Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
Cosmos:
Yesterday I saw moss
clinging to trees
Wrapping spruce in soft
Pillowy green
And I wanted to hold you
Make my home
In your shade
This has become a habit. Every morning, Cosmos sends me a poem. Sometimes it’s by a poet I recognize, sometimes one I don’t. Occasionally, like this morning, it’s something he’s written. Always a single poem. Nothing else.
“Hazel, you in there?” Aunt Joan knocks on the guest room door, but doesn’t wait to come in. “Ah, good, you’re up.” She walks past the bed to dig around in the closet where she stores her craft supplies. “Just need a few things. You can do some quilting with me if you’d like.”
“Actually… I was thinking of going home today.”
Joan looks at me. “You sure?”
“Yeah,” I say, not sure at all. “It’s time.”
Kiara’s been keeping an eye on Mom’s house the past few days while I’ve been here, but I can’t just hide away at Aunt Joan’s forever. I suck in a breath and nod firmly. “It’s time,” I repeat, talking myself into it.
Aunt Joan rubs her hands along the outside of her thighs. “Alright then. But you call me if you need anything, you hear?”
“I will.” And for once, I think I mean it.
Cosmos:
Nothing Gold Can Stay by Robert Frost
Nature’s first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leaf’s a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
Each morning my pulse flutters as I open my phone to see Cosmos’ text. It’s the first thing I do before getting out of bed. For a brief shining moment, with the sun shining through my window, and Cosmos’ words in my mind, the words pull me out of the numb and make me feel something.
Today’s poem is a flood of feelings. It hurts to feel so much all at once, like a limb coming back to life after being asleep.
What would have happened if I’d noticed something was wrong with Mom sooner, if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in Cosmos that I didn’t see the signs? Could I have saved her? If I could trade her life for my happiness, I would. In a heartbeat. It doesn’t feel right that I’m still here and she’s not.
My thumb hovers over the keypad on my phone.
I should respond. But it’s for the best if I don’t.
I never have before. If I let things continue, it’ll only be harder, because eventually we’ll end up right back here.
Whether it’s now or a year from now, he’ll realize I’m right. I’m not good enough for him.
Dropping my phone on the mattress, I slip out of my room and walk down the hall to Mom’s.
It’s still perfectly preserved, but her scent is fading.
There’s a very light layer of dust covering the nicknacks on her dresser.
The glossy clay blob I made in second grade that was supposed to be a dog.
A porcelain doll that belonged to my great-grandma.
A jewelry stand covered in necklaces, most of them homemade.
The mirror over the dresser shows how sallow my skin is, the sunken dullness to my eyes.
I can’t look at myself. I can’t look at any of this.
Going into her closet, I pull her favorite sweatshirt off a hanger, bring the fabric to my mouth, and scream. I crawl onto her bed, clutching the sweatshirt like a security blanket. But there’s no security here.
When Kiara knocks to see if I want breakfast, I don’t answer.
“Morning, Mom.” I roll onto my side and study the intricate pattern on the urn. I don’t carry it around with me anymore, but it still feels nice to wake up and pretend, for just a moment, that she can hear me, that she’s here.
“I don’t know how to do this.” I stare up at the stucco ceiling. “Today, I’m going to see a therapist. Someone Kiara recommended. Maybe talking will help. What do you think?”
The room is quiet. Noises drift through the wall from the kitchen. Kiara must be getting ready for the day, which means I slept late. I haven’t woken up at 4:22am in days. It’s not a relief. It feels like I’ve lost one more thing.
A slice of sunlight breaks through the gap in my curtains and splits the ceiling in half.
“I have a new plan, Mom. I’m going to do one thing each day.
That’s it. Just one thing that needs to get done, one thing to help me.
Today, I’ll go to the therapist. Tomorrow, Aunt Joan is coming over.
She decided we’re starting a book club—romance novels only. ”
My chest tightens, and my breath sticks in my throat. Mom would have loved doing a romance novel book club with Aunt Joan and Kiara. I wish we’d started it when she was alive.
To keep myself from crying, I reach for my phone to see what poem Cosmos sent today. I need his messages, the words that remind me that the world is still beautiful. Even if that beauty feels very far away right now.
But when I look at my phone, there’s no text. No poem. Everything hollows inside me, empty. Has he given up on me at last?
He’s been so persistent. It doesn’t seem like him to just give up. I knew it would happen eventually, but I’m not ready for it to end yet.
Some part of me expected him to keep trying forever. Or at least for longer than this.
What if something happened to him? Maybe that’s why he didn’t send anything this morning. He could have been in an accident. My mind spirals with possibilities that make me shake. Maybe he’s lying on the same operating table where he does surgeries, helpless, bleeding, dying. Leaving me for good.
Without thinking, I’m dialing the hospital.
The line rings. I’m not sure what I’m doing until I get the pre-recorded message, triaging callers to the right department.
What option do I choose? None of them are right.
I just need to make sure he’s okay, and calling his cell feels like too much.
I’m not strong enough to actually hear his voice.
I just need to know he’s not dead. That’s the first place my brain goes now. Grief has a way of multiplying fear. Everything feels like it could be fatal once you’ve experienced something catastrophic.
When someone answers, I stumble over my words. “Hi, I’m just, um, calling to find out if, uh, Dr. Cosmos Romero still works there. Is… is he okay? Did anything happen to him?”
“Hold a minute.”
Standard elevator music plays over the phone while I wait. Dishes clatter in the kitchen. A car drives past outside, engine backfiring.
“Hello, this is Dr. Cosmos Romero. How can I help you?”
I freeze, suspended in time, even though the clock keeps ticking forward. I shouldn’t have called. After too long of a silence, he whispers, “Hazel?”
I don’t know how he knows it’s me, but my name from his lips startles me so much I drop the phone, fumbling to hang up. My heart throbs with a new ache.
At least I know he’s okay. Nothing happened to him. He’s just moved on. Everyone gives up eventually. This is good… I guess… A clean break. I can’t expect him to keep reaching out when I haven’t given him anything in response.
“I can find my own poems,” I say aloud to the sunlight on the ceiling and Mom’s ashes on the nightstand.