25. Eric
— ? —
Eric
Unknown number. I almost ignore it. But something makes me answer.
“Mr. Bailey? This is Dr. Reeves at Methodist Hospital. Your mother has been admitted.”
I don’t remember getting dressed. Don’t remember driving. Don’t remember anything until I’m standing in a hospital corridor, staring at a doctor who’s telling me words I can’t process.
“…collapsed at home… neighbor found her… stable for now but…”
“But what?”
The doctor’s face is careful. Practiced. “We need to run more tests. But you should prepare yourself.”
Prepare myself. Like there’s any way to prepare for this.
I call Valentina before I realize I’ve made a decision.
“Eric?” Her voice is thick with sleep. “What time is it?”
“My mother’s in the hospital.”
Silence. Then: “I’m on my way.”
She shows up in sweatpants and a messy bun, no makeup, eyes still heavy with sleep. She doesn’t say anything. Just sits down in the chair beside me and takes my hand.
We wait.
Hours pass. Doctors come and go. Nurses check charts. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead like insects.
At some point, Valentina’s head drops onto my shoulder. I should wake her. She starts her new job on Monday, her new life that’s finally starting to look like something real. She should be home sleeping, not keeping vigil in a hospital chair.
I don’t wake her.
I just sit there, holding her hand, watching her sleep, and thinking about all the things I’ve never said.
***
Valentina
I wake up with a crick in my neck and Eric’s jacket draped over my shoulders.
He’s not beside me. I look around, disoriented, until I spot him in the hallway. He’s talking to a doctor, his back to me, shoulders rigid with tension.
I go to him.
“Any news?”
He turns. His eyes are red-rimmed. Exhausted. He looks worse than I’ve ever seen him.
“They’re saying it’s serious. They’re doing everything they can, but…”
“But?”
“But I should prepare myself.”
The same words. Prepare yourself. Like there’s any preparation for losing your mother.
I don’t know what to say. So I don’t say anything. I just step forward and wrap my arms around him.
He stiffens. Then his arms come around me, tight, almost crushing, and I feel him shake.
We stand there in that hospital hallway, holding each other, while the world falls apart around us.
Later, when the nurses have done their rounds and the corridor is quiet, we find ourselves outside Nora’s room. Eric hasn’t gone in yet. He’s been standing at the window, watching her sleep, like he’s afraid that if he gets too close she’ll disappear.
“You should go in,” I say softly.
“I know.”
“She’d want to see you.”
“I know.” His jaw tightens. “I just… I’m not ready. To see her like that. To admit that this is real.”
I take his hand. Lead him to a quiet corner where no one can see us.
“Look at me.”
He does. His eyes are wet. I’ve never seen him cry. Never seen him anything less than perfectly composed.
“You don’t have to be ready,” I tell him. “You don’t have to be strong. You just have to be there. That’s all she needs. You. Present. Even if you’re falling apart.”
His forehead drops to mine. We stand there, breathing each other’s air, and I feel him tremble.
“I can’t lose her,” he whispers. “And I’m starting to realize I can’t lose you either.”
The words crack something open in my chest.
I kiss him gently. Just lips brushing, salt from tears neither of us will acknowledge.
When I pull back, his eyes are still closed.
“You’re not going to lose me,” I say.
“You don’t know that.”
“No. But I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Footsteps behind us. A nurse.
“Mr. Bailey? She’s awake. She’s asking for you.” The nurse glances at me. “Both of you.”
Eric’s hand tightens on mine.
We walk into that room together.
***
Nora looks smaller than I remember.
The hospital bed swallows her. Tubes and wires connect her to machines that beep and hum. Her skin is paper-thin, her eyes sunken.
But when she sees us, she smiles.
“There you are,” she says. Her voice is weak but warm. “I was wondering when you’d stop hovering outside the door.”
Eric moves to her bedside. Takes her hand. “Mom.”
“Don’t Mom me in that voice.” She squeezes his fingers, weak and stubborn at once.
“I’m fine. Just tired. Bodies do that when they’ve been working overtime for thirty years.
” Her eyes shift past him and find me. Soften.
“Valentina. Come here, sweetheart. Don’t stand by the door like you’re not family. ”
The word hits harder than it should.
I move to the other side of the bed. She reaches for me, and when I give her my hand her skin is paper-thin and cold, but her grip is surprisingly sure - like she’s still the woman who puts people to work at her sink and tells the truth without flinching.
