“You sure?” She’s searching my face for any signs of hesitancy.
“I’m sure.”
Alejandro cajoles her down the hall while Jeremy holds out atorn piece of paper. “My number. Call or text, and we’ll be here in a heartbeat.”
I stuff the paper into my jacket pocket. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be praying.” He pivots to follow the other two.
I take a deep breath and push open the door. I predicted I’d end up in the hospital before the night was through. Who knew I’d be so right and yet so very wrong? If given the choice, I’d happily trade places with Mom.
22
If I ignore the IV port in the back of her hand and the hospital gown visible beneath the thin blanket, and imagine we’re in a regular bedroom instead of inside the sterile walls of a hospital, I can almost pretend there’s nothing wrong with my mom. That an infection isn’t raging in her body and that her mind is as quick and sharp as it was before Alzheimer’s invaded like a terrorist and began massacring her brain cells. I can almost pretend she’s just sleeping. That in a few moments her eyes will flutter open, crystal clear, settle on me, and she’ll smile.
Almost.
I tug a chair from the corner and position it next to Mom’s bed. Sitting, I lay my hand on her forearm and take in a shaky breath as I wrestle the reins of my thoughts away from the bad things and point them toward the positive.
Mom is still here. We still have time together.
The doctor is confident she will recover from the sepsis and UTI.
I’m not going through this alone. I have Keri and Jeremy.
I mean, I don’thaveJeremy. But maybe I do? A little bit? He did insist on driving me, after all. Even if he did it to be nice and give Alejandro more time with Keri and not because he has any romantic feelings for me. I’m still counting it.
I lay my head on the bed, my crown resting against the fleshy part of Mom’s bicep. The physical contact is soothing. Connection without the need for words. I close my eyes. Allow myself to be in the present instead of running ahead to the future and the problems that may or may not await me there.
The next thing I know, the click of the door handle jerks me upright. I blink and look at the clock. The minute hand has traveled halfway around the face. I must have dozed without meaning to.
Jeremy stands in the doorway, a bag in his hands. He shifts his weight, his expression unsure. “Sorry to intrude. I brought your mom something. I hope that’s okay.”
“That’s really sweet, but you didn’t have to.” I motion for him to come in.
“I wanted to.” He holds the package out to me. “Besides, it’s not much. Just a little something.”
I take the bag and peek inside. All I can see is the top of a white box. I reach in and pull out the box. It’s a vintage ceramic tabletop Christmas tree with multicolored lights.
“I didn’t know if she’d get to go home before Christmas or not, and hospital rooms can be a little stark.” He clasps his hands behind his back. “Everyone needs a tree for Christmas. Especially someone who loves the holiday as much as your mom does.”
When she wakes up, she probably won’t even know what year it is, much less what month. But bigger than that is the gesture I hold in my hands. My mom always talked about the spirit of Christmas, and now I’m holding it. Emotion clogs my throat. I’m overwhelmed. But in the best way possible.
He opens the top of the box as it rests in my lap, then pulls out the white Styrofoam housing the ceramic tree. Slicing the tapeholding the two Styrofoam pieces together with a pocketknife, he frees the tree.
“How about over here?” He juts his chin toward a side table. “The lamp should be safe to unplug so we can use the outlet.”
“Good idea.”
He plugs in the cord, then flips the small switch. The lights on the tree go bright. It looks exactly like I remember from my childhood. My heart clenches with a bittersweet twist. Jeremy’s thoughtfulness; my mother’s health. Feeling both emotionally high and low simultaneously leaves my head spinning.
“I love it,” I manage to force out. He says the gift is for my mom, but I can’t help but think it’s for me as well.
He gives me one of those soft looks I noticed earlier in the evening. “Good.” He clears his throat and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I assume you’re staying here tonight?”
I nod. “There are extra linens in the closet, and the couch pulls out into a bed.”
“I guess I’ll say good night, then.” He takes a step toward the door.
