Chapter 19 #2
“I’m so sorry, Gabe,” Dr. Aoki said. “I should have been here. But you know there was nothing we could do. It became clear from the testing after her second episode that her heart was in failure, past even a surgical remedy. I called for heart donors. If we’d found one I would have tried, though the administrator didn’t like it. ”
“Thanks for trying,” I said. He looked heartbroken. “Even being head of cardiology isn’t enough sometimes to stop the inevitable.” He looked at the floor and I knew he had more to say though I couldn’t imagine what it could be.
“You know, some in the department thought I was trying so hard because of you, because of your celebrity status.” He paused for a half smile.
“But I wasn’t. That wasn’t it. I wanted to save Marie because she was a beautiful person.
Because she had so many people who loved her.
” I swear I saw tears in his eyes and my chest tightened another notch in its perpetual viselike state.
We left then. We all went to my house where we made arrangements.
Marie cooked in the kitchen in the downstairs apartment where my mother always had and the rest of us sat at the big kitchen table watching her.
“You have a game tomorrow night, son,” Dad said.
I looked at him as if he were speaking a different language. Football. It sounded like a foreign concept right now.
He nodded. “You have to play. I discussed it with your mother. She’s expecting you to win. For her.” He broke down and my heart felt crushed as the vise tightened impossibly on my chest.
My brother chimed in and the rest of the family, all unanimous about the tribute to my mother in the form of me playing the game, winning it in her honor.
My career had turned into a family affair somewhere along the way, inextricably tied up with love and loving.
But it wasn’t the football I loved so much as the sharing, the people.
The coming together to play, to fight, to win.
To love. My mind went to Mia again, even as I agreed I would play, knowing that would mean I had no time for her. Not now.
“I’ll play.” I called Coach Marini and told him.
I played the game Thursday night. The media was in circus mode for this one, picking up on the angle that I was playing the game as a tribute to my mother, that I had to win it for her.
And they ran with it far and fast, to dizzying heights.
All day I had calls, reporters and photographers outside the house, following me to the stadium and inside the lot because they had press passes.
I swore under my breath at the shitty gatekeeper who couldn’t figure out if he should hold them off as they hounded me, hurling questions at me when I got out of my car before I disappeared inside an unmarked side door.
I had a key. It wasn’t the usual way to the locker room, but used for circumstances like this, as an escape hatch.
The game itself was cleansing in a way, giving me something to do with the overwhelming emotions, the need and the grief.
It was a tense game, but we won. I’d looked for Mia once, after the game amid the melee in the tunnel, after the short emotional postgame press conference.
When I didn’t see her after a quick scan, I let my family envelop me, lead me away.
Winning had been a triumph. And a let-down.
Because in the end, my mother was still gone. And we had to bury her tomorrow.
To say the scene at the church was overwhelming would have been an understatement.
Even though the service was private, by invitation only, the crowds of people who gathered, surrounding the parking lot, lining the streets, were far more than I’d imagined in spite of my sister’s warnings.
Marie had stepped up, put her grief aside, and handled everything.
Expertly. She’d even thought to invite Mia.
When she arrived with Tate, arm in arm, an irrational ball of jealousy shoved the sorrow from my soul and took over, giving me relief. My eyes bored into Tate’s as they approached the line where I stood with my family. Joe nudged me.
“Cut that shit, man.”
His voice was like a pinprick, letting the air from my frail balloon of outrage, giving way to the grief again.
But it was for the best. It was far easier, less painful to be angry than sad, but far less healthy I knew.
And I knew I needed to work through this grief, like the rest of my family, to be whole.
But the dousing of my jealousy didn’t stop me from being worried about the status of Mia and Tate’s relationship. So I excused myself and walked toward the door at the front of the church, pulling Tate aside as I went by him.
“We need to talk.” He nodded and followed me to a hall where stairs led to the basement, then down to an empty room that looked like it was used for Sunday school.
“I’m sorry about your mother,” Tate said.
I heaved a breath and took in his message, let it settle me, though my heart still raced as if in panic. Trying to sound reasonable, I said, “Thank you for taking Mia, for bringing her here.”
He nodded, but his eyes went wary because he knew this was about Mia, knew I might not be rational on the subject although I was trying damn hard to keep my cool.
“I want to see Mia, be with her. When the season is over.”
“Are you out of your fucking mind?”
I stood, waiting for his explanation, for him to tell me how I was out of my mind because I wanted to know.
“What are you waiting for? For her to get tired of waiting? To lose her patience? To find someone else? See her now, goddammit.” He looked angry, probably more on behalf of Mia than anything else.
I gave him the only excuse that came to mind, the only one that didn’t reveal the level of fear that churned inside me.
“I promised Coach I’d wait—”
“Are you fucking stupid?”
Maybe I was.
“The hell with Coach. He doesn’t care about you. He cares about his record, the team.”
“So do I.”
“You cared about your mother more. She cared about you. What did she tell you about Mia?”
He sounded like my brother Joe now. I didn’t bother answering him.
The guilt that had been hiding about playing the game last night popped to the surface now.
Even though the whole family was behind me, on board with the tribute, and we had won for her, giving me a moment of peace. I felt like a fucking asshole now.
“I’m not a halfway kind of guy, Tate. I go all-in with whatever I’m into.” Stale words. But football was my solace and I needed it more than ever now.
Tate nodded. “Whatever you say, man. Sorry about your mother. You do what you need to do. Mia and I are only friends, much to my chagrin.”
He left and the rest of the service, the march of solemn people, the mass, the cemetery all happened while I watched like a bystander. It was the best I could do. Because I had an eerie sense, one that wouldn’t let go at the back of my mind, that I was mourning for Mia too.