24. Titanic References Can’t Be Good
CELESTE
Sometimes it just sucked being a girl. Myemotions were hitting me hard for some reason and I was irrationally angry with Wesley for leaving me. It wasn’t like he didn’t do the same thing every time we came to Atlanta, but today it hit me like a steel baseball bat. I was so tired of being tired, of feeling overwhelmed, of just being plain sad. Looking in the mirror was the same as looking at a Picasso painting—it made no sense and I couldn’t recognize anything. More than anything I wanted to go back in time, back to when it was just Maggie, Wesley, and me, when Daddy was healthy and The Comfy Cushion wasn’t on the verge of ruin. Now it seemed impossible that I’d ever be as happy again as I was back then.
When I arrived at Emory, my feet automatically carried me up to Daddy’s room. I didn’t even need to look where I was going anymore. Dr. Hassan was just stepping out into the hallway when I arrived. He gave me a kind smile, eyes full of pity.
“Do you have a moment, Ms. Hendricks?” he asked softly.
This was it. This was the day he told me that Daddy was circling the drain.
My breath caught in my throat as blood roared in my ears. I had sworn to myself that when the time came, I would be strong and handle it like an adult so that Daddy didn’t have his last moments racked with guilt, but now that it was here, I sincerely doubted I could manage anything other than a blubbering mess.
Dr. Hassan led me down to a small kitchenette set up near the nurses’ station. He set up the Keurig and hit the button to dispense a small cup of coffee, offering one to me. I mutely shook my head. Coffee wouldn’t go down with the bundle of nerves working its way through my body.
“Miss, I feel the need to express my concern for you,” Dr. Hassan disclosed. “What you are going through would cause tremendous amounts of stress for anyone, let alone a child who has already lost her mother. While I am certainly not a therapist, I am happy to help connect you with someone to talk to.”
The lump in my throat grew. His tone was calm, soothing even, but his words told me that my act wasn’t fooling anyone. I was a trainwreck barreling towards certain disaster. But I didn’t know any way to cope other than shutting down. That was all I could handle or else I would simply fall apart. So I did the only thing I could. I lied.
“I’m fine,” I said quietly. “I talk to my nana, and I’ve got Wes and Maggie. I’ll be fine.”
Dr. Hassan shot me a wistful smile. “You are so young to be taking on so much.”
There was a pregnant pause as I contemplated how to proceed. Was our talk over? Would it be impolite for me to leave?
The doctor finished his coffee and got up to refill the cup. “You know, being a doctor is the only profession in the world where there is a zero percent success rate. Rewards are so few and far between in this field.”
My brow furrowed in confusion.
“It’s true,” continued Dr. Hassan. “What doctor do you know who has allowed their patient to live forever? Part of the human condition is to die, and no matter what medicines we cook up in our labs, nothing can ever reverse that.”
He sat back down across from me, balancing his newly filled coffee cup on his knee. “I have found accepting the fact that at some point, all of my efforts will be in vain is the only way I can live with the outcomes. To remember that I am also human and therefore susceptible to the same conditional flaws.” Dr. Hassan met my eyes, the chocolatey-brown color radiating sympathy. “Loss, failure, grief…they are all a part of it.”
While his heart was in the right place, I was not in the right mindset to hear it. I nodded as though I understood before standing up, clutching my bag to my chest. “That’s a beautiful theory, sir,” I murmured. “I’m gonna go see my daddy now. Thank you, Dr. Hassan.”
With another soft smile and a nod of his head, I was dismissed. His words circled in my head long after I walked away, however. Everyone kept telling me that grief was a natural part of life, reminding me that all people die, yet they all neglected to mention that most people do so after they’ve met major milestones. My daddy would never get to walk me down the aisle. He would never see any of my school graduation ceremonies or meet his grandchildren. I wouldn’t get to tease him about retirement or hear his words of wisdom as I navigated adulthood. Life wasn’t bitter enough from taking away all of those things with my mama, now it had to claim Daddy, too.
Daddy was asleep in his bed when I entered, heavy blankets tucked in tight around him. No matter how much the hospital increased the temperature in the room, the medicine always made him cold. Not to mention he had no insulation now that he was as gaunt as a skeleton. Still, his comforting scent was just the same as I remembered and the rise and fall of his chest served as a reminder that for now, he was with me. I grabbed my own blanket from the cabinet and climbed into bed next to him, resting my head on his shoulder and wrapping the blanket as tightly around myself as I could. The ice lacing my veins had very little to do with the temperature of the room and everything to do with the numbness overtaking my soul.
I woke up several hours later with a stiff neck and sore joints to Wesley jostling me. Daddy was still asleep beside me, although at some point during my nap, he had moved to cradle me in his arms. The morbid thought that it might be the last time I would ever feel him hold me crossed my mind and I had to fight back tears again.
“Come on, Lovebug, I wanna take you back to my place tonight,” Wesley whispered.
I shook my head even though the motion made my neck scream in protest. “I want to stay here. What if Daddy gets worse?”
“Celeste, there wasn’t a question in there.” He was stern, all frown lines and clamped lips. “Now, whether I have to carry you out of here or whether you come willingly, you’re going.”
A small recess in the back of my mind loved the authoritative tone in his voice even if I wasn’t ready to listen. Right now, I hated that he felt he had any right to tell me what to do. Wesley Madden didn’t own me and he could exit the way he entered if he thought this was gonna go any other way.
