“Maybe twenty minutes.” She looks me up and down. “You okay to handle this yourself, doll?”
“Doll.” Mom cracks up laughing.
“Doll’s balls.” Aunt Joan cracks up laughing.
Rose rolls her eyes in exasperation. “I hate to kick someone out, but so help me, I will. I’ve got other patients I need to deal with.”
She stomps off, leaving me to handle the situation on my own. I close the door behind her so we’re not entertaining the entire floor anymore.
Aunt Joan crawls up onto Mom’s bed and snuggles next to her. They’re both crying again, but at least they’re quieter.
“I feel like I’m falling through the universe,” Aunt Joan whispers. “Nothing’s connected anymore. I’m slipping into the in-between. Are you even my Ticktack? Are you another Joan’s Ticktack? How do we know we’re not in a parallel universe?”
Oh, dear. They’ve devolved into ridiculousphilosophical talk. This is bad. “How many did you have?” I hold up the half-empty container of brownies and sniff. The chocolate can’t mask the overpowering grassiness of the weed. Knowing Aunt Joan, she probably doubled the recipe.
“Do you… do you think…” Mom gasps as she tries to get the words out. “In a parallel universe, we’d still be friends?”
“We’d be friends in every universe.” Aunt Joan wraps her arms around Mom, and they both settle down, their tears slowing to a stop. Mom’s breaths lengthen, and she drifts into sleep just as quickly as she previously burst into laughter and tears. Aunt Joan falls asleep just after her, while I tidy the room.
Every time I glance over at them, I feel like an intruder, looking through a window at something I’ll never have. I don’t have sisters, or cousins, or even friends who I’d be that comfortable with. Comfortable enough to let down my defenses, get so high I can’t keep myself together, and then fall into a vulnerable sleep. I’m not sure I’d even do that with Mom.
Once the room is semi put together again, I pull out my computer to work on my novel. I’ve been stuck on this next section, uncertain where it should go, but knowing I don’t like how it is. The main character needs to start making changes in her life, but I’m not sure what changes will drive her toward the growth she needs to experience. I kind of want to add in a romance subplot, but I don’t want it to be another one of those books where the love interest is the catalyst for change and love makes everything instantlybetter. In my experience, love makes things worse, or at least more complicated.
“How was class?” Aunt Joan carefully rolls on her side so she’s facing me, a sleepy expression on her face. “You still trying to write the next great American novel.” There’s a hint of disgust in her tone. She’s made it abundantly clear that she thinks getting my MFA is a waste of time and money. At this point, I think she’s probably right. I don’t feel any closer to having a publishable novel, and I barely have enough money to pay the bills.
“It’s going great. Really great.” I stare at the blank screen in front of me. “It’s almost finished.”
She studies me for so long I worry she’s going to call me out on the lie, but instead she just points to a stack of books on the floor. “I brought more romance novels.”
“Mom will appreciate that. They’ve been a good distraction for her.”
“Hmmmm.” She gives me a knowing smile and closes her eyes. “Start with the one on top. You’ll like it.”
Aunt Joan doesn’t know what I like. Sure, she’s known me all my life, but only on the periphery. If she really knew me, she’d know I prefer serious literature to romantic fluff. I want seven-course meals, not cotton candy. Although I enjoyed the romance novels she brought last week, I’ll never admit that to her. I barely admit it to myself.
I pick up the book she suggested and read the back cover. It almost makes me laugh with howpredictable it sounds. But maybe that’s the appeal of this kind of book. Sitting here in the hospital, unsure what will happen tomorrow, completely out of control, predictability sounds nice. Really nice.
“You know, you could try writing one—just for fun.” I thought Aunt Joan was asleep again, so her voice startles me enough to make the book fly out of my hand and land on the floor with a smack.
Mom stirs and mumbles something in her sleep. Aunt Joan makes a soft‘shhhh shhhh’sound and snuggles closer. She doesn’t say anything else, and, after a while, I wonder if she’s still awake or if she’s fallen back asleep, too.
I pick up the book and set it on the little rolling table. The words on my computer screen are waiting for me. I have to finish this novel. Extending my MFA isn’t an option. I need to finish this now.
But maybe… a fun, silly side project might get my creative juices going again. I open a new document, title ithappilyeveraftercrap.doc, and start typing.
Chapter Twelve
Ex-dad:
Call me, nutter.
Istare at the phone for too long before ultimately shoving it in my pocket and dumping three packets of hot chocolate into my mug.
“Are you really going to drink that?”
I recognize Cosmos’ deep voice immediately, feel the resonance of it on my skin. How long has he been watching me? I go about pouring the hot water and stirring the drink without looking at him. “Don’t judge it ‘til you try it.”
“Alright.” He steps close enough for me to feel his breath move the loose strands of my hair from behind. “Make me one,” he whispers. The words are simple, friendly, but his nearness layers them with something more.
