71. Awake
Awake
Kiri
Her eyelids flutter again, then open to narrow slits. For a moment, her eyes move without finding anything. Unfocused and clouded. Her brow furrows around the tube taped across her mouth, and panic flashes through them.
“Ma.” I lean closer until there’s no chance she can miss me. “It’s me. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe.”
Her gaze drifts toward my voice, then settles on my face. Every part of me comes apart.
“She understood you,” Rithy says. His voice shoots high enough that he barely sounds like himself. “Ma? Ma, look at me.”
Her eyes move slowly toward him. Rithy makes a strangled sound between a laugh and a sob. He grips her hand with both of his and bends over it.
“Yeah, that’s right. Your favorite son is here.”
I smack the back of his shoulder without taking my eyes off her. Her fingers tighten weakly around his.
“Oh, fuck.” Rithy starts crying openly.
Her hand squeezes his again. Barely anything, but it’s there. Rithy laughs so loudly the monitor changes rhythm. A nurse rushes in, followed closely by Marisol.
“She’s awake,” I tell them, as if the entire room can’t already see it. “She’s looking at us. She squeezed his hand.”
Marisol moves to the bed and speaks calmly while checking the monitors.
“Chenda, you have a breathing tube in your throat. Don’t try to speak, okay? You’re safe. Your sons are here.”
Ma’s eyes widen around the tube. Her hand lifts an inch from the bed before falling back.
“I know,” Marisol says. “It’s uncomfortable. We’re going to help you through it.”
She asks Ma to blink twice if she understands.
Ma blinks.
Once.
Then again.
The sound Rithy makes destroys me. Marisol checks her pupils and asks her to squeeze each of our hands again. Ma manages both. Weakly, but on command. Then she wiggles her toes beneath the blanket when asked.
Purposeful movement.
Following commands.
Words I’ve heard the doctors use for days suddenly become the most beautiful language on earth.
Natalia stands a few feet behind me with both hands pressed over her mouth. Tears run down her cheeks. I look at her and the relief hits me all at once.
It explodes through me.
I cross the space between us, hook an arm around her waist, and lift her clean off the floor in a crushing hug.
Her startled laugh breaks against my mouth as I kiss her harder than I mean to.
Every chemical my body has kept locked down for the past week seems to release at once, rushing through me until my heart feels like it's ready to take off. Her arms close around my neck.
In that irrational moment, I could carry her down the hall, find an empty supply closet, and leave both of us breathless enough to forget where we are.
Instead, I force myself to loosen my grip.
I breathe out slowly against her lips as I set her back on her feet.
Natalia makes a quiet, self-satisfied sound and brushes her mouth over mine once more.
“Save all that for later,” she whispers. “Your mom is watching.”
I nod because words aren’t available anymore. Then I turn back toward Ma. Her eyes are still open, even though exhaustion already pulls at them. She’s definitely watching us.
“Stop with the wedding plans,” I tell her, my voice breaking around a laugh. “You’ve been awake for thirty seconds.”
Her eyelids lower briefly, and I choose to believe she’s amused.
The doctors don’t remove the breathing tube that day.
They need to know she can stay awake, follow commands consistently, and breathe well enough without the ventilator doing most of the work.
Every few hours, someone wakes her and asks the same questions she can answer only with blinks, squeezes, and small movements.
The first night after she wakes, I sleep for almost four straight hours with my head in Natalia’s lap.
The next morning, Ma stays awake longer. Her eyes track us around the room. She becomes visibly annoyed whenever someone asks her to squeeze the same hand again, which Rithy says is the clearest sign yet that her brain is functioning normally.
The bruising around her throat deepens before it begins to fade. Purple gives way to yellow at the edges. The swelling continues to recede. A repeat scan shows the bleed around her brain is still resolving without surgery.
Dr. Reynolds calls it significant progress. I make him repeat that part.
At the week mark, they reduce the ventilator support and let Ma breathe almost entirely on her own for half an hour. A respiratory therapist watches every number while Rithy and I stand uselessly against the wall.
She passes.
They repeat the test later.
She passes again.
The following morning, Dr. Reynolds tells us they’re ready to remove the tube. Marisol makes us wait outside while they do it. Rithy paces the length of the corridor. I stand with Natalia tucked beneath my arm, counting every minute until the door opens again.
“She did well,” Marisol tells us. “Her throat is going to be painful, and her voice may be very weak. Don’t push her to talk. Small sips only when we clear her for them.”
Back inside, Ma looks smaller without all the tubing around her face. There’s still oxygen beneath her nose, wires across her chest, bruises everywhere Dad put his hands, but her mouth is free. Her lips are dry and cracked. Her eyes find us as soon as we enter. Rithy reaches her first.
“Hey, Ma.”
She tries to answer, but only air comes out.
“Don’t force it,” I say, moving to her other side. “You don’t have to talk.”
Her gaze moves between us. Then past us, searching the room. Her brow creases, then she swallows and winces.
“Ma,” Rithy says softly. “What do you need?”
Her lips move again. This time, a sound comes with them. Thin and scraped raw.
“Where…”
I lean closer.
“What?”
She gathers what little strength she has left.
“Where is James?”