I kiss her forehead, adjust the ice, and make sure the remote is within her reach. Then I step into the hall and stare at my phone.
Two missed calls from Martin. One text from Ezra—board rumor mill garbage I don’t care about. No unread messages from Bea, because she didn’t text me after she walked away. Because she’s stubborn. Because I’m worse.
I type:
I was wrong.
I delete it. It feels small. It also feels true. I type again:
I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Thank you for helping my mother.
I hover. My thumb is a coward. I hit send before it can negotiate a treaty with my pride.
The bubble sits there with no read receipt. Good. She turned them off. Of course she did.
I text a second time, faster:
Can I see you?
I’m sorry.
There’s no answer, so I do something I am excellent at: I start controlling the variables I can control.
I book a therapist, a home health aide, and a goddamn occupational therapist who will nail the bathroom rug to the floor if I ask. I rewrite the doorman’s instructions—approved visitors only, with Beatrice Wrong being a part of it: call me first, call Ezra second, call the aide third, call Beatrice fourth. I stock the freezer with soup Mom likes and label everything like a lunatic because that’s what Bea would do.
Then I call Ezra for a long awaited conversation.
“Ready to talk about what the hell happened at dinner the other night?”
“That’s not exactly why I’m calling.” I get ready, exhale, and start talking. “Tonight, you are going to come and see Mom.”
Silence.
“I mean it, Ezra. She is your mother too, and she is sick. She needs your forgiveness as much as you need to give it to her. Tonight, Ezra.”
I’m expecting a storm with a bunch of thunder, so when he says a quiet“Okay,”I’m taken aback because I braced for the worst.
“Okay?”
“Okay,”he sighs.“I’ll bring Maeve. Hopefully that’s okay?”
Is it okay? I don’t know. but she is Ezra’s wife, a permanent fixture who will be in Mom’s life forever.
“That’s okay, I guess. Wrong sisters might be exactly what she needs.”
A pause.“Did you introduce Bea to Mom?”
“It—” I wince. “It happened accidentally. But yes, she was good for Mom.”
Another pause.“O-okay?”
And this is where I find myself doing something I’ve never done before: I spill my guts to my brother. About Bea, my feelings, everything starting from over a year ago.
I tell him about Maupiti. About the hotel bar, the sundress, and her face under the moonlight. I tell him about wanting to have her but keeping her at distance because she was never meant to be mine. I tell him about Mom, the rug, the ankle, and the way I took my fear out on the one person who was actually there.
Ezra doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t gloat. Just breathes on the other end and occasionally says“Yeah”or “I remember that.”
When I finally run out of words, he says,“So, you love her.”
