I tell her everything my mother told me, and I tell her how it makes the story of us even more special.
“The story of us,” Mel muses. “I like it. And you know, it doesn’t have to have a tidy ending—hell, I was so looking forward to being a cranky bitch of an old lady.”
“So like Naomi?” I offer, even though my eyes are welling now.
Mel throws her head back and laughs the way Luke did in the pool the other day—with what is left of her whole body. “I’m going to tell her you said that.”
“Please don’t,” I say, only half joking.
“Anyway,” Mel continues. “I don’t even remember the point I was trying to make. Just that you and Luke, you’ll be what’s left of us soon. Love each other well, okay?”
I blink at her. How do I tell her that thereisno love between Luke and me anymore? That I destroyed any chance of us ending up together, broke whatever chains used to bind us and made him “my people.” How do I make her see that she was wrong about me all along? That I could never have fit with them, because it turned out I was jagged and misshapen, not made to fit anywhere.
“God, I feel like I’ve been on this endless farewell tour,” Mel says, resting her head back against the couch. “One of those rock stars that make you feel nostalgic. You’re sad the first time they announce they’re leaving. Then you look up and they’re still there, and they’restillthere—”
“Mel,” I say, interrupting her. “I’m glad you’re still here.”
A wave of guilt hits me again over what I thought when I first walked in. That she is no longer who she used to be, but I was wrong. She is, in every way that matters. She is still vibrant, funny, beautiful Mel, and the Big Bad can never take that away from her.
I can’t believe I stayed away so long. I can’t ... What if one day I had seen the obituaries and her name had been there? I would never have forgiven myself. Never.
I still can’t forgive myself for everything I destroyed, but I remember what Mom told me that night: at least I’m here now. At least I get to see Mel again. Luke’s idea sounded so ludicrous at first, but now I’m grateful that I agreed to go along with it.
It brought the three of us back together, if only superficially, one last time.
“I feel good today,” Mel says out of nowhere now.
“Really?”
She nods. “Do you know what I feel like doing? Listening to some of the classics.”
I grin at her. It’s been so long since we sat around doing nothing but listening to her favorite jazz songs. Billie Holiday and Ella Fitzgerald. Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong.
Even though most of the good songs are on my phone, I get up and turn on the old CD player.
Before I can sit down, though, Mel holds up her hands to me. I’m confused at first.
“Help me up!” she says over the sound of “Bugle Call Rag.”
“Wait, but ...” I panic as she attempts to pull herself into a standing position.
“It’s criminal not to dance to this song,” she says, pushing up weakly with her arms. Her blanket falls to a pool at her feet and the papers she’d hidden fall, too. I grab one of her hands to steady her, and then I bend down to pick up the stuff she’s dropped.
I want to respect her privacy, but my curiosity gets the best of me and my eyes sweep over the page on the top.
It says in writing so jerky it’s hard to read, “reading from Psalm 23—too cliché???”
I place the papers on the couch, stand, and offer Mel my second hand.
“Are you sure about this?” I ask her as she struggles to catch her breath. Just standing seems to have taken all her energy.
“I’m not going to break,” she says, sounding like she very well could. So I hold her hands while we shake our hips and shimmy our shoulders and make faces at each other. My mind keeps going back to the piece of paper I found. It can mean only one thing: Mel is planning her funeral, and I want nothing more than to curl into a ball and cry. But she’s counting on me, so I keep dancing and grinning like I have no cares in this world.
Before the end of the song, Mel shakes her head apologetically, and I know she needs to sit down again. I’m in the process of helping her onto the couch when I spot Luke standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and his shirt wet with sweat.
“That was the most fun I’ve had in forever,” Mel says, laughing. I’m too aware of Luke’s gaze on me as I readjust her blanket before sitting down beside her.
“Hey, Mom,” he says, stepping out from the doorway. They chat about random things for a couple of minutes. I don’t think I’m imagining that his gaze keeps coming back to me.