I must’ve hesitated too long because in the next breath I found myself hanging upside down over Wesley’s shoulder. He picked me up as easily as a sack of potatoes and stood upright, turning towards the door.
“Hey!” I protested, pounding a fist into his back. My mama would be sending a demon from the depths of Hell after him for manhandling me like that in public.
My scream woke Daddy up, who jerked awake, and called out in a weathered voice, “Wesley, what on earth are you doing to my daughter?!”
I tried to lift myself so that I could see Daddy, but I had no abdominal strength to speak of and couldn’t maneuver my body upwards in the awkward position. Wesley did a half turn so that we could both look over our shoulders at him. Daddy’s mouth hung open, gaping at us in shock.
Wesley nodded tersely. “I’m keeping my promise, sir. I’ll be taking Celeste back to my place for the night to ensure she gets a solid meal, a hot shower, and a good night’s sleep.”
To my horror and surprise, my daddy chuckled at him. Actually laughed like anything Wes just said was funny.
Traitor!
“And you couldn’t find a way to do that that’s a little less ‘caveman’ and more ‘gentleman?’” Daddy asked.
Wes shook his head. “Not when her mama’s stubbornness comes out.”
Daddy nodded in agreement. “Understood. Carry on.”
WHAT?! The nerve of both of them!
“Take care of yourself, sugar bee,” he called out with a laugh as the door swung shut behind us. “I love you!”
I was fuming by the time we got down to the car waiting at the curb. Everyone in the hospital stared at us, appalled and incredulous to see me swinging like a limp rag over Wesley’s back. It didn’t matter how much I squirmed, yelled, or pounded on his back, Wesley was as immovable as the Pyramids of Giza. Embarrassment burned my cheeks, which I knew had to be as red as a stop sign by the time we got outside. What if one of the paparazzi who liked to follow Wesley around took a photo of him carrying me like a petulant child?
As I tried to wriggle out of his grasp in the humid night air, he unceremoniously dumped me on the floor of the SUV, smirking as he climbed into the seat behind me.
Wesley was gonna get a visit from my mama’s ghost tonight, I was sure of it.
“Knock it off, Celeste,” huffed Wesley. There was a tick in his jaw that I had never seen before. “Your mama and daddy don’t want you to die, too, Lovebug. You’ve gotta keep on living, even when the bad stuff happens!”
The accusation was so spot on that I burst into tears. “I can’t miss a moment with him, Wesley!” I shouted. It echoed in the vehicle like a toddler with a temper tantrum. “What if he dies in his sleep and no one’s there with him? What if I don’t get to say goodbye?”
Wes grabbed me by my biceps and yanked me onto his lap where my arms instantly wrapped around his neck in a vice-like grip. He gently rocked us, smoothing his hand through my hair and shushing the sobs that wracked my frame.
“Lovebug, what if your dad’s last moments on this earth are full of worry and pain over the state he’s leaving you in? He’s holding on and trying so hard for you. All the pain of his treatments, the crazy side effects, they’re all worth it for you. You owe it to him to live.”
It was impossible to hear anything more over the pain ripping from my throat. Wesley’s words stung, shattering the fragile wall I built around my heart for protection. But he was one hundred percent right. Daddy’s final memories of me would be full of heartache because I couldn’t escape the dark clouds long enough to smile, to shower, to just be me. He deserved to leave this world with the peace of mind that I would be okay.
Except I wasn’t okay, and there was nothing Wesley or Nana or Maggie or anybody else could do about it. Both of my parents were leaving me alone in this world--I was terrified. Nothing would ever be the same, and I was barreling towards that change like a rollercoaster falling off the rails. Even though my daddy was still alive, he was no longer the person he used to be, and I hated the selfish part of me that could only focus on my own misery over that fact.
I was sick of wallowing in my own grief over something that hadn’t even happened yet. There was only so long a person could wait for the other shoe to drop before they went crazy, and I was long past that mark. It was exhausting. I didn’t want to be strong anymore. I wanted to fold into the fetal position and shake away the nightmare. Because this had to be a nightmare, right? It couldn’t possibly be real.
And so the cycle went on in my head. All day, every day, and I was sick of that, too. I didn’t know how to make my brain turn off or how to force my heart to feel anything other than fear.
I must have fallen asleep from crying so hard in Wesley’s arms because when I woke up, several hours had gone by and I was curled up in a ball in Wes’ bed, his arm draped around my belly and his soft snores in my ear. He had stripped me down to a t-shirt and panties, but both clung to my back that was now coated with sweat from how tightly Wes held me. I rolled over to face him, wrapping my arm around his naked torso and tucking my head under his chin.
Our relationship was becoming ridiculously one-sided. I didn’t have anything to offer him anymore, what with my heart shrinking and blackening by the day. Clearly, I was too selfish to give him up, but it didn’t sit right with me that I could no longer give Wesley what he deserved. Relationships of any kind were supposed to be give and take, let alone a romantic one like we had, yet Wesley continued to give and give with nothing in return. Eventually it would be too unfair and he would leave. I was only prolonging the inevitable by dragging him through my Greek tragedy.
Did it make me the worst kind of person if I admitted I was too selfish to let him go? I wasn’t far enough gone in my misery not to recognize how unhealthy my addiction to Wesley had become. I was just as bad as Rose in Titanic; I knew Wesley needed to climb on the stupid door to survive with me, but I just couldn’t make myself move over. It was sick and selfish, and my mama would have boxed my ears. You know you’re in trouble when a death scene is the closest analogy to the current state of your life.
But how could I stop?