For a second nobody speaks. Machines hum. Somewhere down the hall a cart rattles. Eric’s shoulders are rigid in a way I’ve only seen when he’s afraid and refuses to name it.
Nora looks at our joined hands - hers in his, hers in mine - and something peaceful moves across her face.
“If I go now,” she says quietly, “I go happy.”
“Mom, don’t-” Eric’s voice breaks on the second word. He clears his throat. Fails to steady it. “You’re not going anywhere. The doctors said-”
“Hush.” She says it gently, the way she hushes boiling pots and stubborn sons. “Let me finish before you start arguing with a woman in a hospital gown. It’s undignified.”
A wet breath leaves him. Almost a laugh. Almost a sob.
Nora’s thumb strokes the back of my hand once, slow.
“I’ve spent a long time worrying,” she says.
“Not about money. Not about houses. About him.” Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t look away.
“About whether he’d spend his whole life acquiring things because he was too scared to keep a person.
About whether I’d leave this world watching my boy stand alone in every room he owns. ”
Eric bows his head over their joined hands. I see his throat work.
“And then you walked into my kitchen,” she tells me, softer.
“Nervous. Proud. Trying so hard not to want anything. And he looked at you like he’d finally found something he couldn’t buy.
” Her mouth curves, faint and knowing. “That’s all I wanted.
Not a perfect love story. Not a wedding invitation for my vanity.
Just… proof he wouldn’t be alone. That someone good would stay when he’s difficult.
When he’s cold. When he’s scared and pretends he isn’t. ”
Tears are already running down my face. I don’t wipe them. I’m afraid if I let go of her hand I’ll fall apart completely.
“Nora,” I whisper. “I-”
“Promise me.” Her grip tightens with a flash of that old steel.
“Not because I’m dying and you feel sorry for me.
Don’t you dare promise me pity.” A beat.
“Promise me you’ll stay when it’s messy.
When he pushes. When he tries to protect you by shutting you out.
He needs someone who won’t run just because love got heavy. ”
My chest caves in.
This woman gave me blue plates and a kitchen sink and a place that smelled like bread when my whole life smelled like motel cleaner and fear. She looked at me and saw a person, not a scandal. And she is asking me for the one thing I’ve been terrified to want.
“I promise,” I say, and my voice shakes apart on it. “I’ll stay. Even when he’s difficult. Even when he’s scared. I won’t run.”
Nora studies me for a long moment and whatever she finds must be enough, because her whole face eases. The lines around her eyes loosen. She looks younger for a second. Lighter.
“Good girl,” she whispers. Then, to Eric, with the ghost of her usual bite: “And you. Let her love you. Stop making everything a fortress. You’re not your father.”
“I know.” He’s crying openly now, tears hitting the back of her hand. He doesn’t hide them. “I love you, Mom.”
“I know, sweetheart.” She lifts their joined hands with effort and presses her mouth to his knuckles, weak and fierce. “I’ve always known. Pain in the ass. Best thing I ever did.”
Eric laughs.
Nora’s eyes drift shut, then open again, heavier. “Now both of you go home and sleep. You look terrible. Especially you.” She tips her chin at Eric. “You’ve got your father’s frown lines when you worry. Hideous.”
“Rude,” he manages.
“Honest,” she corrects. Her fingers loosen around mine, then squeeze one last time. “Valentina.”
“I’m here.”
“He chose right.” A breath. A small smile. “Don’t let him forget it.”
“I won’t.”
She hums, satisfied, and lets her eyes close for real this time - not death, not surrender, just exhaustion finally allowed in. Her breathing evens into something softer. The machines keep their steady rhythm.
Eric doesn’t let go of her hand for a long time.
Neither do I.
When we finally step into the hallway, the fluorescent lights feel too bright. He turns to me like he doesn’t trust his legs, forehead dropping to mine, hands cradling my face with a tenderness that wrecks me more than any kiss.
“Thank you,” he whispers.
“I meant it,” I whisper back. “The promise.”
His breath shudders out against my mouth. “I know. That’s why I’m terrified.”
And for once, he doesn’t try to turn the fear into control.
He just holds onto me in a hospital hallway while his mother sleeps on the other side of the door-
and I hold on too,
because I meant every word,
and because losing her would break him,
and because I am already too far gone to pretend this family isn’t mine.