.” We’re finishing up the last of the tacos when there’s a knock on the front door.
“What’s for dessert?” I ask as Mom jumps up.
“I didn’t make anything, sweetie.”
Before I can complain about the lack of sugar, she opens the door and Maddy steps inside.
“Thanks, Mrs. Watkins. Hey, Sera!” She sweeps in and pulls me up out of my chair before I can ask why she’s knocking at the door like a weirdo instead of just coming in like usual.
“I’m here on official fairy god…friend duties,” she says, pushing me toward the stairs. “I’ve been instructed to kidnap you for the evening. Let’s go.” She nudges me up the first step.
“What?” I protest, and she keeps pushing.
“God, you’re slow! Let’s go. You’re putting on that yellow dress and we’ll brush your hair, then you’re coming with me.”
“What’s going on?” I look back at my parents, who are giggling at the table. I know it must be something with Luke if Maddy is set on me wearing the dress, but Mom just shrugs and Dad waves, clearly in on whatever is happening.
In my room, Maddy digs out the dress and makes me put it on.
“Wow, it looks better than it did before. Okay, spin, spin.”
I do, to please her, and find it doesn’t make me dizzy, so I do it again.
“Okay, you have to tell me what’s up, Maddy—please?”
“Nope, Luke swore me to secrecy, and that’s all you need to know!
” She digs around on my vanity, looking through jewelry.
She selects a dangly pair of earrings Abbi got me that I never wear, and demands I take off the art teacher necklace.
Then she slips an unfamiliar oval locket around my neck.
I crack it open. There’s a tiny picture of my family on one side and one of me, Maddy, and Luke on the other.
“That’s from me,” Maddy states, “just so we’re clear.”
I hug her. “I’ll take it to my grave,” I say, dead serious.
“That’s the point,” she says, a tiny wobble in her voice before she lets me go. “Okay, let’s see: dress, jewelry, now hair…let’s just brush it out, leave it long. Or, wait…can I give you bangs?”
“Ummm…”
She pulls out haircutting scissors.
“Do you just carry those around?” I ask as she sits me down in front of the mirror.
“How else do you think I keep my hair so fresh?” She tousles her bobbed hair, which has remained very sleek for the whole summer, now that I think about it.
She goes to the bathroom and comes back with a wet towel, dampens the front of my hair, and then pauses. “Ready?”
“I trust you.” I smile, then close my eyes as she combs out the wet hair and snips. I feel the strands falling into my lap and try not to panic.
“Okay, wait, I just need to…” She snips a little more, and I hear the sound of my blow-dryer being dug out, and after some drying and last snips, she finally tells me I can open my eyes.
“Wow.” I’m grateful I trusted her. The bangs are more subtle than it sounded like they were going to be, soft and light, and they make me look a little older. I play with them a bit and then laugh. “Thanks, Mads.”
“Perfect, I know. You don’t need to tell me. Time to go!”
She tells me to get a light sweater and meet her downstairs. I hear her whispering with my parents as I find my bag and some shoes as well as a sweater and take a last look at myself in the mirror.
I give us a minute. Me and my reflection.
To remind us that we’re here, alive. I turn my wrists and look at the thin, pulsing veins in my forearms. I pinch my cheeks lightly until they’re a little red.
My hair is a little frizzy at the ends, but the swoopy bangs are staying in place.
I run a hand through them, fluffing out the sides, and everything falls back into place.
My scar peeks out from behind the chain of the locket.
I try to forget the watch on my wrist tracking my every move.
I push away the tiredness that seeps from the center of my back out to my limbs, which are sometimes too much to lift these days, but are feeling good tonight.
I erase the diagnosis, and the list, and my unfinished binder from my mind.
I focus on being a girl who’s going out to meet her boyfriend for a surprise.
I stop by the bathroom to brush my teeth and take one of Abbi’s prepared “safety bags” from the lower cabinet. It’s just an old makeup pouch with tampons, liners, and painkillers, but also condoms, lube, and single-pack wet wipes.
Once I’m downstairs, Maddy rushes me into her car and takes off, blasting some new artist rapping in French.
She tells me Sienna is helping her prepare for our trip musically as well.
Apparently Berlin will require clubbing.
She’s immune to my piercing looks, refusing to share more details about tonight.
When we hit Main Street, she turns left down the alley past the bookshop, then left again onto Harborside Main, slowing as we hit the abandoned end.
She stops in front of the ghost of Frappie’s, puts the car in park, and announces that we’ve arrived.
Through the dusty, dark windows of the shop, I can see the soft orange glow of flickering lights.
My heart flips. I take a slow, stuttering breath.