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Mom’s eyes moved left and right beneath their lids. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees as I watched her.
The nurses had pumped her with drugs, full to the brim with painkillers to combat the broken rib the paramedic on site had given her. She was probably higher than inflation.
Her eyes fluttered open in the dark room. The machine hooked up to her continued its steady beats.
I didn’t know what a good son would do in this moment. I didn’t have much experience in that department.
If the roles were reversed and Farrow hovered over my hospital bed, I’d want her to hold my hand.
Still, I kept mine to my side.
After all, I’djustthreatened to cut Mom off, should she contest my relationship with Octi.
“You’re in the hospital.” I sat back, realizing I did, indeed, feel a substantial amount of relief to see her wake up. “How are you feeling?”
Mom darted her tongue to lick her lips. A grunt escaped instead, the movement too tasking for her current state.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “Been better.”
I didn’t say anything.
Mom inhaled,as if trying to make sure she could. “What happened to me?”
“A mini heart attack.” I slipped my hands into my pockets. “Very mild, according to the doctors. You’re currently at Chiang Mai’s best private health institution with around-the-clock supervision. Celeste Ayi is at the hotel, packing up a bag. They want you to stay for five days to monitor your heart rate and put you through some general checkups.”
“Then why do I feel so…woozy?” She swallowed and winced, like the mere movement delivered excruciating pain. “And in terrible pain?”
“The medics performed CPR at the villa. The chest compressions broke a rib. It’s more painful than dangerous. In fact, it’s not dangerous at all. Just a discomfort. You can pump more painkillers with this button if you’d like.” I took her hand and guided it to a white remote tucked in the corner of her bed.
Mom gasped a little. Her mouth tumbled open.
She almost squealed when I touched her.
“Sorry.” I drew back. “Did it hurt?”
“N-no.” She shook her head, staring at me, mesmerized. “I just… you touched me, Zach. You never touch anyone. Not since your father passed away.”
“Farrow taught me skin-to-skin.” I smiled, somewhere between bitter and nostalgic. “There was a lot of trial and error.”
Awkward moments.
Joyful moments.
And I cherished every single one of them.
Tears hung from the tips of her lower lashes.
“Can I…” Her hands shook all over. “Can I hold your hand? I’ve always wanted to.”
But she didn’t wait for permission. She clasped my palm and laced our fingers together. Dry, cold skin met mine.
I remained utterly still as she brought the back of my hand to her icy chapped lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles.
An unpleasant tremor rolled through me, but I didn’t cower, nor did I retreat. Didn’t want to hurl myself into the shower and jack up the temperature to that of a boiling kettle.
Guess I was cured.
Funny, how I’d always imagined all my problems would go away if I just learned how to touch. It never occurred to me that touching came hand-in-hand with feelings.
